“Hello friends,” began Canada-based composer and performer Beverly Glenn-Copeland on a recent Instagram post beside his wife and creative partner, Elizabeth Paddon. “[We’re] here today because we have some news to share with you.”
For the past decade, Glenn-Copeland has traversed the world, performing his singular music and experiencing a career-high in his 70s. His music — moving, operatic, ethereal — had sat dormant for decades until it was discovered by a Japanese vinyl collector and became a favorite of tastemakers like Four Tet, Caribou, Arca, Blood Orange and music connoisseurs alike. But, as he announced on Instagram, his current tour would be his last. He had been recently diagnosed with dementia and had been managing the condition alongside Paddon.
The news added a layer of gravity to Glenn-Copeland’s recent performance at Montreal’s Rialto Theatre. But even with that, the tone inside the historic performance space was not one of tragedy, but of (teary) celebration. Glenn-Copeland, a pioneering Black trans artist, had finally found a rapturous audience. “We want to challenge the mainstream image of this illness, which focuses on loss. We are actively asking the universe to show us where the life is,” said Glenn-Copeland. And indeed, there he was, vibrant, filled with energy, performing alongside Paddon with a choir of singers behind him and a packed crowd of admirers in front.
It’s fitting that the performance happened as part of POP Montreal, the multi-venue, multi-day, not-for-profit festival that takes over Montreal every September. Now in its 23rd year, the festival has a long history of honoring legends and newcomers alike. “The initial motivation for the festival was to do something that brings together a bunch of cool bands,” shares POP Montreal co-founder and creative director Dan Seligman. “[We thought that] the industry would come, but we wouldn’t make it about the industry.” Citing experiences at similar city-wide festivals where industry pros would sit in the back and survey bands like a “buyer’s market,” Seligman and his co-founder, Peter Rowan, sought to create an experience that had a true Montreal ethos. “Montreal’s not really like New York or LA where it’s industry-driven. It’s more about the community and the vibe of the city,” says Seligman. “[We wanted to] make it more about the fans, less pretentious, and more about that Montreal spirit.”
The festival started years before Montreal’s own Arcade Fire brought its brand of cinematic rock music to stages worldwide, and a decade before Grimes, who began making music as a student at McGill, shifted pop music forever through her early sonic experimentations. It was luck, then, according to Seligman, that the history of the festival aligned with a stretch of time when Montreal produced some of music’s most vital, irreplaceable stars. “Arcade Fire played the second edition of the festival and was the first of three on a bill,” remembers Seligman. “I remember Grimes’ first few shows.” Indeed, POP Montreal hosted Grimes’ album release party for her pre-Oblivion album, Halfaxa. “They were a train wreck in a way, but there was also something completely unique and captivating about her music and performance.”
This year, the festival leaned into that history, most notably through a celebration of the late singer Lhasa de Sela (known eponymously as Lhasa), who long resided in the Mile End neighborhood of Montreal. The American-born singer weaved together diverse musical traditions (American folk, Mexican ranchera, big band jazz) and sang in English, Spanish and French, making her at home in the uniquely bilingual city. In 2010, Lhasa died of breast cancer, but she is still revered as a central figure in Montreal’s musical history. The tribute concert, which also took place at the Rialto Theatre, was organized by Lhasa’s brother, Mischa Karam, and featured a prestigious lineup of artists such as Silvana Estrada, Juana Molina, Calexico and Feist. Similar to Glenn-Copeland’s performance, the space was dense with feeling, as fans, friends and Lhasa’s family members revived her spirit through word and song.
But even as Lhasa’s tribute and Glenn-Copeland’s performance provided moments to consider the long arc of musical history, the busy festival also had ample opportunity for concertgoers to lean into the new. PAPER fav and former Montreal resident Cecile Believe had a hometown hero moment in Rialto Theatre’s underground venue, Piccolo Rialto. A longtime SOPHIE collaborator, Cecile Believe performed her recently released collaboration with SOPHIE’s, “My Forever” to a dense throng of fans on the same day as SOPHIE’s posthumous album release.
Other standouts included Nabihah Iqbal, who served double duty as DJ and performer, offering fans a set of her solo musical work before jetting off to a joyous vinyl DJ set on another stage. And New York City’s own Cassandra Jenkins played a moving show to a crowd that sang along to her sleeper hit, the spoken word “Hard Drive.” Her inspired reception was a fitting end to a blessed trip for the artist. “I’m kind of mad because people always told me how much I’d love Montreal,” she said to the crowd. “I just didn’t realize how much I really would.”
In total, the festival featured 200 concerts in 20 venues over five days and consisted of both intimate affairs and packed theater shows. With the support of government funding, POP Montreal has found a healthy equilibrium between scale and community. “There were so many beautiful, amazing performances and moments,” reflects Seligman of 2024’s round of POP Montreal. “It’s about the connection you have to the people participating, whether they’re staff or the small group of friends and artists you’re close with,” he shares. “That’s the magic.” And though they’re a far ways away from their early days of the festival’s loft parties and general DIY mayhem, it still hums with a communal, can-do spirit. POP Montreal still pops.
In “Like a Virgin,” the second single off Jenys’ six-trackDive UrgentEP, the rising Russian artist delivers “a story about self-destruction,” as she describes it. “It’s the moment when your ego takes control over reality and gradually turns it into deadly paranoia. An insatiable thirst for success, fame and attention.”
This tension manifests in a powerful new music video, premiering today on PAPER, where the 25-year-old seduces a camera that moves like a second performer in the scene. It surrounds her as she dances, at one point excitedly crawling up and down her body, while Jenys repeats the song’s hook, “I want to get touched in the club like a virgin/ Touched for the very first time.”
Director Colin Solal Cardo (Charli XCX, Eartheater, Robyn) says he envisioned “Like a Virgin” to be “an intense performance video, brimming with rage, humor and catharsis.” Jenys sings, writes, produces and directs her own videos (watch “Claim That Dress”), so the focus here became about “capturing the emergence of a singular young artist in her prime” as a performer.
“I crafted an intriguing dynamic between her and the camera, entirely operated by a robotic arm,” Solal Cardo explains, teaming up with Cinemotion Robotics and choreographer Malik Le Nost for the project. “Jenys and the camera had to learn to move together, treating each other as partners.”
The entire music video was shot on an iPhone, which Solal Cardo says made everything feel “synthetic yet incredibly intimate. It allowed us to move closer to the body than a traditional camera would ever go.”
Jenys describes “Like a Virgin” as a “truly challenging and transformative experience” in her career. “Realizing I was going to work so closely with a robot brought a lot of excitement and fueled the drive to achieve the best results possible.” By moving with the camera throughout the empty blue space, she reveals her attitude towards herself. “I fight with it, seduce it, run away from it, push it, kiss it, kick it,” she says. “I love and hate it.”
The track, which will interest fans of Shygirl, COBRAH or the late SOPHIE, has the urgency of a wild night out, when highs and lows feel more extreme than in our everyday lives. It offers a taste of Dive Urgent, released earlier in 2024, wielding Jenys’ own blend of R&B, electronica and hyperpop. The EP was inspired by a trip to Spain when Jenys felt the sudden urge to leap into the ocean, and drew parallels between “electricity meeting water” and the “cathartic world of the club.”
While the “Like a Virgin” video is open to different interpretations,” Solal Cardo says, ultimately “what should be clear after watching it is that Jenys has arrived and she is here to stay.”
Liam Benzvi is a true entertainer. On his new album, the accomplished New York-based musician, producer and artist evokes old school show biz via the album’s title, …And His Splash Band. With his musical crew name checked, Benzvi joins a long tradition of artists who feature their sonic comrades prominently such as Sly and the Family Stone, Gladys Knight and the Pips, and Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band.
The record, which was released on September 27th via Fat Possum, has a toe in the waters of the retro rock its title brings to mind, but sounds thoroughly modern. Doused in glistening guitars, replete with intricate drum patterns and defined by song structures that wind around your ear, …And His Splash Band is yet another showcase of Benzvi’s impressive musicality.
His eye popping musicianship and deep NYC roots has made Benzvi a sought after creative compatriot in the local scene. SSION, Ren G and Blood Orange are all featured on the album. A frequent Dev Hynes (Blood Orange) collaborator, Benzvi also played in Hynes’ band when Blood Orange was opening for Harry Styles during the pop star’s extended 2022 stint at Madison Square Garden.
Benzvi’s peers were there in full effect at his October 2nd album release party at Ridgewood’s TV Eye, including Porches (Aaron Maine). With colleagues and fans alike, Benzvi celebrated the new record and performed cuts such as “PTLSD” (feat. SSION), “Other Guys” (feat. Blood Orange) and album standout “Dust.” And with a forthcoming December, 10 show at Bowery Ballroom with MUNA’s Katie Gavin, Benzvi is set to continue another busy year in style.
“When I heard your music I was like, ‘Oh shit,’” Izzy Spears tells Jack Powers. “I was showing everybody. I was like, ‘This is the gayest shit I’ve ever heard in my life, everyone needs to get on this level.’”
It’s totally fitting, then, that the two budding alt-pop stars collaborate on an equally gay and in-your-face project. In comes “Hey There,” the new single where Spears and Powers let out all their innermost desires.
In the video, Spears’ signature starry-eyed face serves as the backdrop for a sinister scene where three shirtless models in tighty-whities contort their bodies and get wrapped up in silver knives and guns. “Hey there,” Spears growls menacingly. “Where’d you learn to move like that?”
For the past few years, both artists have been making names for themselves in the underground scene with their unapologetic combination of pop, punk and next level aesthetics, so it only made sense for them to come together to show, not tell us, exactly what kind of boys they’re into.
Below, Spears and Powers have a candid chat about embodying personas on stage, Disney Channel original movies and the freedom that coming out of the closet affords you.
Jack Powers: Okay we have our glasses on, we’re in our journalism drag, we’re ready. So I have a question for you Izzy, honey, and I’m gonna jump right into it. I make it very clear in our new song, “Hey There,” about what kind of boys that I like. I would like to know what kind of boys you like?
Izzy Spears: I don’t really have a “type type” right now. I just like nerdy, funny, goofy. I’m into that. I’m not really into cool, you know the drug addict. I’m looking for tech nerds. You know, obviously you need to take care of your body. I don’t need a full on, but you need to take care of it. My body’s my temple type shit. I’m over the fun, I’m trying to get into a partnership situation. I’m not trying to do the, “Let’s get high and party together.” Like no, we’ve done that.
Jack: Period. So let’s leave boys out of this for now and let’s talk about style. You have point-blank the most incredible style out of almost anyone I know. l saw you perform in LA last spring and you were wearing these amazing thigh high fishing boots and I was like, God damn it that is so good. Everything you wear is always on point. Is there anyone that inspires your style or is there anything that gives you inspiration?
Izzy: Definitely just being in such close proximity to a lot of tasteful people. Because I don’t know anything about fashion, really. I don’t know brands like that. I don’t know when fashion week is, I’m always surprised. I think being associated with certain taste makers like Shayne Oliver, Yves Tumor. Even just fucking old TV shit. If you really get into the old Disney Channel movies, like the Disney Channel movies in the ’90s, they used to have the motherfuckers. The selected silhouette, right now: I’m super into a tank top, and obviously I’m working out, but it’s more just cozy, you know? And on stage my wardrobe has been for the past couple years literally all just prop clothes. Like you said, it’s style, it’s not necessarily fashion at all. It’s just like I’m feeling this way today, it’s giving that. I might watch pro wrestling, that’s what made me get the wrestling shoes that I have. Last year, I was re-watching WWE and I noticed the boots would go up to here. I just bought that on eBay type shit. So style is important. Stylizing and creating a world and shit for the project or for the stage is important. I will say though, Shayne Oliver really shaped style in my eyes in general, and then Yves Tumor showed me how to bring it to the stage.
Jack: Does that go with your visuals, too? Because your videos and your cover art and your merch campaigns, they’re always very particular to you. You have a very specific and incredible visual world, it always blows me away. So are there any artists that you’re thinking about recently when it comes to visuals?
Izzy: Not really artists, I never look around for shit. I’ll never look around for influence. I’m always influenced by watching some older shit. Newer art is not as innovative, I feel like. Artists now are kind of spoon-fed what they should look like or what they should have or what they need to look like. So I can’t say what artists now [inspire me]. But I will say what I really like right now is German Expressionism. I’m really into the whole shadow play, with the dark contrast. And I love Gregg Araki. I just watched this DVD by Akira Kurosawa, one of the greatest directors of his time and in general. I just watched a YouTube deep dive on him. lt’s older shit that I really watched to gain inspiration. Artists before our time, each album came with a new storyline, a whole new look. Like a more recent example is Rihanna, with every album. She’s this first, then she got the pixie cut, then she had the red hair. It was all a whole different world, a different embodiment, so that’s where my artistry comes from. Whenever I start to develop an idea, sometimes it’s just even a song, this EP started with “BODYBAG,” and that’s what Damnation is in the first part of the song. Once I started to invite that idea, I started to dive deep into what that could mean on multiple different levels, not only what it means to me. Then I started to create imagery from that. So it’s the whole thing. The imagery always comes first for me, in my head.
With M*A*D, it was an outfit that started the whole thing. It develops from an image or one singular idea, and sometimes I fixate on it so hard that it takes longer to flesh it out, but that’s where the artistry comes from. There’s so much to play with, it’s not just a song. There’s a whole world building. That’s what made artistry and celebrity more interesting before than what it is now. There’s no one currently doing that, I mean not gonna say no one, but no one that was inspiring me to make art like that person back then. When I heard your music I was like, “Oh shit.” I was showing everybody. I was like, “This is the gayest shit I’ve ever heard in my life, everyone needs to get on this level.” Like, Popstar. You know exactly what it is like, so I appreciate you asking [to collab].
Jack: Well, thank you. Do you consider yourself somebody who’s creating a persona for each of these projects or is it just you evolving through your life? Do you think of it as a character you’re playing or just you or both?
Izzy: I definitely see Izzy Spears as, I wouldn’t say a character or something separate from me, but I would definitely say an outlet. Because the imagery of my music and me on stage — my mannerism, my behavior — is a part of me that I used to exercise in my day-to-day life, which is this antagonistic, angry thing. But through expressing it in art and music, it created a division where I could have a release of frustration. The music is about what’s going on for me, you know? So I guess there is a division. It’s not necessarily a persona, but the art, the Izzy Spears project is the development of the duality of those two worlds. That’s why on the EP now, there’s singing, a lot more of that, and getting more into personal feelings. And there’s the same shit that everybody loves that Izzy Spears embodies. But it’s all just a growing process of the duality of those two parts of myself.
Jack: Totally, I can relate to that too.
Izzy: It’s giving Sasha Fierce, Sasha Fierce on stage and then–
Jack: Yeah, to give yourself permission to take it to the furthest extent that you can’t necessarily do in everyday life.
Izzy: Right.
Jack: I love the “Hey There” video. It’s amazing, I can’t stop watching.
Izzy: Honestly, I hate that you’re [not here]. You’re supposed to [be in it]! I wish you were here. I was on tour when they shot it. I did my stuff before. And then Wally, my art director, he’s fucking genius, he was saying, “Maybe you get this big picture of yourself, that’s your presence in the video.” So you being here, you being in it would be kind of overkill. So I was on tour, they shot the video, and the whole time I’m like, “Ugh, I wish Jack was there.” The body language that I wanted in the video just doesn’t exist. But I love it, I wish you were in it, basically.
Jack: Next time, hopefully. But I love Dagger and I love Lucas. I haven’t met Jude yet, but he tore that. What drew you to them to embody the energy you were feeling for it?
Izzy: I reached out to Dagger first. And then the floodgates opened once I talked to Dagger. They’re all in Dagger’s band, so basically the video features Dagger Polyester, the band. And Dagger is such a cool dude, they just embody it. So that’s what drew me because it’s unapologetic as fuck. Lucas and then Dagger were like, “We can bring Jude too.” I asked some other people, but it was a money thing. We’re doing all this shit out of the graces of God. I wanted it to be like five or six people, but I love the different energies that they all represent. I love that they’re three different types of people, three different types of boys, three different archetypes. I love my control in the background.
Jack: Is there a specific symbolism to that or concept that you were working with?
Izzy: Blood, sweat and damnation. It’s like, you pour your blood, sweat and tears into this life, and everything right now in the world feels so doomed. It’s just my metaphor for that, but there’s also another play on it. There’s a story of me in the imagery and getting to this point where I’m like, “Sell my soul.” There’s stars in my eyes, like that’s my goal, that’s all I can see, I want stardom. Damnation is also like, you put all your blood, sweat and tears, and then you reach this goal which is fame and you’re doomed because it’s evil as fuck. So there’s double meanings. Like I said, I fester on these ideas, and then I start to romanticize it.
Jack: This is like therapy. Do you still believe in the American dream in this time when everything feels super uncertain and on thin ice?
Izzy: What a question, I actually think about that all the time. I’m like, should I just fucking learn a trade today? Because this can all go to shit and I might need to build my own home. But I still believe in it. The American dream changes, it’s different for everyone. It looked different for me when I first started than where I’m at now. It looks completely different. So I still think it’s possible, definitely, but it’s giving eat the rich, right now. I’m not gonna lie. It’s giving get these bitches out of here.
Jack: I want to make sure we talk about your live performances because you have such an incredible stage presence, and it’s really striking. When you step on stage, is there a specific goal that you have in terms of how you want to make the audience feel? Personally, I really want to liberate people and get to that point where they just don’t give a fuck, and can do whatever and can feel however they want to feel and really just feel like a free bitch, baby.
Izzy: I think it’s the same message. I think I’m just a little more impatient [laughs]. Like where you are bringing them in to come into your vibe and dance and feel good, I’m like, ‘Wake the fuck up!’ Like… emote emote emote, and feel. When everyone’s just standing looking so stupid, I would literally stop the music and be like, ‘If you’re gonna stand here and make me feel weird as fuck, get the fuck out of here,’ you know what I’m saying? I feel like when I get on stage, it’s just the best moment for me to like… When I was younger, I had a lot of repression with my gayness. Everything was too… I came out and everything then it was like levels. Like this is too gay, I’m not that gay, I’m not this gay. So when I’m on stage, I kind of feel like it’s the first time I truly don’t feel any apprehension at all. I’ll be a full face faggot on stage and I don’t give a fuck. Where you know, I’m way past that in my life, but sometimes it’s still that subtle, weird thing that sets me back from doing anything. From talking to someone I want to talk to, or I’m scared to talk to, or introducing myself to someone. It’s the kind of place where all those things melt. So when I’m on stage, I’m literally just 100% myself. And it’s kind of like, ‘Lets put a nice name on it, put the visualizer in the back.’ It gives me a nice excuse to have a reason behind it. There you go. Sorry, I smoked weed. But ultimately being up there and performing is what makes me feel 100% myself. Even when I’m not on stage, like I’m in the shower, I’m giving it. I’m giving it if I’m home alone, like I’m giving it all, full out. I’ll go full out anywhere, I’m going full out right now, just yapping on. It’s just like whenever I’m put on the spotlight, the spotlight hits, it kind of just comes through. All the gayness, all the faggotry, just comes straight through. I’m like a channel for all the greats, the late greats.
Jack: Absolutely.
Izzy: And you feel that.
Jack: Totally. And in your work and on stage, you have so much confidence and you do whatever you want you don’t give a fuck. Everything you’re saying right now, I can feel it, that sense of freedom. Was there anything specific or any point in your life that gave you that sense of freedom? Was there anything that gave you that permission, or any person or specific event that brought you to that for the first time?
Izzy: I just feel like I’ve dealt with bigger and badder things than the stage, you know? In my life, the way I grew up and all that shit was way harder than a booing crowd, you know what I’m saying? I guess the first thing that came to mind was, when I came out, I came out kind of by mistake. I was 17 and I was on a Xanax bender, and long story short, I fucking wrote my sister a long ass, I copy pasted a long ass paragraph of a message and sent it to my sisters and told them. And the next day I woke up, and on Xanax you don’t remember the goddamn thing, I didn’t remember. I opened my Facebook and they were freaking the fuck out and I was like, ‘Oh shit, I did this.’ And I remember being like okay… I’d already ran away from home, and they knew I be out with friends. I could have been like, ‘Oh my friends did that.’ Because I copied and pasted the message and sent it to all of them so it was perfect. But I sat with that thought, like damn. Because I feel like if I didn’t come out then I would still be in the closet. So I’m just like, do I just let it go right now and just say fuck it? Or do I continue to lie, continue to feel this repression, continue to not be my fully myself? And I just did it. And after that, I had really crazy support from my brother and my mom. I kind of felt like I just did the biggest thing I could ever do, kind of like nothing else is gonna bother me. Because that to me was like the biggest thing, like in my family. So after that it was like, if anybody else has a problem with anything, you can really go fuck yourself. Because I just had to answer to my mother already, so it’s like she… she gave me the seal of approval.
Jack: Absolutely, yeah. That’s the blessing of being a queer person, you kind of have to fry this huge fish in the beginning of life and then afterwards going on stage is kind of a piece of cake.
Izzy: That’s really like, that’s why I respect trans women so much.
Jack: For sure.
Izzy: I respect that community so much because I remember how much mental gymnastics it was just being gay. They’re the strongest people ever because in society norms, society rules… you have to be strong to get through it, you know I’m saying? So anything else, going on stage, being like, ‘Oh I can’t say this.’ Because of what? Like, my mom already said it was okay. So yeah fuck it.
Jack: Yes, totally. You seem to have such a really good community of people around you in LA, like Yves Tumor, and going on tour with him, and Nightfeelings. And so many other amazing artists. How important is that for you? And how does that sort of intertwine with your work and creative process?
Izzy: I feel like community is like everything. I could sit here, and I do write a lot of stuff alone, but I’m just becoming. I’ve been making music for forever, but it changed when there was a community revolved around it. It wasn’t until then that my music started evolving into something more than just scribbles and voice notes, you know? So I feel like it’s important. And you named some people who are instrumental and were instrumental but they’re also people that are just like, I don’t want to say normal people but they’re just people that don’t have such big names. Like in the song “BURN,” my friend, her artist name is Shea Diamond, we’re all just fucking around and at the studio just having a kiki and her brother comes, randomly. I’m not really sure what he does. I only met him that one time, that was some years ago, and he played guitar. We’re just like, ‘Oh play some guitar,’ and we ended up making that song which I’ve had for two years. It’s one of my favorite songs. And he’s so stoked, like, “Whoa, I’ve been playing guitar my whole life, I’ve never put anything out.” You know what I’m saying? So it was just that moment of everybody feeling free enough to just vibe and jam, and the community of it all was right and tight. And it’s always changing. So yeah, I think community is really important because when you make that connection with someone, you can create, like say creating a baby, you know what I’m saying? You can create something with someone and then put it out into the world to get its legs. It’s like a chemistry thing.
Jack: Absolutely, that’s beautiful. I know you’ve been going to the gym a lot and really taking care of yourself and I’m wondering if you think we’re about to see a cultural shift post brat summer that’s like the opposite of getting fucked up every night. No shade to Brat because it’s a fucking brilliant album and era.
Izzy: Yes.
Jack: It really is, I love it. But everything tends to be a reaction to what came right before. Do you think that’s where we’re heading right now? Do you think that’s the vibe?
Izzy: I hope so, shit. Everybody, get your lazy asses up! Nobody wants to fucking work anymore, shit. Like get the fuck up! I’m trying to get everybody to go to the gym. And not because I’m like, ‘I’m so hot, let’s get sexy.’ It just feels so much better to wake up, right? Like wake up at 9 a.m., go to the gym, come home, have breakfast, have a shower, and be ready to go by noon… that sounds fab! Like waking up at fucking 4 p.m. with the sore nose is not… it’s fun, like yeah it’s fab, but we’ve been doing that. I hope it shifts because I was depressed as fuck and then I started working out and now I feel great. I’m not saying that’s the cure to everything but at least you like what you see when you look in the mirror god damn it.
Jack: I love that. Last question, what keeps you going?
Izzy: I don’t fucking know, bitch. No, I mean, I guess because it’s just my fucking dream. And if I stop, if I fall asleep, I’m still gonna dream of the same goddamn thing. There are so many times I’m like, ‘Fuck this.’ Being broke as hell, being fucking tired of having to answer to anyone or do anything. Or having to put up with someone, whatever, it’s still gonna be the same dream. There’s still gonna be stars in the eyes the whole time. Also it’s just like my mama, you know? I want to fucking buy her a house. I want to figure all that out. I feel like while I have the opportunity, while the door’s open, there ain’t no stopping. You know what I mean, I just can’t stop, it’s what I’m working on. Like, stop and do what? I’ll stop when I’m dead, we’re all gonna be chasing something until then.
“I’m the beauty, and you’re the beast,” Ms. Boogie proclaims on stage in front of an entranced audience — but she’s not talking to us. She’s talking to the trade. Under a spotlight at The Shed, one of New York City’s most paramount arts institutions, Rose Rayos, a.k.a. Ms. Boogie, takes center stage. In a one-night-only performance, the Dominican-Colombian diva delivers cyphers, soliloquies and sonnets in The Odyssey, a theatrical reimagining of her debut studio album The Breakdown.
Born in the Dominican Republic, raised in East New York and brought up in the ballroom scene, certain ideals were instilled in Ms. Boogie from perseverance to presentation to pride. Every voyage, every endeavor and every side quest has led to the woman she is today. Now this “Black Butterfly” is ready to share what she’s learned with the world in a premier dramaturgical installation in the heart of Manhattan.
“I felt a great sense of becoming, self-discovery and possibility,” Ms. Boogie tells PAPER as she drives through the streets of Brooklyn. “I’d been in a few different art performances and stage plays, but I had never spearheaded my own. I was never a part of one that revolved around hip-hop.”
Hip-hop artists traditionally plan a series of music video rollouts after dropping an album, but Ms. Boogie is not one for conventions. Instead of following the status quo, this rising rap star opted for an interstellar installation at The Shed. From her 2020 club quarantine banger “Fem Queen” calling out men on the down low while remixing Fivio Foreign’s “Big Drip” beat to the wet, white-hot writing on her sultry single “Dickspline,” she proves that she’s not playing by anyone’s rules. This game is all her own.
“If I could interpret all of my music in this way, I absolutely would,” she says. “I prefer it over a stationary music video or a show at the club. People don’t honor hip hop or rap in these mediums.”
Ms. Boogie goes on to quote her friend, Shirt, a Queens-based conceptual artist and rapper, who asks the question, “Can a rap song have the significance of art?” in a printed work on view at the Cincinnati Art Museum. Ms. Boogie responds with a defiant, “yes.”
In The Odyssey, an exclusive avant-garde performance akin to the pioneering works of FKA twigs and Miles Greenberg, Ms. Boogie deconstructs and expands upon the prose of her album. Through a mixing of mediums, including spoken word, movement, and traditional rap performance, she illustrates the lived realities of a Black trans woman striving to thrive in a world obdurate in striking her down. The journey to producing this show began in December of last year and was met with a few roadblocks. “Unfortunately, it’s very hard to present proof of concept in institutional spaces when you want to bring rap music to life,” she says. “There’s more chances of them leaning toward classical, jazz or other genres. Whether that’s because rap is so Black or because rap is honest, I’m not sure.” No matter the obstacles, Ms. Boogie was never afraid to showcase her vision and go up to bat for it. “It wasn’t daunting, but was it challenging to go up against an institution asking for the resources you deserve or need? Absolutely. That’s also just the experience of a lot of artists. Especially Black artists and certainly Black trans artists.”
At the beginning of the performance, she slinks through the darkness of the black box theatre like a cyborg waking up for the first time. Her augmented voice echoes through the space, giving the audience a taste of what’s to come: “To understand the different variations of human outside of your own experience is to realize that you are not alone” followed by “To break down the walls we have built to protect ourselves is a never-ending voyage.” Her body slinks across the theater’s terrain, circling around three glowing chandeliers on the ground. Ms. Boogie then stands tall, taking center stage and addressing the audience with a newfound fortitude and focus. From there, the beat drops and the showgirl comes out to play.
“I always fantasized about bringing my work to life in this way, but it felt like the opportunity had expired, the project didn’t have the same momentum or I had simply just moved on,” she says. Ms. Boogie began her music career before formally asserting her trans experience to the world. For many trans people in the public eye, this can sometimes lead to being ostracized from spaces they once occupied. For Ms. Boogie, she looks at every juncture of her life as another piece of the journey. “The idea of the window closing is a figment of our imaginations that we create to protect ourselves,” she says. “You created the project which means you also created that window. It never closes unless you want it to. Trust and behold that any opportunity will circle back to you.”
Ms. Boogie took this opportunity to give girls like her a seat at the table. From the soul stylings of South Carolina native Demi Vee to the rambunctious, buoyant and bountiful braggadocio of rapper Ky Ani, fem queens ruled the stage. “I didn’t even realize it until Ky Ani posted on Instagram, ‘Two shows, one night, for fem queens!’ Then I was like, wait a minute, we’re all over this show!” Even behind the scenes Black trans femmes were working behind the scenes like Mo Jamieson, aka Boo Boo, the sound engineer of the production and producer behind The Breakdown. “The feeling of possibility was strong that night. We felt very capable,” she says.
As a classically trained R&B singer, Demi Vee was more than ready to lend her voice to The Odyssey. She began singing in Presbyterian churches in both Florida and North Carolina before moving onto musical theatre school. When Ms. Boogie asked her to join the cast, Demi jumped at the chance: “My mission was to make sure that I made my sister proud. I hope that other people walked away feeling inspired because the entire show was ovah!” Like the three chandeliers sprouting up from the ground (which were all original sculpture pieces by Ms. Boogie), Demi sprang into action. As she walked onstage, the lights went red, highlighting the iridescence of her all-white, body-hugging gown. Her voice floated through the atmosphere of the theatre like a soloist in an empty cathedral as she sang her own original songs “Call My Name” and “Moody.”
“Rose put a fire in the girls that night, performing a whole art piece on a rap album she made about dating and sex work as a Black trans woman,” Vee says. “Her words, her lyrics, her delivery… there’s always something to take away from it. It’s hard to believe it’s her debut project. It gave last dance. My sister said, ‘Imma give it all I got!’ And when I got on that stage, I did the same.”
Ms. Boogie grew up in a pre-transgender tipping point New York City ballroom scene that instilled old school ways of survival. The methodologies she was raised on inspired her performance and her album as a whole. “The idea of transitioning was about breaking down what you once were and then building yourself back up into what you want to be,” she says. “I don’t hear this same verbiage anymore, but in those days, it was about breaking down your muscles and your bones anything having to do with masculinity, to then resurface into your femininity.” While those ideals do not align with Ms. Boogie’s values or even the majority of the trans community today, she recognizes how those extreme notions of conformity and perfected passability still permeate cisgender people’s perceptions. “The Breakdown is the opposite of perfection,” she says. “I wanted to challenge people to think about transitions beyond the physical. I want them to think about what it’s like to transition socially, romantically and even financially.”
A key intention behind The Odyssey was bridging the gap between trans people and cis people. Through scenes onstage, Ms. Boogie channels her inner thespian with moments at the beauty shop, discussions with secretive men and monologues about the struggles of being a Black woman. Many of these moments could have been performed by a cis woman, but as a whole, they make up the trans experience. “As much as we have in common, there’s always that added layer of transness,” she says. In a culture war-torn country full of far-right commentators spewing anti-trans sentiment on the news and across social media platforms, cis people are more aware of trans people now than ever before. However, their education seldom ever comes from the horse’s mouth. “Everybody’s talking about, ‘Well, I can do this and you can do that’ or ‘Your existence impacts my existence in this way.’ I rarely hear the ways in which cis women and trans women are affected by men collectively,” she says. “I don’t see dialogue between a cis female sex worker and a trans female sex worker. We both selling something. It might be on different aisles, but we’re in the same department store.” Ms. Boogie aims to heal tension between both communities by creating a space for all to commune rather than compete.
During the second act, Ms. Boogie knocks a man into his seat. He wears a demon mask that she sculpted in the Dominican Republic three years ago that conceals his face but reveals his true monstrous nature. “I’m the beauty and you’re the beast,” she says, reminding him of his place and defying what many women, trans or cis, are told to believe. Across the audience, there’s audible gasps and mournful tears shed. Ms. Boogie is building herself and everyone up along with her: “I’m the prize.”
“Hold up the party/ Bring out the cameras/ This feeling extra,” Rhea Raj warns at the start of her track, “LIGHTS OUT.” Nostalgic Y2K visuals and a healthy dose of modern pop bring those sentiments to life in Raj’s latest visual, premiering today on PAPER, drawing viewers into a vibrant dance party, captured through a vintage, VHS lens.
With choreography by KARA and JAEDEN GOMEZ, and a custom two-piece designed by Yung Reaper, Raj complements her look with a traditional bindi and shoes by AAPI-founded brand, Azalea Wang.
“‘LIGHTS OUT’ is the house party music video of my dreams,” Raj tells PAPER. “The song is about walking into a room and all the noise around you fades out. You’re in the moment living your best life, looking and feeling gorgeous. I cast all my besties to come party with me and we had the best night dancing to the song together.”
For Raj, it was also important not just to bring the party, but to highlight her culture, as well. “Yung Reaper took one of my traditional Indian sarees and reimagined it into this fierce fit,” Raj says. “I paired it with bejeweled boots from Azalea Wang, my signature Om necklace and crystal bindi. The whole look was a meaningful blend of my cultural influences and is already one of my favorites.”
This is just another recent evolution for the artist, producer and dancer, who grew up learning Indian dance while looking up to mammoth stars like Britney Spears and Janet Jackson. Raj just dropped her debut album HUNTERback in May (watch “Messy”) and, more recently, HUNTER (Tamed Edition)with acoustic renditions of the tracks.
If you’ve been listening to the radio or watching the charts, you may think Black artists are having a “moment” in country music. Shaboozey is breaking records and sitting pretty on the top of the charts with his hit song “Tipsy.” Beyoncé — one of the most famous people on Earth, not to mention in popular music — released Cowboy Carter this year, a dive into country that spun out as many hits as think pieces.
“It has been a roller coaster of a year,” Holly G., founder of Black Opry tells PAPER, calling in from her home in Nashville, Tennessee. Holly founded the touring platform (and now label) during the pandemic, initially as a way to connect other country music fans who felt alone in the genre. When I ask her thoughts on the current state of country music, especially in whether the shine of stars like Beyoncé is helping the cause of Black artists in the genre, the answer is a bit complicated. “There are so many eyes turning towards country music and the Black artists participating in country music. But it hasn’t had the impact you’d think it would have. Also, with larger celebrities in the space, it makes it harder for emerging artists to move forward in a way that we’ve been working towards for a long time.”
At its core, country doesn’t operate like other genres, Holly explains. “If the same context would happen in any other genre, the attention would help,” she says. “For example, with Beyoncé got on the radio… it’s been so hard for Black women to get on the radio in Country. When [researcher, PHD, Jada Watson] did her report in 2020, it was .09% of spins for Black women on Country radio. So, when you have someone who is a global celebrity, they don’t have a choice but to play that Black woman. But the follow-up to that is: ‘Now we’ve done it, leave us alone.’ For them, it wasn’t an open door. It was an opportunity to placate the people who’ve been trying to get through that door.”
In her experience, the floodgates haven’t been opened for more Black women on Country radio; in fact, “there are less opportunities for artist of color because whatever one Black woman they would’ve played for the year, that spot has gone to her and they feel like there’s no more work to do.” To be clear, Holly’s strongly believes all artists should be able to make “any music they want to,” but that there’s an onus on the music industry to change the structural issues within the genre.
“At my core, I don’t believe the mainstream industry is going to shift in a way to provide the type of equity we’re looking for in a reasonable amount of time,” Holly says. It’s a massive undertaking that no one person could take on by themselves. Still, Black Opry is doing its part to push the needle forward. “I try to spend an equal amount of time advocating for change in the industry, even when it feels futile. time in the industry advocating for change,” she says. “But I think the more viable solution is for us to build things that don’t depend on that system.”
Black Opry hopes to build some of those equitable systems, structures and ways of making money that have historically been unavailable to Black artist. “We’re no seeing that even a global celebrity [like Beyoncé] there are certain doors that she can’t break down in this industry. If she can’t do it… I’m not delusional,” Holly laughs. “The more effective path to success for these artists is for everyone to come together and create structures that can help these artists flourish outside of that.”
Black Opry came about naturally but also accidentally for Holly. During the pandemic, she was looking for like-minded individuals to share in the genre she knew and loved. “I was just a really big fan of Country music since I was little, it was the only thing I wanted to listen to,” she says. “Summer of 2020, when we were all locked inside and trying to figure out what the world meant, that was when I finally got to a point where I was like, ‘I can’t ignore the fact any longer that this music I love, this space that I’m really interested in, doesn’t seem to want me to be a part of it. So, it was initially about finding community. I was hoping I wasn’t the only Black person who was interested in Country music, so I launched Black Opry as a blog to find people who had more in common with me.”
Holly was a flight attendant at the time with no connection to the music industry. So, with just a desire to connect, the pieces started falling into place organically: “Every good thing that’s happened has come to me. I’ve had to make decisions as things go because I didn’t have the foresight to look this far ahead.” In April 2021, Black Opry launched as a blog. Then, through chats online, it went from URL to IRL, as they all decided to meet in Nashville for that year’s Americana fest. They got an Airbnb with 30 or 40 people – thus, the Black Opry house was born.
“You didn’t have to be Black to come, but you had to respect Black people to show up,” Holly says. People from all sides of the industry did show up, with different identities and backgrounds. “At one point someone showed up and they said, ‘I know I’m not Black but I’m trans and I don’t have a safe place to stay, can I stay with you guys.’ Moments like that are some important to me.”
