Listen Up: Zola Simone's star on the rise with 'Now You See Me'

In “Old Soul,” the second song on her debut album, “Now You See Me,” 18-year-old singer-songwriter Zola Simone sings, “Everybody’s trying to be different/But just doing all the same (expletive)/Wanna be a misfit/Not the pain that comes with it/My heart out on my sleeve/Like a fashion novelty/Nobody gets it/I guess I’ll always be an old soul.”

That's an essential verse to understanding this album. Simone — with the always impeccable production of three-time Boston Music Award “Producer of the Year” Janos “The Arcitype” Fulop — crosses a lot of lines. There's a lot of pop and R&B in there, some touches of rock and nuvo-folk, but what drives this album is its sheer unguarded honesty. “Yeah, teen angst, ain’t it great,” sings Simone, in “Old Soul,” “Bottle up all the rage/Just another growing pain … Whole lot of tough talk/But never walk the walk/So scared to come out your cage.”

In a very real way, Simone is framing the very concept of “teenage rage” and daring the listener to apply it to her. That's what makes this album so compelling, and a little uncomfortable: She approaches pain and alienation without flinching, displaying a keen understanding of how they work. If there's a single unfair assertion about music either produced by or for young people, it's that the operatic intensity of feeling is easily dismissed, as though we somehow forget how to feel as we get older. The dubious veracity of that sentiment isn't what matters here: Simone expresses feeling with such sharpness that she cannot be dismissed.

The album begins with the bluesy sizzle of “Easy,” a constrained and powerful portrait of desire and being consumed by jealousy. Simone's vocals are dexterous and her phrasing impeccable. When she shifts from the slow burn of the verses to the pop-infused rise of the chorus, the effect is bracing. In the same vein, in the third song, “Witness,” Simone manages to ride the emotional crest of betrayal:

“How can you just lie to me,/And call yourself a friend/I bet you’re sleeping like a baby/With my baby in your bed” — as it sharpens and coalesces into a dangerous rage. “Maybe I’m a villain,” she sings, “Think what you want/Maybe I’m a victim/But, (expletive) all that talk/I ain’t even kidding ya/I’m coming for blood/I’m not gonna leave a witness.” The song's rage simmers into the Novocain numbness of “Anxiety,” a song where Simone leans deep into R&B stylings, before burning it all off in a rap break at the bridge.

Really, this ability to cross genre lines is one of the album's real strengths, and by the time the listener gets to the effortless pop cool of “Sideways,” the stylistic shifts begin to feel natural. Producer Fulop's influence is definitely felt throughout the album, but it's here, with the overt presence of his band, STL GLD, that the collaboration becomes something more than the sum of its parts. The song, which was co-written by Fulop and his STL GLD collaborator Moe Pope, has the rest of the band — Jonathan Ulman on drums, Christopher Talken on additional vocals and Tim Hall on saxophone — performing on the track, and yet, somehow, it still feels more like Simone's voice than anything. The song takes the album and edges it into the political, but it also feels like an extension of what's come before it on the album, putting the more personal themes explored earlier into context: “Have a good day at school,” sings Simone, “Just watch out for the shooters/Yeah, murderers are fine/Draw the line at the looters/Say ignorance is bliss/Thug life for the kids/Yeah we wear our parents' problems/Call that (expletive) vintage.”

The album decelerates with the lower key and immensely personal “Harvard Square” and “A Year in My Room,” before hitting hard with the bare-knuckled “Not Like Other Girls.” Simone doesn't pull any punches on this song. “She reeks of privilege/And Urban Outfitters perfume,” she sings, “You’re not like other girls, honey/You’re worse.” On the surface, it feels like this song could just be a critique on the shallow pursuit of fame and vapid social climbing, and it IS that, but as the song unfolds, a more jagged personal edge appears, and it elevates everything. Indeed, that knowledge of when to take the song one step further and one knife cut deeper is what makes this such a highly compelling album.

The album hits its apex with the sharp-tongued “Just Business,” continuing a narrative that seems to teeter between professional conflict and personal betrayal, and Simone holds back nothing as she lacerates the song's antagonist. It's an infectious pop song, and the hook on the chorus is irresistible. The album's tone then softens again with the moody and beautifully-wrought, “Like the Sun,” before settling into the folk-laden “Iridescent.”

It's on this, the album's penultimate song, that Simone addresses the relationship that's haunted the narrative: “Hey, don’t ask, don’t tell,” she sings, “Save all of your questions/Love me, hate me/Spare all your confessions.” Even here, as she's calling her lover out, there's a sense of still being lost in desire, and the heartbreak of the conflict is palpable. Everything comes to a head in the final song, “Love Me Right,” which leaves the listener with a sense of resolution, even as every note is a dwindling ember, burning with a heat that's fading, but not yet entirely gone.