The twentysomething Minneapolis-via-Houston-via-Detroit purveyor of "superhero music", Lizzo, is no stranger to the trials and tribulations of trying to make it as a musician. Having been involved with a multitude of locally and regionally renowned R&B/rap outfits over the years (including most prominently The Chalice and GRRRL PRTY), Lizzo has built herself a solid reputation.

Initially raised on a diet of gospel and classic soul like Stevie Wonder, she's absorbed fragments of countless genres whilst on the rise, as far flung as prog. rock and electro-pop. This has allowed Lizzo to separate herself from the flock in her solo hip-hop endeavours, leeching inspiration from Southern giants, Detroit underdogs, pop behemoths, classic '70s legends and her cornucopia of experience.

For her debut LP, entitled LIZZOBANGERS, she enlisted Ryan Olson and Lazerbeak to produce it. As a result, the you get a record that's utterly all over the place, sometimes smugly smooshing old-school '90s gangsta-rap replete with gun cocking samples ('Hot Dish') into your visage, sometimes plonking west-coast vibes into your lap ('T-Baby'). She skirts trap and footwork, apes Outkast, yoinks Nicki Minaj's technicolour hyperactivity and dabbles with funk. She sticks her mits into Motown. There's snippets of nigh everything you could imagine from the past half century - and, far from being an overcooked, over-worked, overproduced heap o' shite, it's bloody marvellous. Every flippant twist and seemingly random U-turn is testament to the joie de vivre she possesses. The electricity she channels is surely evident of her real-life personality - she doesn't need to carve an avatar to present to the world, Lizzo is charisma incarnate. She's also, crucially, more fun than anyone you'll hear this decade.

The production isn't the only platinum facet of LIZZOBANGERS. Her technical ability is unparalleled. She doesn't just summon narratives or tell stories, she uses pace and rhythm and dialect to shape a song - she'll adopt accents and alter pronunciation to fit the song. Her use of rhyme and assonance isn't playing to conventions or simply just because something has to rhyme, it's a symptom of flawless writing. She's been compared to Missy Elliot in the past, as well as Azealia Banks - the latter is probably somewhat more pertinent on the album. Now, don't fret, she's absolutely nothing like Azealia Banks - there's no conceited pretence, no diva tantrums, no stream of sonic diarrhoea - but Lizzo harnesses the same energy and precision wordplay that '212' did. It's a deluge of whippet-quick puns and acerbic putdowns, witty repartee and laser-guided spiels. Kendrick Lamar called out many rappers on his Big Sean verse, but he missed out one major threat. He better get used to the feel of 'second-best'.

'Batches and Cookies' is the cut most are probably familiar with. It traverses chromatic scales and oozes suspense, with Lizzo and Chalice bandmate Sophia Eris (who lends a verse) slowly shifting faster and higher-pitched over the duration. They ascend a pop-rap boiling point like Minaj's 'Come On A Cone' (also note the link between wasp-swarm synth fuzz), leaving themselves and, more importantly, you, breathless. 'W.E.R.K. Pt. II' sees a vivacious Lizzo explode, her larger-than-life persona seeping out of every maniacal word and horrendous usage of 'BOWSE' instead of 'boss'. You can't keep up with her. Synths chug and gyrate, beats clunk in half-time and spacey-trance blips echo in the background, but it's all irrelevant really, because as impressive as Lazerbeak/Olson's machinations are, Lizzo dominates.

Lizzo's not always a bundle of giggling joy though. She has a stern side. 'Be Still' is industrial nu-gospel with panpipe hooks and conga beats: "This is God's will/ peace, be still" preaches Lizzo like the most vengeful pastor on the planet announcing judgement day. Gristly sawtooth synths and tribal percussion cavort with her bitter flow; it's an unrelenting attack on almost everything, told through the medium of doom-hop. 'Bloodlines', a highlight of the record, uses calamitous trippy hip-hop (but not trip-hop) rhythms and country-dirge strings to discuss regret and racism. She also waxes lyrical, using a more poetic form to showcase her cryptic side: "Swirling black abyss/ stardust misting/ raining down/ shining like the dreams of eternity."

Analysing a few shards of the record seems futile in explaining the altitude of Lizzo's talents. The energy and Shakespearean command of lexicon isn't something you see often in any artist - it's not just true for a single genre - and there aren't many artists than spring to mind as being able to challenge Lizzo as all-powerful, omniscient lord of the musical universe.