Three years into recording Vacancy, Ari Lennox finally works out what she’s been circling: the space isn’t the problem, the guests are.
The album opens with “Mobbin in DC”, a soulful sax line laying the groundwork for what should be a homecoming record.
Lennox returns to her Washington roots after leaving Dreamville for Interscope, newly sober at 34, writing about infatuation phases that keep looping.
She’s culturally aware, weaving in references to current discourse like ChatGPT and calculus, proving she’s tapped into the moment.
But the grooves stay warm while the lyrics turn cold. She’s no longer asking questions. She’s cataloguing evidence.
We track early momentum in music every week. Neon Signals is where it shows up first.
The Sound: Expensive Simplicity
The production across these 15 tracks, mostly helmed by executive producer Elite with key assists from Jermaine Dupri and Bryan-Michael Cox, favours live instrumentation and bass lines that roll rather than knock.
It’s expensive simplicity, the kind that lets Lennox’s voice carry the weight without needing to shout. On the title track “Vacancy”, walls need painting, pipes leak, tables shake.
Domestic repairs double as relationship diagnostics. She’s asking you to stay the weekend, but the Etta James playing in the background can’t disguise the message: fill this space before someone else does.
That’s where the album splits open. Lennox knows exactly what she wants: the room number, the deadline, the price. But knowing and getting remain two different things.
“Twin Flame” finds her cooking, cleaning, ready to split the pension, already asking if you feel the same way, already writing songs about it like something out of Jason’s Lyric.
The reference matters because it’s about love outside pop fantasy. Lennox reaches for something cinematic and sincere rather than surface-level.
She’s a boss who’ll give you all the business, but the question sits unanswered: do you love me? Say you love me. It’s a bop, but the vulnerability underneath is louder than the hook.
The Pattern of Testing
The pattern repeats with variations. “Pretzel” arrives as a masterclass in 90s soulful R&B delivery, with Lennox shifting seamlessly between fast-paced and slower cadences.
The yoga metaphor maps neatly onto bedroom choreography, and she commits fully, making even the goofy moments land.
“24 Seconds” counts down to a deadline that keeps extending. Hit her back or watch her move on, phone off but still turned on somewhere else, maybe with someone else.
But she’s still counting when the clock runs out, still waiting, still tired of being the one who cares more. The specificity gives her away. She’s been watching that phone longer than she wants to admit.
“Wake Up” runs through evidence like an inventory: eyelashes under the nightstand that smell wrong, hair on bed sheets that isn’t hers, text messages from names that shouldn’t light up his phone while she’s washing his clothes and cooking his steak and spaghetti.
The Draco line is funny for being excessive, but the real violence is quieter. She’s cataloguing instead of leaving, trying to scare him into acting right rather than walking.
“Horoscope” turns the pattern into comedy, blaming astrology for every failed relationship instead of acknowledging she ignored the signs each time.
Taurus ghosted her, Leo accused her of cheating, Scorpio talked only about himself, Virgo met her parents before she had to let him go.
She’s cycled through the zodiac and they’ve all disappointed her, which is either cosmic bad luck or something she’s not ready to examine.
When the Metaphor Works
“High Key” is a standout vibe. The layering, dreamy instrumentation and vocals land perfectly. Lennox promises to hit the high notes if you play nasty. Straightforward, effective, wrapped in production that feels both luxurious and intimate.
Then “Under the Moon” shifts the tone entirely. Werewolf imagery, intuition screaming that something’s wrong, silver bullets through his bullshit, hands on her throat while he’s ripping her clothes.
She knows she should leave but she’s already too far gone. It’s the album’s most honest moment, where she admits the pattern is destructive and still can’t stop repeating it.
Production and Polish
“Soft Girl Era” carries the unmistakable touch of Jermaine Dupri and Bryan-Michael Cox. Sampling The New Birth’s “You Are What I’m All About”, it puts the price list in the chorus with zero apology. First class, hair, rent paid.
Take her somewhere worth posting. She knows her worth and isn’t ashamed to name it, which should feel empowering except it mostly sounds rehearsed.
She’s had this conversation before and knows how it ends. The bonnet stays on until you prove you’re serious. It’s funny, but it’s also defensive.
“Deep Strokes” slows everything down, offering a soulful interlude where Lennox’s vocals curl tightly around the instrumentation. The painting metaphor works because she commits to it fully, creating intimacy without overstatement.
“Cool Down” shifts gears again with a reggae-influenced beat that stays grounded in R&B. The dreamy soundscape adds space while Lennox’s voice brings heat. Produced by Tricky Stewart, it shows the album’s range without losing cohesion.
Finding Relief
Buju Banton arrives on “Company” and everything settles. No testing. No countdowns. No negotiations. She just wants someone to break the loneliness and let her breathe.
Banton’s verse is tender without asking for anything back. Wrap her up, rub her feet, watch Netflix without keeping score.
This is what she wants when the posturing drops: presence without performance. The relief is audible, which only highlights how exhausting the rest of the album’s negotiations have been.
The Gap Between Knowing and Getting
The problem isn’t that Lennox doesn’t know what she wants. It’s that knowing and getting are two different things, and Vacancy never closes that gap.
Not every album needs to solve the problems it identifies, but this one circles the same question so often it begins to stall. Fifteen variations on the same test, the same silence answering back.
What separates this from Age/Sex/Location isn’t maturity or sobriety. It’s awareness. Lennox has stopped pretending the tests will work.
She understands the vacancy isn’t something another person can fill. What she hasn’t worked out yet is what comes after that realisation.
The album ends with her still standing in the room, still counting seconds, still asking questions she already knows the answer to.
The difference now is she can hear the echo clearly, and it’s starting to sound less romantic than it used to.
Rating: 8/10
Standout Tracks: “Vacancy,” “Mobbin in DC,” “Company,” “Under the Moon,” “24 Seconds,” “High Key,” “Cool Down”
You might also like: