State Champ Radio Cover Story
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“Am I the first person to feel strange calling you ‘weird’?” John Mayer — bespectacled, grinning goofily, very much nerding out — is sitting across from “Weird Al” Yankovic, interviewing the Hawaiian shirt-clad parody music king, who is sitting across from him for his SiriusXM show, How’s Life With John Mayer. “You can call me […]
TikTok is a time machine. Hearing his songs on the app, Khalid finds himself in an earlier era.
Last February, the Billboard Hot 100-topping R&B and pop artist noticed one of his early hits was resurfacing. “Location” — which peaked at No. 16 in 2017 — was connecting with listeners all over again, who were singing along to the yearning lyrics about love in the digital age with a fresh perspective.
“It’s a whole new society, a whole new age of young adults who are experiencing this song,” Khalid says. “I lived it, and I performed it, but to see people who are now the age I was then listening to that song, it’s surreal, funny and nostalgic. It makes me live vicariously through that experience. I’m like, wow, there’s a reason why it resonates with them: because that was real.”
When he first wrote the song, Khalid was a teenager himself. A 17-year-old living in El Paso, Texas, he uploaded the track to SoundCloud without ever considering the impact the now-diamond-certified song might one day have on young lovelorn listeners a decade later.
Trending on Billboard
“Turning 27 this year came with a lot of reflection on life,” he says. “I started to look back at where I was when I was 17. To be able to be in my career for as long as I have, to still have an impact, even to see things going viral on TikTok — I feel like that version of me 10 years ago would be so proud and so happy. And if you had told him all of [what would happen in the next 10 years]?” he says with a chuckle. “He wouldn’t have had a clue.”
Now fully cemented as an in-demand collaborator, global arena artist and reliably charting hit-maker, Khalid is ready to rediscover the innocent version of himself that he was before he found success.
He wants to be the most open and honest version of himself — not necessarily the serious and emotional version Khalid spent years of his life pouring into 2024’s Sincere, but one that is able to relax because he has fully embraced his own identity.
“Not just my moody side, but the fun side,” he says. “The flirty side.”
Though Sincere was a deeply personal album, there was one part of himself Khalid hadn’t quite revealed yet.
In November 2024, Khalid was outed by an ex-boyfriend. Though it’s not how he wanted to share that part of his identity with his fans, with a simple rainbow emoji he confirmed that he is gay and “not ashamed of [his] sexuality.’”
He was never hiding anything, he says, just protecting that part of his privacy. Stepping back onstage and seeing the reaction from his fans reaffirmed his open and honest approach to music.
“I had a moment where I walked out and I looked into the crowd, and I’m singing these songs that — I was obviously gay when I wrote them, but the world may not have known,” he recounts. “Everybody is singing them the same way they were before I was outed! So [that shows me] none of my fans care about my sexual preferences. I think they care about our mutual respect for music.”
Blue Marble shirt, Bonnie & Clyde glasses.
Joelle Grace Taylor
He realized he didn’t have to keep finding ways to protect his privacy. It was a liberating experience, he says, seeing that very little had changed.
“Finding that freedom comes from knowing I can just be myself and still be embraced and appreciated,” he says. “That doesn’t change because the world finds out I’m gay. Because I don’t change because the world finds out I’m gay.”
Though artists express themselves through their music, the songs live their own lives. Once they’re out in the world, fans can project their own feelings and experiences onto them. In some ways, the music belongs to the listener as much as the artist.
After he came out, a fan pointed out that his 2022 song “Satellite” was already “an LGBTQ anthem.” In addition, “Better” has been used as a first dance at multiple weddings, and the 2017 song “Young Dumb & Broke” has become a staple at graduations. As listeners find meaning in the music, it takes on its own dimensions.
“When you’re an artist, you carry a responsibility,” Khalid says. “People will live to your music, people will die to your music, people will give birth, people will be reborn. There’s so much emotion involved in the exchange of music from artists to listeners.”
He uses “Young Dumb & Broke” as an example. The song’s universal experience of the feeling of invincibility of life in your teenage years has persisted from one generation to the next, which is something he would not have predicted.
“ ‘Young Dumb & Broke’ lasting as long as it has now would have never been anything I imagined, because when I made that song, I was so presently focused on being young, dumb and broke,” he says. “When I was singing that song at 19, I probably would have told you that I couldn’t wait to stop singing that song. Now, I love it.”
Khalid says he wants to inspire young Black men to be comfortable being open about their sexuality, but he doesn’t see the music as appealing to any specific kind of listener because of the identity of the person making it.
“Music is subjective,” he says. “If you place yourself in an experience, we can relate to people all across the board. It doesn’t matter if you’re gay, it doesn’t matter if you’re straight. We all have feelings and we all have emotions.”
Khalid is a major star of the streaming era. He has multiple songs in Spotify’s Billions Club (tracks with 1 billion streams), including “Location,” “Young Dumb & Broke” and “Lovely,” his collaboration with Billie Eilish. At his 2019 streaming peak, he spent some time as the most popular artist on the platform.
When he first started, though, those platforms were barely on his radar. Instead, he uploaded his first songs to SoundCloud, the streaming site where users once shared their own music and mixtapes — a popular platform for new musicians. There was very little thought to strategy or rollout.
“Naturally, that led to other apps like YouTube, Spotify, Apple Music and so on. But that’s where it all started,” he recalls. “I remember being on the phone with a friend, like, ‘I’m about to upload my song to the internet.’ It felt so carefree back then — just making songs with my friends and throwing them online. Nobody could have imagined what streaming would become today.”
Though he couldn’t have predicted it, Khalid was uniquely positioned for the streaming era. He’s often categorized as an R&B singer, but he has a genre fluidity that has landed him on a diverse number of Billboard charts: Adult Contemporary, Latin, Rock & Alternative, Rap, Dance. He has a song for every playlist.
As a child, Khalid’s parents were in the Army and he often found himself moving around. He spent six years living in Germany when he was young, then spent some of his formative teen years from eighth grade until just before his senior year in upstate New York, just 20 minutes from the Canadian border.
“Being a military kid, I was like a sponge, just soaking in all the cultures around me,” he recounts. “When I was in northern New York, I got introduced to American folk music, which became a big part of my foundation as an artist and really shaped my songwriting. Then living in Germany exposed me to pop music from a different perspective. And coming from the South, R&B is definitely at my core. So all these different shades of music come together to make who I am.”
PDF top, pants and shoes; Gentle Monster glasses, Magdelena necklace, Rolex watch.
Joelle Grace Taylor
He’d moved to El Paso by the time he released his breakout 2017 debut album, American Teen, but it was inspired by his experiences growing up both there and at Fort Drum, just outside of Watertown, N.Y. Like so many other teenagers growing up outside of a major city, he spent a lot of time bored or partying — and dabbling in music.