They passed around guitars; moments and clips from the house started to go viral; NPRwrote up a story on the house. One of the artists who was at the house had a show in the coming weeks and when the persons he was meant to play with canceled, she knew exactly who to contact. “She was like, ‘Do you think we can do on stage what we did at the house?’” Holly recalls. She called up some of the other artists who’d been there and everybody was game. They went to New York and did their first show. “When we announced that show so a many other venues reached out that I had to get a booking agent,” Holly says. “I didn’t know how to book shows. I had zero knowledge or frame of reference.” Like that, they started booking the tour and they’ve been “going ever since.”
Next month, that tour stops in Greenville, South Carolina, for the annual Fall For Greenville Festival. The festival was slated for October, but following Hurricane Helene’s destruction of North and South Carolina, the beer, wine and music festival has been moved to November 8 to 10. “On this show we’ve got Justin Reid and Nikki Morgan, who are actually siblings. I love being able to get them on tour together. We’ve also got Grace Givertz and Tylar Bryant. They were both in our Black Opry residency,” Holly says, nodding to the residency they run with station WXPN that supports the creative development of Black performers in Americana.
“One of the things that special about how we do our shows is that we do writers rounds. They’re more popular in Nashville than the rest of the country,” she says. “We have everybody on stage at the same time and they take turns singing their songs. You get to really see the camaraderie. You get to see this really cool interaction and community that you don’t get to see. Previously the thought in Country was that there could only be one successful queer person, one successful Black person, so we just take that and pull them all on stage like, here’s your proof. Also, everyone sounds so different. It’s also nice to see the diversity in the Black community.”
It’s impossible to be across all the new music out each Friday. Luckily, PAPER is here to help you out: each week, we round up 10 of our favorite new songs from artists — emerging and established — to soundtrack your life. From the surreal to the sublime, these songs cover every corner of the music world. The only criteria: they all have to absolutely rip.
Subscribe to our Sound Off Spotify playlist here and check out this week’s tracks, below.
Faye Webster – “After the First Kiss”
Hints of bossa nova on this earthy, gorgeous new Faye Webster song. Are we ready to bestow queer anthem status? Are we ready to say, “She got me calling’ her ‘wife’/ After the first kiss” is one of the best opening lines of the year?
Kuntfetish, Chase Icon – “Botched”
Kuntfetish and Chase Icon link up on this abrasive and deeply addictive rap track, whose beat sounds like a classic Neptunes joint that’s been yassified.
Babymorocco – “Babestation”
Roided-up French touch from London’s king of hypersexual throwback pop, “Babestation” is stupid and perverted in all the best ways.
Bree Runway – “2BADGYALZ”
London rapper Bree Runway slows things down on this minimal-maximal track, which dives into low frequencies to create a foreboding, enticing atmosphere.
Allie X – “Bon Voyage”
Allie X skirts the edges of new wave and no wave on this gothy new pop track.
LISA – “Moonlit Floor”
The rumors are true: LISA has “Espresso”-fied Sixpence None The Richer’s “Kiss Me.” It’s a surprising interpolation, but I can totally imagine listening to this 100-10000 times over the next six months.
Ela Minus – “BROKEN”
Elu Minus breaks into the world of pure pop on “Broken,” which builds to a dazzling, expansive finale.
Caribou – “Climbing”
Speaking of dazzling: My favourite song from Caribou’s new album Honey is pure glitter, constantly swishing and refracting like a sparkly dress. (Absolutely killed when I saw him drop it in a club earlier this year!)
Leon Bridges – “Panther City”
The highlight of Leon Bridges’ raw new album Leon drops you right in the middle of Fort Worth, with his immersive lyrics coming across raw and nostalgic.
yunè pinku – “Midnight Oil”
A new track from yuné pinku’s new Scarlet Lamb EP goes deep, perfectly capturing a middle-of-the-night feeling of hyperactivity and emotion.
Hours before the Lacoste show at Paris Fashion Week, fans already began lining up outside the venue entrance in hopes of seeing the front row slowly arrive and snapping pics from behind the security gates. Among the VIPS (Venus Williams, Alton Mason, Wisdom Kaye) was HEYOON, the South Korean pop artist and Now United alum, who was experiencing her first-ever Fashion Week (and celebrating her birthday on the same day).
HEYOON wore head-to-toe Spring 2025 Lacoste: a delicate mint green set, with the iconic crocodile embroidered across the front. Her leather bag featured the same illustration, modeled after a vintage Lacoste shopping bag sourced and reimagined by Lacoste Creative Director Pelagia Kolotouros. Finished with dangling logo earrings, cream leather boots and HEYOON’s soft pink hair gently framing her face, the international performer looked perfect for the occasion.
Below, HEYOON brings PAPER through the day, from getting ready at her hotel to previewing Lacoste’s new collection backstage.
Starting the day off right celebrating my birthday.
Obsessed with this robe!
Getting ready for the show.
Look for the day from Lacoste Spring 2025.
Stepping out for the show!
My first fashion week, so fun.
Got to meet the CD of Lacoste, Pelagia! Such an inspiration.
With the amazing Venus Williams.
With beautiful Irene.
Sun hitting just right.
This look makes me feel like I belong in an art museum.
Thank you again Lacoste for making my birthday so special!
Dawn Richard has always been the quiet one. “I live through the art, and then I’m gone,” she tells PAPER. Even when the New Orleans native was in Danity Kane, she maintained this ninja-like quality: as the only alto voice in the group, Richard quite literally served as the melodic backbone.
Looking back, it’s clear that there was always something special about Richard. When Danity Kane was formed in 2005, she was 18 years old, and Hurricane Katrina had just ravaged her hometown and displaced her entire family. You can feel that pain when her voice pops up in that early Danity Kane music, a soulful-sad-sexy juxtaposition to the soprano voices that reigned supreme in the rest of the group and early-2000s female pop at large. Richard was the heart of Danity Kane; the name of the group actually came from an anime character Richard had come up with in high school (Diddy originally wanted to name the group Queen 5).
Her chameleon-like tastemaker essence shone through even then. Ultimately, Diddy disbanded Danity Kane but kept Richard and formed Diddy – Dirty Money in 2009. When that trio disbanded in 2012, Richard embarked on her own as a fully independent solo artist, exploring sound and experimental art in a way that felt authentically her — see New Breedor Second Line, or even her work doing animation for Adult Swim.
Then, she met Spencer Zahn. The multi-instrumentalist and composer first collaborated with Richard on 2022’s Pigments, a revelatory moment for both artists that became critically acclaimed. Now, they’ve done it again with their new record, Quiet in a World Full of Noise. Out October 4, the album encapsulates a healing process for both musicians in many ways. In hindsight, the name “Dirty Money” ended up holding some ironic truth. With the recent allegations coming out about Diddy and Richard coming forward about the rapper’s decades-long abuse toward her, Quiet feels like an important and cathartic moment for her.
Whereas Pigments was musically ambient in a more jazzy, percussive way, Quiet takes after its name by being more melancholy. With a simplistic piano as the core for many of its tracks, Richard goes full diary mode, laying bare her trauma over love, family and loss within 38 minutes. She tells PAPER of the heartache that she felt when Zahn came to her with these tracks after her parents were both struggling with cancer and her cousin was brutally murdered. Holed up in New Orleans with no outlet for her feelings, this album became therapy for Richard, a healing process in every sense of the word.
Below, Richard gets candid about her life, the making of Quiet in a World Full of Noise and why there’s always hope in the end.
What space were you in when Spencer came to you with these tracks?
