Before Anjimile Chithambo began recording his new album, “The King,” in the fall of 2021, he embarked on a journey to rediscover his singing voice. Since undergoing testosterone treatment four years prior, the voice he had worked hard to master through years of school choir had disappeared. The upper register he once possessed was replaced by a deep, cavernous tone.
“It was quite unsettling to suddenly have very little control over the notes that came out of my mouth,” admits Anjimile, the 30-year-old indie folk singer, who goes by the mononym Anjimile, as he sits on a cafe patio in Brooklyn during a recent visit to New York. Coming out as transgender was a life-changing process for him, but it also meant a radical transformation as an artist. “My confidence was at an all-time low,” he confesses.
In his sophomore LP, “The King,” set to release on Sept. 8 and already receiving praise from both mainstream and indie press, Anjimile’s voice takes center stage. It’s a versatile, magnificent instrument capable of reaching strange depths and haunting highs that transcend the boundaries of the physical world. The way his falsetto cracks and crumbles is luminous and raw, with tracks like “Anybody” vibrating with an eerie intensity. Throughout the album’s ten tracks, he constructs a mesmerizing sonic landscape with just his voice and an acoustic guitar, twisting and reshaping it into unsettling forms.
Through a meticulous routine of YouTube tutorials and vocal exercises, Anjimile discovered the new capabilities of his voice. “I have acquired new techniques that were previously beyond my reach,” he explains. “I have a greater range now, and I know how to access that range in a way that feels satisfying to me.” While his voice had already transitioned before his debut album, “Giver Taker,” released in 2020, it truly became his own during the making of “The King.”
With the full power of Anjimile’s transformed voice unleashed, “The King” ventures into dark realms, bearing the wounds inflicted and reopened over the past few years – the COVID-19 pandemic, the Black Lives Matter protests, and the right-wing assault on trans rights. It’s no surprise that one of the most haunting songs, “Animals,” was written after the murder of George Floyd, evoking a “pure, unadulterated rage” within Anjimile.
“It was a horrifying experience. The footage was horrifying,” he remarks. “The commentary was horrifying, and the spectacle was repulsive.” As he reflects, Anjimile ponders, rubbing his neck or his newfound beard. “So, yes, I experienced disgust, anger, and fear.”
“Animals” was one of three songs written in as many days, alongside “Genesis” and “The Right.” These songs transform anger into grief and then fear. “Expressing anger through music was a new artistic experience for me. It wasn’t something I had done before or had been comfortable with,” Anjimile says. However, learning to do so proved to be “empowering.”
The album’s title track, “The King,” encapsulates that anger in a subtler yet equally impactful way. It was the first song Anjimile recorded after collaborating with his producer, Shawn Everett, in Los Angeles. “The King” weaves a haunting, elliptical pattern with its blend of soothing voices and percussive effects (created using an acoustic guitar), serving as the blueprint for the entire album. “To me, it felt like the most powerful musical statement,” Anjimile asserts.
You cannot separate “The King” from the turmoil that birthed it or from the realities of Anjimile’s existence in the present world – as a Black man, a queer individual, and a transgender person. Yet, Anjimile, who resides in North Carolina, emphasizes that his work originates from a deeply personal space. “There’s this intense emotion that needs to be released,” he insists. “At the same time, I believe it’s crucial for artists to address social justice and injustice.”
Another trio of songs on the album – “Mother,” “Anybody,” and “Father” – delves into Anjimile’s struggle with coming out as transgender to his family. “Father,” from his mother’s perspective, was the first track written for the album while Anjimile worked at an LGBTQ summer camp in 2019. Growing up in the Presbyterian church as one of four children of Malawian immigrants, the news of his transition drove an irreparable wedge between him and his mother. They have not spoken for three years now.
“I think a lot of this music is my way of coming to terms with her transphobia because I have no desire to change her belief system in any way,” Anjimile reveals. “I also don’t have the energy for it. So, accepting her means that she will no longer be a part of my life.”
Reaching a point where he can express these personal truths required a long journey towards self-acceptance. Before his transition, Anjimile battled severe alcoholism from the age of 16 onward. He finally entered a rehab center in Florida in 2016. During his recovery, he grappled with overwhelming guilt and shame over his addiction. He recalls reading a particular piece of literature shortly after entering rehab.
“It said, ‘Everyone is worthy of love and peace and happiness,'” he recounts. “And I started crying because I didn’t believe that was true for me.”
This process of recovery is interwoven into the very fabric of “The King,” frequently entwined with Anjimile’s quest to understand the events unfolding in the world around him. “Genesis,” for instance, is a plea born out of the public devastation of Black lives. It also represents the power found in acknowledging and embracing pain rather than avoiding it.
“I’m allowed to fall apart when I feel bad – about anything,” Anjimile asserts. “I’m allowed to feel overwhelmed. It took me a long time to learn that it’s okay to not be okay sometimes.”
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