“A lot of the stories that ended up inspiring American Teen came from that time in my life,” he recalls. “It was cold and kind of bleak, with not a whole lot to do — but there were definitely a lot of parties. At the time, it was fun and wild. Looking back now as an adult, I’m like, ‘Why did you get yourself into some of those situations?’ But honestly, it was the perfect setting for teenage angst — just growing up, facing challenges and mentally taking notes.”
His mother was restationed to El Paso before his senior year of high school, and he decided to go with her. Lonely and separated from his friends, he began writing songs and uploading them online. At the time, Right Hand Co.’s Courtney Stewart was managing a number of producers when he was introduced to Khalid through mutual friends on Twitter and heard some of his SoundCloud demos.
“He didn’t know it at the time, but he was writing a generational album in American Teen,” Stewart says. “As soon as I heard that voice and those lyrics, I was like, ‘This is incredible.’ It was something I had never heard before. His tone, the youthfulness of the lyrics and just how it made me feel. So I got on a plane and went and met with him.” (Khalid’s management team now includes Stewart, Mame Diagne, Jordan Holly and Relvyn Lopez at Right Hand.)
Other artists and producers have heard the same thing in his music. His ability to adapt to different sounds and his breadth of universal experiences has made him an ideal collaborator for everyone from J Balvin to Marshmello to Logic to Halsey.
Growing up near the Canadian border may also have endeared him to artists from the country. He’s collaborated with a number of Canadian artists, including Majid Jordan, Tate McRae, Shawn Mendes, Alessia Cara and Justin Bieber. He’s also made a big impact in the country, with 40 songs charting on the Billboard Canadian Hot 100.
Khalid says he loves collaborating, which brings the best attributes of two sounds together. Having another voice in the room can also let him get out of his own head, he says, and recognize when a song is a hit.
Most importantly, he’s sure enough in his own voice that no matter the genre he’s working in or the artist he’s performing with, he’s still recognizably Khalid.
“I think not losing sight and just trusting my voice has led me to be in any sound comfortably because I get to pull up as myself,” he says. “When you feel yourself on a track, you can’t fake it. It’s real.”
Being rather private, Khalid worries he’s created an impression of himself as an introverted person. Now, he’s ready to bust that myth.
“I’m actually extremely extroverted,” he says. “I love to socialize, I love to hang out, I love to see new things and meet new people. I mean, my [2019] album was called Free Spirit, but I really do believe I am one. I made that album only to go into hiding afterward. I don’t feel like that’s very much freedom. But now, I feel like I do have my freedom.”
Embracing his full self has brought him back to the carefree headspace of his SoundCloud days — but with the experience and maturity of an established music career.
“I started off just having fun and when I gained a career, I started to take myself a little too seriously,” he admits. “I had my fair share of time to be serious. Now I don’t have a care in the world. I can just have fun.”
In a recently posted TikTok clip, Khalid is vibing to a snippet of an unreleased song on the streets of Manhattan. In a black hoodie and throwback raver pants and holding a black handbag, he dances along to a track that blends his signature mellow, wise-beyond-his-years vocals with a sound that evokes decadent early-2000s pop by Britney Spears or The Pussycat Dolls. Grinning ear to ear, he stops to take a quick photo with a fan. It takes only 15 seconds to see the comfort and excitement of his new chapter.
“My new era of music feels like I’m finally ready to be the artist I’ve always dreamt of being,” he says. “It goes back to the regressions of when I was a child — imagining myself and thinking, ‘I want to be this artist one day.’ Now I feel like I have the confidence to finally be that artist.”
Libertine shirt, ERL pants, Adidas shoes, Magdelena rings.
There was a time when Cynthia Erivo could glide around town on her Razor scooter in peace. “Don’t laugh!” she quips as she reminisces about those halcyon days while sitting in a cozy loft above a cavernous Los Angeles studio. “I’ve been doing it for years!”
Whether maneuvering New York’s busy streets or transporting her from her L.A. home to a nearby studio to record voice-over work, Erivo’s reliable kick scooter was once her preferred mode of transit. But even a decade ago, she was warned that her hobby wasn’t sustainable with the life she was building. “[Director] John Doyle said to me, ‘Cynthia, you’re not going to be able to do that for very long,’ ” she recalls. “And I was like, ‘But why? I’m good! It’s fine!’ ”
His prediction ultimately came true. In the years since making her 2015 Broadway debut in Doyle’s production of The Color Purple, Erivo has transformed from buzzy theater ingenue to certified, capital “S” star by practically every metric. At just 38, the multihyphenate is already nearly an EGOT (she’s only missing her Oscar, despite three nominations); has starred in prestige TV series like The Outsider, Genius and Poker Face; paid tribute to musical legends at the Kennedy Center; and, most recently, scooped up that third Oscar nom with Wicked, the highest-grossing musical adaptation in film history.
Along the way, Erivo hasn’t lost sight of what matters to her, using the star power she has accrued for good. When she publicly came out as queer in 2022, she cited the importance of helping “some young Black queer actress somewhere” feel less alone in the industry. At the top of 2025, she took home GLAAD’s prestigious Stephen F. Kolzak Award for her continuing commitment to promoting visibility for the LGBTQ+ community. And in June, she’ll bring her talents to the massive WorldPride celebrations in Washington, D.C., making sure that everyone hears her voice — including politicians aiming to strip her community’s rights.
For her latest endeavor, though, Erivo decided to take the same energy she puts into both her community and others’ projects and turn it inward. She didn’t take to the stage or the screen, but rather the studio, looking to reinvigorate her solo music career — and the result is her revelatory second album, I Forgive You, out June 6 through Verve and Republic Records.
Back in September 2021, Erivo released Ch. 1 Vs. 1, her debut LP of adult contemporary tracks where she aimed — and, reflecting today, thinks she failed — to provide a soundtrack to her life up until that point. “It never quite felt like it was mine,” she says. She recounts working with a group of “lovely” producers and writers who provided plenty of new ideas and sounds — yet the project itself underutilized her own vocal dexterity. “It didn’t feel like it was one uniform story.”
Cynthia Erivo photographed April 21, 2025 at Milk Studios in Los Angeles. McQueen dress.
Erica Hernández
So when she began thinking about her next album, she started from scratch. On the advice of Wicked co-star Ariana Grande, Erivo met with Republic Records co-president/COO Wendy Goldstein to discuss her strengths and figure out a path forward. What could Erivo do that nobody else could? “Everything fell into place really fast from there,” Goldstein recalls of their first meeting.