I knew I wanted to continue on the saga of electro revival and what King Creole was. I was very much in my electronic headspace figuring out how I wanted the story to unfold. I was working with animation and visuals and how I wanted to continue that story. But life was life-ing as well. So I was doing a lot of stuff with home. My cousin was murdered. There were just a lot of severe issues, just like how all of this is happening right now, there was a lot of chaos within the creation [of this record]. Me and Spencer had done Pigments during COVID. He was in New York, and I was in New Orleans. I got stuck in New Orleans, and my mom had had a hip replacement, so I was with her in that process while I was recording Pigments. So we were very detached, but he and I knew we were onto something because we had done “Cyanotype,” which was the first record we had done together. That was just a single song. That was one of my favorite records that I had done.
I knew I wanted to get into composition. I knew I wanted to get into scoring, but I didn’t necessarily know if that would be my trajectory right now. I thought that’d be something that would come later, when I had been done with a lot of the dancing and the touring on the electronic side of things. The more I got into my animation and film side of things in the next five or six years, I was going to really look into scoring. But for whatever reason, the universe put Spencer into my life through Kimbra. That’s how I met him. He played piano for my show as I opened up for Kimbra. When we were going on tour together, we developed a very good friendship, and “Cyanotype” was so profound for me that I was like, I think we should work together again. COVID happened, and he had all these projects. He was like, ‘Let’s see if we can build something.’ That became Pigments, and it was beautifully organic in the sense that I didn’t think it would be an album. It was just healing. I was alone in New Orleans. This music was beautiful, and it turned out to be a body of work that I could turn into a film that I did, a dance film that I did in collaboration with NOCCA in New Orleans. I told this contemporary story of New Orleans in a really great way. We had no clue the reception would be so acclaimed. We had no clue that it would be my highest critically acclaimed album. And it showed a new light to where I was already going. I couldn’t turn away from it, because I was proud of it. I saw a new world for myself that I knew I could create, but not so soon. And I am never scared. I just put the electro revival on hold and started on this journey. I’m never afraid to do those things. I know most labels would be like, ‘No, stay on brand.’ But I never was that, never cared for that. I went where I felt like it was good to go.
The same thing happened with Quiet. Life was so aggressive that, as Spencer sent me these records again, we weren’t looking for an album. He said, “I have this body of work.” He sent me a 17 minute piece of work and said, “These are sounds I’m working with. What do you think?” I sent him back all of it written. And it was everything, the honesty of it, it was brutal. And as I got out of it, Spencer was like, “Dawn, I think we’ve got another one.” He was so taken aback by the honesty that he was like, “Are you sure you want to? You know this is really vulnerable.” I didn’t even know if I wanted the world to see me this way. I mean, I’ve always told my story lyrically. I think if anybody listened to all my albums, they’d hear the trauma. But it’s always metaphorical. It’s never this honest. So I had to make a choice. I thought, Who would I be if I didn’t release it? So that’s what became of it. And now here we are again with a project that I didn’t think I would do this soon, but quite possibly could be the best writing I’ve ever done.
If there was one word to describe this record, I think it would be “healing.” Pigments was more vibrant and colorful. That record almost sounded like you were climbing up a mountain, whereas Quiet sounds like you’re falling down a mountain.
Yeah.
I know you can’t talk about everything going on right now, but the album does feel like a sort of release. In “Breath Out,” you end by singing, “It’s curtain call/ You can breathe out/ You made it out.” And your voice shines on this record in a way that it’s never been depicted before. How do you think your relationship with your voice has changed through the years as an independent artist, but especially making this record?
Great question, and I’m glad that you find it healing. The way the album is named is exactly what it sounds like. It is exactly that: the quiet. But this one was interesting for me because my vocals have always been an instrument. I’ve always tried to use it in many different ways. Some people don’t always get it because people like to peg me as an alternative R&B artist. And so R&B passionate people tend to be like, “Why do you do so much on your vocal? I want to hear the runs.” And I did that. That was a part of my early life with Danity Kane and Dirty Money. I did that. I was singing balls to the wall there, right? Then on a lot of my electronic projects, I’d love to use my vocals as instruments where there are counter melodies, and sometimes I’ve got auto tune and vocal processors on it, because I want those things to be that for the story. And I enjoy that. So I never really cared if people felt like there was too much going on. That was a part of the story of my music. When you listen to people like SOPHIE or Bjork or Twigs or Grimes, these artists who play with that, that’s the part of the oil, right? Artists that utilize their voices in really interesting ways. I am a part of that world.
This album doesn’t sit like that. We do not use any processing. I don’t do a lot of runs. It isn’t about how many runs or how soulful I could be. This was truly led by lyrics. In a lot of cases, it was more difficult to hold back and that was the choice. There will be nothing on this vocal. This is not about showing people how well I can sing. This is what pain can be, and it’s almost uncomfortable to be this honest. So what does that sound like when you are so raw that you can’t think about the delivery? You’re thinking about the story, and that’s what this is. “The Dancer” is about as vocal as I get, where it comes to a moment of runs and technical choices, of the way in which I approach the record more soulfully. But even in that song, there’s a lot of holding back. And that’s the truth, because no one wants to be voicefully telling their trauma, right? There is a fear in the way in which you choose to say the truths and hold mirrors to your ghosts. That’s just what came out. And Spencer had to damn near beg me to leave it as such, because I was like, “Well, maybe if we put …”’He was like, “No, leave it.” And it was very hard for me to hear myself in that way, but I am proud that I did because that is the point of this record. It’s not for the aficionados. It is genuinely a songwriter’s album where you are literally cracking yourself open and trying to heal from that crack. And that’s the vocal progression. To me, I’m proud of that, because that’s the hardest thing you could ever do as a vocalist, is to choose to simplify.
That’s what it sounds like on this album — that your voice is literally almost on the verge of tears at points. But I feel like your voice has always had that quality, even in Danity Kane. There was a trauma or a sadness in your voice that contrasted with the rest of the group. Would you say your voice has always had this kind of pain in it even when you were singing more upbeat pop songs?
I don’t think it’s pain. I think it’s my tone. It’s a tonality. I think my tone is just very different, and it has this alto/tenor approach. But I also am very passionate about the approach of the records. The story is a part of the tone. And I think because pop is bright and you lean toward soprano tones, brighter tones, major tones, mine is minor and dissonant or heavy sometimes. I also believe that because Andrea was so bright in her tonality and mine was so dark, it became the basis of our sound for Danity Kane, which was her taking the top melody and me taking the octave down. That would become the standard for us as a group. We had a format as Danity Kane, of how we would go in and record. Andrea and I would always be on the melody. And I think people got so used to it, because it was so different, that became the sound of Danity Kane. Not to say I was it, but I’m saying we understood our tones, and my tone just happened to work well in that darkness against Drea’s brightness. Which, to me, made us unique within pop culture, right? Because we became a girl group that had a very different sound than that brightness that pop culture would expect within a girl group.
I mean, I would say that you were the voice of Danity Kane.
I would not say that because I don’t want anyone murdering me in a corner or a closet. I would say all five of us were, but I do understand why people would feel that because my tone was so different and I think it added something. I do agree that it was an accessory that added something different to the dynamic of what you think of when you think of pop music. And it changed the direction of what our music became. I think us understanding the use of that created an interesting sound for Danity Kane. I appreciate you saying that it was, and I’m grateful that people think highly of my voice in that way. But I will always give credit to all five of us that we understood the dynamic of what that was. I do agree that my tone stood out because it was an alto tenor living as a lead in a pop group where sopranos thrived during that era. If you think about Beyoncé or the Spice Girls or Dream, all of those. The soprano rang supreme. Christina, like, all those were sopranos.
I feel like this record is still pop in a way. The music is ambient, but even in the song “Diet,” the lyrics utilize these sorts of pop-esque motifs and symbols. It’s like these lyrics that could be in a Top 40 radio song, but they’re set to this very dark ambient music. And again, it’s that contrast that I think makes it so different.
