“Oh my god, it’s a scary-looking spider!!!” wails Santigold over the phone from her hotel room in Detroit. “Can you hold on for one second? I can’t relax.” Thuds in the background, followed by a low groan. “FUCK! I lost it! Wait, I see it…” More muffled clunks. “OK, it’s in a cup in the hallway. Now I’m focused and clear. We’re good,” she announces, panting with relief. Then she bursts into peals of laughter.

There is never a moment when Santigold doesn’t sound irrepressibly alive, whether she’s staring down a possible tarantula or singing truth to power with her infectiously catchy agit-pop. It’s been a decade since her debut LP Santogold, where, on “L.E.S. Artistes,” she howled one of this century’s most memorable meditations on the price of fame: “I can say I hope it will be worth what I give up/If I could stand up mean/For the things that I believe.” Yet the same freedom-fighting spirit burns through Santi’s latest, I Don’t Want: The Gold Fire Sessions, a laid-back dancehall mixtape made with Mixpak label don Dre Skull and set for an impromptu release tomorrow (July 27).

The album’s tropical opener “Coo Coo Coo,” for instance, is a middle finger to catcallers that ends with a twist: an unexpected key change and a message of love. Meanwhile, the closing title track “Gold Fire” is a call to arms against political apathy driven by rhythmic reggae guitar licks. The Gold Fire Sessions is a breezy, booty-shaking summer record that proves that Santigold has no shortage of compelling social commentary, even when she’s in poolside chill mode. After vanquishing the pesky arachnid, she spoke to me about the new album, why politics are wack, and learning to let go.

Pitchfork: What are you up to?

Santigold: I’m in Detroit, just sitting in my hotel room, thinking about how I need to eat and pump milk [laughs]. I’m doing some gigs with Lauryn Hill. Yesterday was the first one, so it was kind of a big deal. I just had twins four months ago, and I’ve been home all year—that was hard. This is my first time leaving the house, and my first show in a really long time. It was really exciting!

Congrats! Wait, so were you pregnant while recording this album?

I moved to L.A. from New York last July, and I made most of the record the week before I left. Right before the babies came, I was like, I should finish this. So I was recording myself nine months pregnant in a room. “Gold Fire” I did the week before I was due. But I got it done.

It seems like this album was more spontaneous than some of your previous releases. Were you writing these lyrics on the fly?

Lyrics with me are funny. Sometimes they come really fast, and I might write a song in ten minutes—that used to happen a lot, now it doesn’t happen so much anymore. If I can complete a song in two days, that’s fast.

Sometimes I get stuck on a song. When I wrote “Disparate Youth” [from 2012’s Master of My Make-Believe], it took me three months just to come up with the right words. I wrote the melody in one take, but sometimes I get stuck on a word because I want it to be the exact right thing. But this was different—quick, fun. A lot of songs on this record I wrote in the studio. I was thinking of it as a mixtape. The whole point was: These are the issues on my mind right now. Just throw it down. Don’t be too precious about the lyrics. That’s why I called it The Gold Fire Sessions, because it’s a collection of songs from the moment. “Gold Fire” is the name of one of those songs, and it’s about a burning fire inside that you can’t put out—a passion for fighting for what you believe in.

Were tracks like “Gold Fire” motivated by the political climate?

It’s not political. It’s more social commentary. Politics are wack—it’s mostly about the characters instead of the issues, like how religion is about religion instead of spirituality. But I think a lot of the issues playing out in politics right now are super relevant, and I care a lot about them. There's a song called “Coo Coo Coo”—it's a very feminist song about being annoyed when guys try to catcall you on the street. There are also a lot of songs that feel really light. It's a summer reggae record, too.

Let’s talk about “Crashing Your Party,” one of the more outspoken songs. What party are you crashing?

It wasn’t like a Democrat or Republican Party [laughs]. It’s more like, all you people who are not paying attention to what’s going on, break it up. It’s about those who prefer to not think about the issues playing out and instead put on blinders just to get through.