The answer was simple: Erivo’s greatest asset is and always has been her protean voice, an instrument that belies her diminutive frame and lets her craft entire worlds of intricate harmonies. Her mother has said she first heard her daughter sing beautifully at a mere 18 months old, though Erivo has since said she first recognized her own innate talent around the ripe old age of 11. Following a brief stint studying music psychology at the University of East London, she dropped out, later enrolling at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London (where she now serves as vice president). After graduating in 2010 and spending three years performing around the United Kingdom, Erivo landed a breakthrough role in the off-West End production of The Color Purple in 2013.
“Anyone who saw her in that performance knew pretty quickly that she was just a generational talent,” says Jessica Morgulis, Erivo’s longtime manager who began working with her a year before The Color Purple transferred to Broadway in 2015. “In all my days of going to the theater, I’ve never seen the entire audience leap out of their seats mid-song in applause.”
So when it came to creating her own music, Goldstein asked why Erivo wasn’t leaning into her biggest strength. “When you hear Cynthia’s voice, you’re transfixed. I felt like we needed to lead with that,” Goldstein says. “We spoke a lot about how to really highlight her vocals, using it as an instrument with stacking and layering to create beautiful production.”
That, Erivo says, unlocked something for her. “Wendy is a very singular human being who just gets it,” she says. “It was the first time that everything became really clear. To have someone who understands who you are as a musician and a singer and an artist was just a new experience within this space for me as an artist.”
The subsequent project, executive-produced by Erivo and her longtime collaborator, Will Wells, spans pop, soul, jazz, disco, gospel and more, with her voice front and center. But more importantly, after a career dedicated to portraying characters, I Forgive You is just Erivo, telling the world who she is.
“People see a very cookie-cutter version of me, and we do this thing with people where we isolate them or crystallize them in one space and go, ‘She’s just that,’ ” she says. “People don’t know me as a musician in the way they’re getting to know me now.”
As Erivo arrives for our conversation, you’d never guess that she’s coming off one of the biggest performances of her life. Less than 48 hours earlier, she was belting out her forthcoming ballad, “Brick by Brick,” and Prince’s “Purple Rain” alongside maestro Gustavo Dudamel and the Los Angeles Philharmonic during a surprise appearance at the orchestra’s Coachella set. “I was so surprised at how vast that audience was,” she giddily admits. “It was unbelievable.”
Though Erivo remains humbly awestruck by the ensemble inviting her to perform for her biggest crowd to date, her own reputation has preceded her from the jump. “I mean, for anyone who likes singers, all of our algorithms were just filled with endless bootlegs of her singing her f–king ass off,” all-star songwriter Justin Tranter says of her Tony Award-winning Broadway debut.
But while the world was tuned into Erivo’s jaw-dropping performances of The Color Purple’s showstopper “I’m Here,” she found herself focused on something else entirely while playing the character of Celie: her sexuality. “I hadn’t really ever explored [my queerness], I hadn’t really ever discovered or understood or really learned about it,” she says. “I was like, ‘Oh, I get to play this woman who is exploring and learning about her own queerness at the same time as trying to discover what love is.’ This sort of wonderful thing happened at the same time — I got to do the same for myself.”
Erivo had been out to her close friends and family since her early twenties, but playing Celie for two years began to open the door to come out publicly, as fully embodying the experience of a queer woman eight times a week slowly made her more assured. “It’s like your feet finally hit the ground,” she explains. “Even the work that I started doing, whether I’m on a set or in a studio, I just felt a lot more relaxed.”
Saint Laurent bodysuit.
Erica Hernández
With that newfound sense of ease came a wave of projects. After closing out her run in The Color Purple, she booked her first film roles, in Drew Goddard’s Bad Times at the El Royale and Steve McQueen’s Widows, holding her own on-screen with stars like Viola Davis and Jeff Bridges. With her starring performance in 2021’s Harriet, Erivo earned her first pair of Academy Award nominations (for best actress and best original song) — had she won, she would have become the youngest person ever to earn EGOT status.
“How lovely is that? To be in this position at this point in my career is one, a privilege — but two, a massive surprise,” Erivo says of her near EGOT. “To be one of those people that’s on the edge of even looking that in the face is quite wonderful.”
Morgulis credits Erivo’s sharp instincts, saying she’s “almost never wrong” when picking projects and pointing to her client’s multiple viral performances at the Kennedy Center Honors, where Erivo has honored Dionne Warwick, Julie Andrews and Earth, Wind & Fire, as an example.
“Often, the producers of something like that will be leaning one way, because whoever it is you’re paying homage to has some favorite song of theirs they want to hear,” she says. “But Cynthia knows herself so well and will say, ‘I know I can really give this individual the best performance from me if we do this other song.’ And every time, she nails it.”
Yet despite her many successes, Erivo says nothing could have prepared her for the cultural phenomenon that was Wicked. She knew the film would do well, but she never predicted it would break box-office records and earn a whopping 10 Oscar nominations. “It’s insane,” she says. “And it’s insane while it’s happening, too.”
Of all Wicked’s achievements, none shocked Erivo as much as the soundtrack’s immediate Billboard chart success. It bowed at No. 2 on the Billboard 200 (the highest debut for a film adaptation of a stage musical in the chart’s history), ruled the Top Album Sales and Vinyl Albums charts, and landed seven songs on the Billboard Hot 100, with her own version of “Defying Gravity” earning the highest position among them at No. 44. “The cast was like, ‘Oh, so it’s just in the ether now? People are just listening to it on their way to work at this point?’ ” Erivo recalls. “It’s really wonderful.”
Miu Miu bra, shirt, and skirt.
Erica Hernández
The second part of the duology, Wicked: For Good, will arrive in November, and Erivo warns fans unfamiliar with the source material that her viridescent heroine, Elphaba, enters much darker territory in the second act. “She’s able to access her rage more,” she says. “The scent I wore changed. The makeup changed. Little shifts that bring you to a more mature version of who Elphaba becomes. And she is delicious in this next one.”
The Wicked Witch of the West isn’t the only one who has changed in between the two films’ releases — with rave reviews and another Oscar nomination for her stellar performance in the first act, Erivo became a household name practically overnight. That transition has occasionally felt scary, especially when it comes to maintaining her personal privacy.
“I think there is an interesting thing that happens, where it’s assumed that because you’re in the public eye, everything is for everyone,” she explains. “But being in the public eye does not stop you from being a human being — you just have eyes on you now. I am totally OK to share some of my life — whenever you see me on the stage, whenever you hear me sing, whenever you see me act, I am sharing. But that doesn’t mean that everything gets to be yours. I should be able to keep something for myself.”
That “something” likely includes her visible, but never publicly confirmed (including for this story) relationship with lauded producer-writer Lena Waithe. “You also wouldn’t want me to share everything — nobody should have to, because then what’s left?” she says with a half-smile. “You can be grateful, but you can still have a boundary.”