You nail it. And that’s one thing that I feel like I speak about a lot, even being in Danity Kane as a Black woman. I don’t want to go to color because I think we need to get out of it. But I do think when I was in Danity Kane as a writer, when I wrote for the girls, we were a predominantly mixed girl group, right? Now when I write the same records, but when it isn’t a girl group and it’s just a Black woman singing it, it isn’t pop anymore. These melodies aren’t seen as pop when they are, even if they’re against these things. So I always have a fun time showing the possibilities of that, which you just said. The juxtaposition of that. Juxtaposition is what makes music fun. I want to show the flexibility in that. That is important to me. So the satirical part of “Diets” also shows that in your trauma, sometimes you have to laugh to keep from crying, right? And pop, to me, does that well, where sometimes these issues are real, but the satire puts some relatability into it. Not taking it so seriously that you lose yourself in the process.
Is there a Danity Kane song you go back to that you’re particularly proud of? And then from this record, is there a song or specific lyric that you’re like, “Damn, I wrote that.”
For DK, the interludes have been a thing for me since the beginning. I’ve been very purposeful about that. Danity Kane is known for the interludes. I’m very proud of the interludes that I’ve written for Danity Kane, because they are these records that people wish were longer and there were more of. It almost makes them better than the songs because of it. “Flashback” was one of those records, as well as “Secret Place.” And then also a record called “Lights Out” that I did on Welcome to the Dollhouse because of the choice of counter melodies and the way in which we used the vocals. Each girl intertwined their voice. No girl ever sang more than two lyrics at a time, so it was constantly interchanging. So it showed the power again of literally using each girl’s voice as an instrument to the point where every girl was the lead, to the point where we sounded like one person. I’m very proud of that because that included the entire group in a way that I felt like showed the power of what we could be as a unit.
And then I’d have to say, I’m really, really proud of “Diets.” Yeah, it’s such a good song. That and “Traditions” off this album, I think might be some of my best melodic and choice of writing that I’ve ever done. “Traditions” speaks to my culture and my family, but the melody is timeless to me, and “Diets” to me is just clever. It’s so clever and so relatable to everybody’s journey. But then the music is so not that that it is. It makes for such an interesting record, and it is also very short, which means it’s a tease that I think leaves people wanting more. When I think about where I want to go as a musician and how I want to make music that is classic and timeless, these records, to me, will fit in that. They will last 20 years from now.
You talked about dealing with a lot of hard family stuff during the making of this record, and I saw you say that you had to do a lot of healing on your own. Your family didn’t have the most open view of therapy and stuff like that. How has New Orleans and your home life played a part in this release?
New Orleans is in everything that I do because I’m so rooted in the culture of it. My parents are home now, and I come there often. New Breed was an homage to my father. I sampled a lot of his music in that project. Second Line was a lot of my mother and my relationship with her. Quiet is the entire family. Where musically and artistically, my family led the narrations of my albums, life led the narration of this one in the sense that the traditions of New Orleans are heavy because I’m home a lot. My father was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. My mom just got diagnosed with breast cancer, so I’m now with her. Like I said, my cousin was murdered. Shot seven times. And I had to watch my aunt bury an only child. I only have one aunt, that’s it. So that was my only first cousin. We were very close. That was extremely difficult, and New Orleans played the backdrop of that in many ways. I wanted to tell the evolution of the bright as well as the realities of what goes on — the crime that happens in New Orleans, the music, the highlights, but also how family has to come together through loss. All of that is a part of it, which is why “Traditions” talks about these things that carry on through our families that others may look at and not understand. There are things that to us make sense but other people may see it as “superstitious.”
With the deaths in my family and when we needed to have these moments, they carry on as traditions. So a lot of the influence of New Orleans and the things that have happened have been the storylines of my life, right? New Breed was very much again, a musical. I had just gotten home. I had just got back with the Indians, and so that brightness and that experience was within New Breed. For Second Line, I had been home for a while. My mom was very much present. I was trying to introduce electronic culture into New Orleans, so it was very progressive and very much like a nuance to dance culture within that space and how New Orleans lifted that. Pigments was about the contemporary choices, how I grew up in dance and movement, and how NOCCA and these contemporary arts were influences that helped me show the dynamic of what New Orleans was, right?
And now here we are with Quiet, where New Orleans became the backdrop for… It’s the basis of my trauma. Let’s be real, you know? My mom grew up Catholic. They believe God is better than a therapist. When the root of your trauma has been carried for so long, you recognize as you get older that you haven’t necessarily let go of those things. So I’ve had to be strategic about how I go through my trauma because my parents don’t understand. And I’ve also had to watch them go through their trauma based off their illnesses and their sickness. Watch my aunt go through her trauma of losing her child, and all those things created for an honesty within the backdrop of New Orleans. I’m consistent in New Orleans being the backdrop of that. So you’ll get those hints of the cultures still very much present in all of my albums, and it’s in this one as well. When we talk about, like you said, how I went through the therapy, a lot of times I’d have to secretly go through therapy in that way. Or sometimes, here’s the thing, I couldn’t afford therapy like that. Like what I necessarily needed, I didn’t have the pleasure of actually getting. So a lot of times, music has become the therapist for me. That’s a whole other conversation where the cards I got dealt in this industry weren’t pleasant. And I’ve spoken about that, I’ve been very open about that in my music, and every time we’ve talked, I put that in the lyrics. So therapy for me has had to be this, and I will say to you, the music I’ve made with Spencer has been some of the best therapy and healing I’ve ever had.
So you live in New Orleans full-time?
Between here and LA. So I have a space in LA that I rent out, but because of the reality of my situation with my family, I’ve had to be home a lot.
As you get older, do you feel yourself becoming the caretaker of your parents?
Oof! Understatement.
They say that one sibling always takes the brunt of the emotional labor in that way. I have one older brother, but I find as I’m getting older, I can feel that role will probably be mine.
You just named it. I have an older brother, but he has a wife and three children, so he can’t. And I am the baby, but it’s pretty much all on my shoulders, and it’s heavy.
Yeah, it’s kind of a mind-fuck.
Yeah, man. It’s so heavy. And on top of all the other things, it’s heavy, which is why this album is needed on so many levels. I really believe this, and the record is the truth. I’ve always been a private person. I’ve always been a recluse in that sense, which is why all of this is really fucking a lot for me on many levels, because if you know me, you know I live through the art, and then I’m gone. I’m not on red carpets. I don’t have a reputation to be something that is not who I am. And so the reality is that I would love to just be the quiet in a lot of situations. The silence is more for me than anything. I didn’t plan for this, but I knew I felt this. And at this moment, this album could not be more honest to where I feel I want to be in my life right now. Based off of all the shit, I really just want to be the quiet.
Do you think your parents are gonna listen to this album? Like, do they bump your music?
Oh, my God. My parents are my biggest fans of all time, but they have not heard this album, okay? I’ve purposely not [shown them]. They’re hearing it as it comes out. My aunt has not heard “Life in Numbers.” No one has heard “Life in Numbers.” I am deathly afraid of her hearing it. For “Life in Numbers,” I did not write that down. The record played, and I was really going through it. [My cousin] Cisco died last year on January 1. He died on New Year’s Day. His birthday was February 1, which means he died a month before his 30th birthday. So when I got this music, it only had been three months in. It was fresh. And I just went in. I listed all the things, and I felt like life was like those Color By Numbers books and it was beating me up. It was just 10 numbers, and I just described what it felt like. And, yeah, no one’s heard that yet.
Well thank you so much for talking to me.
Thank you. I want to say one thing. I hope that, though this felt heavy, that in the end, it felt hopeful, which is why we ended with “Try.” I don’t ever want my albums to feel like you can’t get out of it. So whatever you’re going through, I hope that it does heal you. Even though it is falling, that means you’ll get back up, right?
