Honestly, Farai just doesn’t have time for your shit. Somehow, nonetheless, she puts up with us.

Recording under her own name, she often presents her music as a lecture. Not the stuffy, self-absorbed type your lesser college professors might put you to sleep with. Rebirth is an essential, very best of TED talks, gravitating sort of affair.

She sings with the patience of a parent scolding a wayward child who just doesn’t get it. She may confront you with a bit of a snarl, but it’s never cruel - even when she, in grand fashion, takes the likes of Theresa May to task. (Seriously, ‘This is England’ would make even The Clash proud.) She presents herself with the sort of confidence most of us only imagine in the bathroom the next day thinking of what we would have said to the asshat. That’s Farai. All the time.

She may have been born in Zimbabwe, but Farai bleeds London. Raised in the (at least once) wondrous mess of a city, she’s watched in horror and anger, along with the rest of the world, as the UK increasingly slides into the sort of deer in the headlights fear and ignorance so prominent for years, and only greatly exacerbated by the lunacy of Brexit. As her own ministers abandon ship and declare her plans absurd, Theresa May only drags the country further into the brutal shelling.

Into this maelstrom Farai, shall we say, bites her thumb, yes indeed, at you sir. Rebirth hurls righteous fire at just about the entire country, Farai’s voice, light yet bracing, makes the likes of, “The young are so content, but the old are so bitter,” sting as much as they should.

Her music itself, as deeply interwoven into the fabric of London as the Thames, perches comfortably somewhere between post-punk and aggressive electronic pop, with a hip hop-sized attitude to wrestle it all into position.

Having been raised in Harare, Zimbabwe’s capital, until age 11, Farai’s experience as a member of the African diaspora also deeply influences her perspective. She’s never lost (or, perhaps, been allowed to lose) the feeling of an immigrant, and her heart is with the less valued members of British society, using Rebirth to be something of an undeterred spokesperson for the downtrodden.

This isn’t to suggest the album carries any overbearing sense of importance. To the contrary, Rebirth is consistently playful and reachable, in spite of its weightier subject matter. Farai never loses perspective. Instead, her accusations and impassioned speech is always poised and timely, the music here as capable of starting parties as arguments. She just wants to see, if only once, the right people win. Farai puts it best herself: “It’s time for the bright young things to rise.”