But thanks to the groundwork she has laid over the course of the last decade, Erivo says she doesn’t feel flummoxed by her sudden stardom. “I’m glad that I had those breakthroughs before — it’s school for what might come, and it means that here and now, it doesn’t feel like it’s going to sweep me up,” she says. “A lot of us fear that if this happens, you’ll sort of lose yourself. But I still feel like myself.”
There is a moment in “Play the Woman,” an early, R&B-adjacent standout from I Forgive You, when Erivo taps an unexplored topic in her career thus far: unabashed desire. “I could run these hands of mine down the map of your spine/Feel how your heat against my fingertips could make the blood in me rush,” she croons on the pre-chorus before blooming into her glossy head voice: “Could you play the woman for me?/Go slow, ’cause I like what I see.”
Erivo had long wanted to explore sensuality in her acting. But when the parts didn’t materialize, she decided to take matters into her own hands. “Honestly, you rarely get that opportunity as Black women anyway,” she says. “So I was just like, ‘Well, if I don’t put it in my own music, I’ll never get to put it anywhere else.’ ”
Prada top, skirt, and belt.
Erica Hernández
That ethos runs through I Forgive You, as Erivo breaks out of the boxes that the industry at large constructed around her ever-growing career while simultaneously giving voice to the parts of herself that she was once too scared to reveal in public. Whether she’s providing a grooving rumination on self-doubt with “Replay” or delivering an airy ballad about finally finding connection after years of trying on “I Choose Love,” Erivo lays all her cards on the table.
“It wasn’t scary to write because I really didn’t know how else to write it. It had to come,” she explains. “The scary thing was getting ready to share it. When something is personal, you hope that people understand that your humanity exists and they’re not just listening to random stories that come from nowhere.”
When going into their sessions with Erivo, Tranter was already well-aware that she had one of the best voices in the business. What they quickly discovered was just how adept a songwriter she was, too. “She’s a real visionary in that she knows what the f–k she’s doing,” Tranter says. “It’s not even that I was surprised, it’s just that the world doesn’t know her that way. You don’t know what to expect when someone like Cynthia hasn’t been able to reveal all her talents yet.”
That’s a recurring theme in Erivo’s career: One of the main hurdles she faced while working on her debut album was record executives who were unsure how to utilize her talents or market her. She recalls one telling her, “You can sing everything, and we don’t know what to do with you.” Her response? “ ‘Why don’t we just try everything, then?’ ” she remembers. “ ‘If I can do it, then why not try?’ ”
It’s a refrain Morgulis returns to often. With her client’s aspirations spreading across multiple fields of entertainment, the manager says that it’s vital for her to help Erivo remain in control of the projects she’s working on. “That conversation of not putting her in a box and, importantly, not allowing others to put her in a box, is happening on every single level of her team,” Morgulis says. “That act alone kind of sends a message to the industry of who she is and what direction she’s going in.”
And recently, Erivo has applied that philosophy to discussing her identity. After coming out publicly on the cover of British Vogue in 2022, she assumed a rare position in the entertainment business as a Black queer woman in the public eye, and it’s a platform she takes seriously.
Her decision to come out, Erivo says, had less to do with her own sense of self-actualization and more to do with the deep sense of care she feels toward her community. “I think I was actively looking for those who were encouraged to be more themselves,” she says. “I can’t change a person’s opinion of me; if they want to feel some way, there is nothing I can do about that. But I was so excited about being able to at least be one more face where someone could say, ‘Oh, my God, she did it and can still do it. She’s still creating, she’s still making. So maybe I can also do the same.’ ”
Saint Laurent bodysuit.
Erica Hernández
In hindsight, Erivo says she didn’t feel any trepidation about her decision to come out and didn’t notice any significant change in the roles she booked or the feedback she received for her performances. “Maybe I’m naive and wasn’t paying attention to it, because I’m sure there was [pushback],” she confesses.
The one notable exception came in early 2025, when the Hollywood Bowl announced that Erivo would star in the titular role of its upcoming three-night production of Jesus Christ Superstar. A predictable wave of conservative outrage followed at the thought of a Black queer woman portraying Jesus Christ, accusing the actress and the production itself of “blasphemy.”
Erivo can’t help but laugh. “Why not?” she chuckles with a shrug, before adding that most of those comments don’t seem to understand the critical lens of the Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. “You can’t please everyone. It is legitimately a three-day performance at the Hollywood Bowl where I get to sing my face off. So hopefully they will come and realize, ‘Oh, it’s a musical, the gayest place on Earth.’ ”
It’s easy for Erivo to dismiss a vocal minority decrying the mere announcement of her casting in a limited-run performance; it becomes much harder when the conversation turns to politics. Like many, she has watched in horror as the Trump administration has attempted to strip the rights of and federal protections for queer and trans people across the country through a flurry of executive orders.
Erivo doesn’t pretend to have all of the answers. “I’m trying to be a person you can get positive things from, because that is the only way you can balance this stuff,” she says with a sigh. But when she looks at something like the current administration’s “anti-woke” takeover of the Kennedy Center — the place where she has delivered some of her most iconic performances to date — she can’t help but feel a sense of dread. “I don’t know who gains what from that. I hope that it comes back,” she says. “It’s really sad to have to watch this happen to it. The Kennedy Center is supposed to be a space of creativity and art and music for everyone.”
Yet Erivo refuses to let that dread rule her actions. It’s part of why, during Pride Month, she will perform a headlining set at the closing concert for WorldPride in Washington, D.C., alongside Doechii. “I want to encourage people to not decide to just tuck away and start hiding and not being themselves anymore, because that is exactly what they want,” she says. “The more yourself you are, the more you are in front of people who don’t necessarily understand, the better understanding starts to happen.”
Tranter points to that sentiment as a perfect example of why Erivo has become such a powerful voice in the entertainment industry. “Cynthia being Black and queer, and being one of the most famous people alive in this moment while our community is dealing with what we are dealing with, is no mistake,” they say. “For someone as talented as her to be a beacon for young Black queer people all over the world, to be in the most successful movie and releasing a gorgeous, poetic album in this moment is no accident.”
It’s apparent that Erivo holds herself to an incredibly high standard. As Morgulis rattles off the singer’s schedule for the next few months — wrapping up filming on the forthcoming feature film adaptation of Children of Blood and Bone, hosting the 2025 Tony Awards and performing at least six solo concerts around the country, among dozens of other obligations — she must pause for a breath. “It’s a lot,” she says. “But she can do it.”
But today, the singer stops short of perfectionism. Even in a career as fortunate as hers, she knows that she cannot be everything to everyone. “I used to say, ‘I don’t want to make any mistakes. I don’t want to get anything wrong,’ ” she recalls. “What I’m leaning toward is just trying to be the best version of myself, full stop. And hopefully, the best version of myself is enough for those who want it.”
There was a time when Cynthia Erivo could glide around town on her Razor scooter in peace. “Don’t laugh!” she quips as she reminisces about those halcyon days while sitting in a cozy loft above a cavernous Los Angeles studio. “I’ve been doing it for years!” Whether maneuvering New York’s busy streets or transporting her […]
We had all met up for dinner in Santa Fe a couple of years ago. It was Chris, Morgane, me, my wife Kathryn and several band and crew members very close to Clan Stapleton. It was a humbling night in that no matter the status of our perceived successes, we all seemed to resort to naked-in-a-dream, childish reactions when the stress mounted. But in sticking with said dinner, it turned out full of a nectar that ended the night in everyone’s favor.
The owner and maître d’ of this Mexican restaurant came in on his day off, a little tipsy, I think, sporting a rhinestone-studded cowboy hat, and he welcomed us with grand sweeping gestures, overenunciating as he introduced each course with a rolling monologue. After his many waiters (one assigned to each of us) served us with aristocratic flair, he instructed us, with great drama, to, basically, pick up our spoons.
“Break the outer coating!” We did. “Now spoon up a small portion of every color on your dish. Every color!” We did as we were told. “And on the count of three put it in your mouth.” He was whispering at this point. We were getting scared. “One!” I looked up at Chris across the table from me, and his mouth, behind his beard and mustache, was neither grinning nor frowning, but something twisted in between. “Two!” We all had our spoons at exactly the same height, most shaking. After a long pause… “Three! In!”
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Like Willy Wonka, the owner knew precisely what was happening — delectable, divine, an otherworldly Disney ride in our mouths — as it happened. “You will next be getting a slight chile burn in the back half of the inside of your cheeks riiiiight now!” He was spot on. This was sorcery, Mexican f–king magic.
I had a similar feeling when I heard Chris play for the first time so many years ago at the Ryman, but I never put the two together until now.
It was 2017, and I was in Nashville promoting a film, and Kathryn and I were asked if we wanted to go see Chris Stapleton. “Who’s that?” I asked. Then, that night, I was slapped in the face with that visceral charge I hadn’t felt in music in that familial of a way since I was a kid.
Chris and Morgane Stapleton are country rock stars. There’s no question about it. Since I was 8 years old, a boot-toting rancher’s hanger-on at The Palomino Club in Los Angeles with my parents watching the likes of Marty Robbins, Waylon Jennings, Charley Pride, Mel Tillis and the great Willie Nelson, I have sought whatever that thing is that Chris and Morgane ooze: the presentation toward fans as family, and an added innate strut that suggests there’s a lot more going on than meets the eye.
I text Kenny Chesney that I’ll soon be seeing Chris and Morgane, and he replies right away: “I love them. Say hello for me. He’s a gift from God. He wrote a big song for me called ‘Never Wanted Nothing More.’ It put a lot of gas in the bus, for sure.”
Chris Stapleton and Josh Brolin photographed April 10, 2025 in Nashville.
Kathryn Boyd Brolin
Chris has also written songs for the likes of Blake Shelton, Tim McGraw, Sheryl Crow and Luke Bryan. But as a performer, something drives him. When I look at early videos of him sitting bespectacled and beardless, singing as if he is possessed, it hits me with both awe and envy and I, like him, am transported into the song-glory. I am living it while he is belting it free from wherever it sat in wait until now:
“Oh, why you gotta be so cold?Why you gotta go and cut me like a knifeAnd put our love on ice?Girl, you know you left this holeRight here in the middle of my soulOh-oh, oh, why you gotta be so cold?”
The “Cold” lyrics are simple and straightforward. The song sounds as much like a calling out to God as to the Devil himself, and it surpasses the cosmetics of how we all pretend we live broken love into what it’s actually like as we scratch at our faces and write the 15th letter in hopes of reconciliation.
Today, we are in Nashville. Kathryn and I flew here, then drove to a big metal warehouse where Chris and his band practice. Inside, there’s an eclectic mishmash of fan art, memorabilia, Grammys and awards of all sorts strewn about; paintings of a smiling Dolly Parton and an ingenue Audrey Hepburn; and there is a back room with a collection of guitars reaching into the hundreds, an obsession of his. This place was a rental during the coronavirus pandemic where Chris could perform remotely, but over the years they’ve grown attached to it, happily purchased it, and it’s where everything musically happens now. It’s theirs, very theirs. Poncho, who manages the place, sees us in. And there they are, Chris and Morgane, standing with open arms. They show us around, and we get the awkwards out. When we eventually leave a couple of hours later, Morgane’s sneaking a cigarette outside, waving.
The next morning, when Chris and Morgane walk in at around 11:30, I’m sitting on the couch draped with Native American blankets stuffing guitar picks into my pocket. There’s no reason to do it. I could just ask and I’m sure Chris would give me a thousand of them — but something about stealing them just feels right.
Morgane and Chris Stapleton photographed April 10, 2025 in Nashville.
Kathryn Boyd Brolin
“You want to listen to the new song?” Morgane asks. She turns on a high-fidelity record player that suddenly bellows a raw duet with Miranda Lambert through the room. The song immediately has Morgane and me dancing on the disco floor that they just laid, the one used in their “Think I’m In Love With You” video. I’m no Rick Rubin but it just has that thing that makes you move, that everybody can’t help but want to play again and again. He keeps surprising us (and himself, I’m sure) with who he chooses to work with: Taylor Swift, Adele, Justin Timberlake (the video for his “Say Something” featuring Chris might be the best music video I’ve ever seen, as a one-take, anything-can-go-wrong vibe gone right in every way). “This is amazing!” Kathryn yells from behind her camera. Chris is off meandering through his gaggle of guitars.
I ask Morgane to play it again and I sit down at a drum set surrounded by speakers. Chris grabs a chair to sit in that I later find out he brought with him when he first came to Nashville. “My mom recovered the seat pad sometime in the ’90s, but this is one out of four we had when I was a kid,” he says. “I brought this one with me. It’s so uncomfortable. I don’t know. I like it.”
He gets up and takes me into a long closet on the other side of the room.
“Lemme show you something,” he says.
The double door is locked, and I can see Morgane smiling as I pass her. Poncho unlocks it and we walk into what feels like miles of guitar cases, wall to wall. Chris finally stops at one that isn’t particularly a standout: “And this.” He pulls, then slowly opens it as if he’s revealing One-Eyed Willy’s personal hidden treasure; I even half expect at this point to see a golden-amber glow of some sort coming from inside. And there it is: an acoustic 1950s Gibson LG-2 steel string. It’s worn and scratched and looks like it’s trying to speak but is too old to.
“This is the first guitar I ever bought after I got to Nashville. I bought it for $380.”
He holds it up.
“Where’d you buy it?” I ask.
“Chambers guitar store, which I don’t think exists anymore.”
He runs his hand over it, almost longingly.
“There is nothing about it that is precious to anybody else. It’s got a million crack repairs. There was even mud in it when I first bought it, I think.”
“Except it means everything to you,” I say.
“That’s right.”
Chris Stapleton photographed April 10, 2025 in Nashville.
Kathryn Boyd Brolin
There are silences between us that will come and go all day, natural silences that come from people not needing to fill space all the time. This is one of those moments. I relish it. I don’t look at my phone. I don’t really look at him. Morgane and Kathryn are talking outside, and Poncho is getting himself a glass of water.
“If I had to walk out of here with one thing, it would be this. All the other stuff — I would be sad about it — but whatever I’ve done, whatever I’ve made, whatever I’ve turned into has pretty much been built on this thing.”
And for the first time this morning, he smiles. Then he walks out of the storage closet, leaving me in there holding his old friend.
Chris sits back down in his chair, his arm now around a 1976 bicentennial Gibson Firebird that Tom Petty used to play a month of shows at The Fillmore in the ’90s. The vibrato chords and Travis picking are coming through a shoulder-high amp that I find out later is the one that Jimmy Page used when Zeppelin toured America for the first time in 1969, a Rickenbacker Transonic. The amplifier that rests on top belonged to John Lennon. I’m not much of a drummer, but I return to sit behind the drum kit in the middle of the room and try and hold a beat… and Stapleton starts riffing. What the hell?!
After a while we stop and he looks at me. “It’s the buzz I look for. That buzz that starts with me then connects me to the band that connects to the audience then back around. I’m always looking for that electrical current.
“I had no voice before, no guitar skills,” he continues. “But something drove me to it. My uncle had a regional band, so maybe that. My dad listened to all the great country too — Waylon, Willie, Merle Haggard — but he also played R&B: Otis Redding and Ray Charles. He loved all of it. So music was always there, but sports became less prevalent, and the music just stayed.”
Chris grew up in Kentucky with big dreams of being a football player: “I couldn’t watch ball for years because it just hurt too much.”
“Were you a good football player?”“I thought I was.”“But something happened?”“Nope.”“It’s a sensitive subject.”“Not so much anymore.”“But it was.”“Yes, it was.”
Chris Stapleton and Josh Brolin
Kathryn Boyd Brolin
We speak about what keeps him grounded to his roots, as he’s accumulated 11 Grammys, 15 Academy of Country Music Awards (including 2025’s male artist of the year honor), five Billboard Music Awards and 16 Country Music Association Awards. His latest album, Higher, won the ACM award for album of the year in 2024, earning Morgane her first ACM award as an official co-producer. Since we saw him that night at the Ryman in 2017 his career has skyrocketed. There isn’t anyone out there who doesn’t seem to love his music, his lyrics or him.
“I’m grateful.” He looks at me over his arms that are still draped over his guitar. “I’m grateful I get to do this. I’m grateful for what it brings my family and that’s all that matters at the end of the day — those five people who call you daddy.”
It’s something we’ve talked about before, but the longer we sit there it’s obvious that words can’t describe the depth of what he feels, or even what he knows. I get it because I have the same push/pull with my profession, so we stammer through the personal stuff. That’s the whole point, I’m realizing, sharing that struggle with someone you trust, and this is that time and place. We never land anywhere with it, but, rather, travel in it, witnessed.
“Let’s go eat!” Morgane says. “What do you want?”
Suggestions: Mexican, chicken or burgers? “S–t, you’re from California. We can’t take you for tacos. Y’all have your Mexican food covered.” We land on Hattie B’s, a staple hot chicken joint in town known for its added spicy sauce.
We hop in the car, the four of us, the AV crew, Poncho and whoever else wants to come, with Morgane driving. She got a new car, a mom car. We pull into the small parking lot and there’s one spot. “Ain’t no way you’re going to make that,” Chris challenges. “Watch me,” Morgane retorts. She seven-point turns until she slips right into the space like a hand into a baseball glove. “Damn, woman!”
Chris Stapleton
Kathryn Boyd Brolin
We get a table outside.
“What’d you get, medium?” I ask Chris, curious if he is one of those burn-until-you-have-to-call-911 eaters.
“No, mild. I don’t mess with that medium stuff. It’s not real medium anyway. Somebody’s temperature gauge must have broke.”
“What about the hot?”
“There’s mild, medium, hot, ‘damn hot’ and ‘shut the cluck up!’ I stick with mild.”
“Want to try the hot with me?” Morgane asks.
“Yeah,” I excitedly and blindly reply.
They bring us some hot, along with some quarter and half birds, fried pickles, a few orders of “dirty bird” fries, a black-eyed pea salad and a few banana puddings. Morgane hands me my drum stick with the hot goop on it and we each take a bite. It’s not bad.
Right at that moment we hear Bill Withers’ “Lovely Day” from across the street. We all look over and see a man on a fully dressed, cream-white Harley-Davidson unapologetically karaoke-ing to the blasting coming from his motorcycle speakers: “Then I look at you/And the world’s all right with me/Just one look at you/And I know it’s going to be/A lovely day…”
We are all smiling. The man on the motorcycle is stopped and looking up at the sun, also smiling.
And my mouth is getting hotter.
“Look at him! How great, man. Does anybody have water?” I start to panic, but everyone is focused on the Bill Withers guy on a motorcycle, so I don’t start screaming.
Morgane starts laughing, “This is f–king hot. My lips.”
Chris’s face is in the direct sun, and I know he’s getting sunburned, but he’s too polite to say anything. My lips are burning, and this is exactly what I want to be doing with my day: extraordinary people doing ordinary s–t.
Chris Stapleton and Josh Brolin
Kathryn Boyd Brolin
The man with the motorcycle drives away, taking the song but not the feeling away with him.
We finish our banana puddings, and Morgane and I each wipe our now blistering lips.
“Let’s get outta here,” somebody says, though I don’t know who.
The plan when we got back was to continue the interview, but that moment has passed. We’ve talked. We’ve jammed. Kathryn needs to take her photos so she and Chris go somewhere that she feels will inspire, and Morgane and I are left to reminisce on what today has been.
“I wanted you guys to go back to the roots thing,” she says, looking at me like a mother taking care of her boy. “The drive your book [Brolin’s memoir, From Under the Truck] came from was from your mother and his was from his father. That’s the connection between you guys — you trying to please your mother and him his father.
“After SteelDrivers [the bluegrass band that Chris started and was subsequently fired from] he went solo on a heavy riff, sex rock’n’roll-type music,” she continues. “A departure. And he had a lot of fun doing it, but it didn’t hit. This was before the Traveller album. So we were sitting on the couch one night talking about what we were going to do. And I’ll never forget it: He looked at me and said he needed to do something with meaning.”
I hear Kathryn and Chris laughing from across the room.
“He had already written all the songs. Brian Wright and him. You know, a close-knit team. And he said, ‘I would like to make a record that would make my dad proud.’ And that’s the root. I think he’s been chasing that ever since.”
“When did his dad die?”“2013.”“Before Traveller.”“Yep.”
We were supposed to leave, get back to our respective kids, but we ended up at the table on the disco floor, just shooting the s–t: me, Kathryn, Chris, Morgane and Poncho. Poncho used to work at the used car dealership in town. He knows a lot about guitars too. Chris, Morgane and him met and they hit it off. He takes care of the warehouse now. He’s family. It’s obvious how deep the mutual care is. He lost a son. His wife then said he needed to leave because it wasn’t good for their daughter, his drinking and staying out so late every night. He couldn’t imagine life without his son. Then God came into the fold. Saved him from himself. Reminded him that there were others that needed taking care of. He got his s–t together and showed up, and today they are all together, slogging through the moments, as a family.
I have tears in my eyes (even as I write this) thinking of that late-night talk at the table on the disco floor, Chris easy with whatever wanted to happen. All the talks that day, but this one, especially.
Yes, Chris and Morgane Stapleton are country rock stars; there’s no refuting that. But when it comes down to it, they’re all about finding meaning in the music and in the moments — with their fans, their families and between each other.
We spent the day together just shooting the s–t, eating hot wings, singing along with Miranda Lambert and Bill Withers and, yeah, it’s true, I got to play the drums with Chris f–king Stapleton.
Amen to it all.
This story appears in the May 31, 2025, issue of Billboard.
We had all met up for dinner in Santa Fe a couple of years ago. It was Chris, Morgane, me, my wife Kathryn and several band and crew members very close to Clan Stapleton. It was a humbling night in that no matter the status of our perceived successes, we all seemed to resort to naked-in-a-dream, […]
Back in 2005, Spanish star Alejandro Sanz — the heartthrob with raspy vocals, a poet’s way with words and a flamenco flair that defined his global pop sound — teamed with another superstar, Colombia’s Shakira, for “La Tortura,” a sexy flamenco/reggaetón vamp.
It was a headline-grabbing collaboration at a time when such pairings were scarce in Latin music: Spain’s most lauded and top-selling artist cavorting with a crossover star at the height of her popularity.
Accompanied by a video dripping in sensuality, featuring an oil-bathed Shakira writhing on a kitchen table, the song exploded, notching a then-record 25 weeks at No. 1 on Billboard’s Hot Latin Songs chart.
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Twenty years later, Shakira and Sanz again danced together to heightened expectations. On May 13, the Colombian star invited her Spanish buddy as a special guest to the opening date of her U.S. tour at Bank of America Stadium in Charlotte, N.C., where the two performed “La Tortura.”
The moment served as a bookend in Sanz’s career as he prepares to release ¿Y Ahora Qué?, his first studio album in four years, featuring “Bésame,” a new duet with Shakira, as the focus track. The song, which harks back to the flamenco/Caribbean sound of “La Tortura” but is set over sparse dance beats, boasts that mix of sophisticated and commercial that has informed so many Sanz hits through the years.
But ¿Y Ahora Qué?, which translates to “Now What?,” is as existential as it is hit-driven, navigating intensely personal fare with humor and unexpected turns.
“It’s what you ask yourself every time you start something new, every time you face change, when you change your sentimental life and things happen that truly move you,” Sanz says, sitting next to me on a couch on a Tuesday afternoon.
Fit, tan and still charmingly impish, Sanz met with Billboard over a glass of red wine at Sony’s 5020 Studios in Miami in early May. This kind of scenario — warm, open, unscripted — has very much been the Sanz way through the years; once he opens up, he shuns formality and careful choreography.
His first album on Sony Music Latin, Y Ahora, is an EP that follows a turbulent period where he switched labels (leaving Universal after a decade in 2021), his former manager took him to court, and, most recently, he publicly dealt with depression and a romantic breakup.
Aside from longtime friend Shakira, Sanz also collaborates with hot new hit-makers Grupo Frontera — in a salsa that steers the act far from its regional Mexican sound — and Manuel Turizo, who eschews his up-tempo rhythmic dance fare for a more melancholy ballad.
For Sanz, it’s a jump of boldness and optimism after the storm. The cover of the album shows him in various stages of movement — walking, leaping, running — as does his newly released tour art. Sanz is a prolific live artist whose 2023 shows grossed $23.8 million and sold 235,000 tickets, according to Billboard Boxscore. All told, between 2022 and 2024, his Sanz en Vivo tour (his largest to date), played 86 concerts throughout Europe, Mexico, South America and the United States, selling over 860,000 tickets and grossing $100 million, according to his management. Sanz has already announced the first leg of his new tour and is slated to play 17 dates in Mexico, including four-sold nights at Auditorio Nacional from a presale, prompting the addition of two more.
Mary Beth Koeth
But Sanz’s real strength lies in his songs. Rhythmically complex and riveting, underscored by his distinctively raspy voice, Sanz’s compositions have led to 14 career entries on Billboard’s Top Latin Albums chart, including four No. 1s and 11 top 10s. On Hot Latin Songs, he has notched 28 entries, including 10 top 10s and five No. 1s; he has won five Grammys and 25 Latin Grammys, and he holds the title for most wins — seven — for record of the year at the Latin Grammys.
In his native Spain, Sanz still boasts the top-selling album of all time, according to local society Promusicae: his 1997 breakthrough, Más, which has been certified 22 times platinum for 2.2 million certified copies sold, and includes his biggest, most lasting hit, “Corazón Partío.”
“In my opinion, Alejandro is the best Spanish-language composer of all time,” says Iñigo Zabala, the former head of Warner Music Latin America & Spain who signed Sanz to his first recording deal back in 1991.
Today, Zabala co-manages Sanz in an unorthodox agreement with Alex Mizrahi, with the two executives focused on different areas of his career. Mizrahi, who heads management and promotion company OCESA-Seitrack, oversees Sanz’s international management and business, while Zabala, who is also a musician, handles his recording career and creative output.
The two began managing Sanz in 2022 when the artist was at a crossroads. He had no formal manager and had decided to end his contract with Universal Music, his home since 2011. But he continued touring, and Mizrahi, his agent in Latin America, yearned to expand his relationship with him.
“I’m a manager focused on touring. But an artist as sophisticated as Sanz needs someone like Iñigo, who knows his origins and who’s had a long artistic relationship,” Mizrahi says.
That same mind frame — artistry leading the business — also informed Sanz’s decision to sign with Sony Music a year later, in a license deal that lets him keep control of his masters.
“I need a label I can talk music with, who will dream about repertoire with me,” Sanz says. “I have attorneys to talk numbers, and so do they.”
Mary Beth Koeth
Which is not to say Sanz is improvising. Beyond his touring, he has been active in ancillary, visible projects. He’s in the midst of shooting a Netflix documentary that will premiere this fall, and production crews have followed him for the past year, including when he sat for a Q&A at Billboard Latin Music Week last year and received the Billboard Lifetime Achievement Award.
His music is also being used for an upcoming stage musical, jukebox-style, that is not based on his life story, but features a character called Ale. And a deluxe version of ¿Y Ahora Qué? will be released later in 2025 with additional collaborations.
Sanz spoke to Billboard about his creative process and where he is now.
So, now what?
“Now what,” “¿Y ahora qué?,” is the first line of the album, in [the single] “Palmeras en el Jardín.” “Now what?” is a question almost everyone asks themselves at some point. Whenever you’re about to start something new, whenever something happens, whenever you face a change, you ask yourself, “Now what?” Especially when it comes to emotional or sentimental changes that really shake you up. I find it very relatable, and I love taking common phrases or ideas that are already part of our collective imagination and giving them a poetic twist in my albums.
“Palmeras en el Jardín,” the song with that phrase and the first single, is about sadness and the loss of your previous relationship. But the album’s mood shifts after that.
I think emotions don’t really distinguish between what’s sad and what’s happy; instead, they create a certain sense of satisfaction. You like sunny days, but sometimes you also enjoy rainy ones, don’t you? “Palmeras en el Jardín” is the rainy day, and there are a few sunny ones throughout the album. It felt fitting for that to be the first thing said because it reflects the inner struggle I went through to start making this album and to feel inspired again to create new songs. I needed that question in my life: “Now what?” Because you have so many options — stay where you are, crumble, move forward, climb higher or jump out of a hot air balloon.
Do you have a process for starting to make music, or do you just wait for the perfect moment?
No, no. Waiting for the perfect moment is just laziness and shows zero commitment. I think you have to actively go after the song, just like you chase luck or love.
Are you disciplined when it comes to songwriting?
When I have to do it, I do it. When I first started making albums, I could write anywhere — in a bakery or on a plane. Now I go to the studio and work with the people I collaborate with — musicians, producers, composers — and approach it differently. Before, I used to lock myself in my room and spend 14 hours writing compulsively and, honestly, in a completely unhealthy way. But that’s how I used to do it. Now I find shorter sessions much more productive, and I’ve changed the way I work.
I used to think those habits were set in stone…
But they’re not. You can change them. The same tools from before don’t always work anymore. For example, when I used to write an album, I would always learn a new instrument or find inspiration within the music itself. Now I’ve discovered that working with other people really sparks something in me. It teaches me a lot, and I get to share what I know, too. That fascinates me because I’d never done it before.
Speaking of working with others, this album has a lot of collaborations. You’ve got three, including “Bésame” with Shakira. How did that one happen?
We’d been talking for a while about working together again. I used to joke with her, saying, “When are we going to make another song? You only make songs with talented, handsome guys!” We hadn’t found the right song that we both connected with. It’s tough after making a song like “La Tortura” to find the right reason to team up again. You don’t want to be too predictable or repeat the same thing, but you also want the new collaboration to be just as sweet.
You’re both so busy. Did you work together in the studio?
No, we didn’t. But I think the process unfolded exactly how it needed to. We worked perfectly by sending ideas back and forth. We’d send each other voice notes and messages. We’re both very hands-on artists, so our conversations were intense. She’d send me audiobooks, and I’d try to summarize them. It was beautiful because we managed to create what we always do when we sing together: Something magical happens. I think we accomplished that by combining our roots, a little imagination and, now, some added experience. There weren’t any arguments because she loves the world of flamenco and we really admire each other’s work. That mutual respect is so important when collaborating.
This album feels like a release for you — more so than others.
Well, what is a release, really? At its core, why do we use music? To communicate. Over time, music has become more commercialized, but if you think about it, the original reason for making songs was to tell your stories and free yourself. People are always surprised when music is used to tell deeply personal stories, but that’s how it’s always been. The difference now is that, with social media, everyone knows exactly where the stories are coming from. I often debate whether to release something or not. But what’s the alternative? Once everything is out in the open and the well is discovered, it’s there for everyone. You can’t clip the wings of creativity just because you feel a little embarrassed about one feather.
When people ask me if this album has a common thread, I say that the connection is me — my voice, my way of interpreting music. I’ve always loved being eclectic and exploring different rhythms. That’s the beauty of music — it reflects what’s happening in your life.
“Hoy No Me Siento Bien” with Grupo Firme is a salsa song, despite its title, and it’s upbeat. But “Como Sería” with Manuel Turizo and “Vino de Tu Boca” are about loss.
“Hoy No Me Siento Bien” is about recognizing that it’s OK to feel bad sometimes. It’s about finding the light at the end of a dark tunnel. That’s why the synergy between the lyrics, which talk about emotional struggles, and the upbeat music works — it’s like saying, “I feel bad, but it’s OK.”
You and Shakira are aligned, but it feels like you pushed Turizo and Grupo Frontera out of their comfort zones. Did Frontera ever say no to singing salsa?
No, not at all. They were excited! I think they love experimenting with music, and you can tell. What musician doesn’t enjoy playing around with music, trying new things and getting their hands dirty? That’s the most wonderful part of doing this job.
Let’s talk about “Como Sería,” your ballad with Turizo.
It’s a ballad, but not your typical ballad. It has layers and corners that feel familiar for a ballad, but it’s less safe. You know, there are ways to write lyrics or melodies that keep you in your comfort zone, but this song steps out of it. I hadn’t worked with Manuel before, but we met at a show in Spain, hit it off and decided to make a song together. His brother also co-wrote it, and honestly, the result is great. It’s similar to the single with Shakira — there’s a bit of his world, a bit of mine, and we meet in a place where you wouldn’t expect to see either of us.
Did you write it together?
They had an idea and sent it to me, and we went back and forth. Some might think that process sounds cold, but I love it. Sometimes when you’re in the same room writing, there are distractions — other people watching who aren’t contributing, for example. When you’re in the studio, there’s embarrassment or hesitation, and it doesn’t flow the same way. But when someone sends you the song, you’re at home, tweaking it, sending it back — you have the intimacy to work freely.
I love this album. It feels like it has all the right songs. What does this album mean to you?
It came into my life at a very important moment. I was closing a chapter where, musically and emotionally, I was in a tough spot. I was caught up in conversations that had nothing to do with music — more about numbers and other things that didn’t resonate with me. I got into music to free myself from math equations, to wake up late and to be my own boss — those are the three things I’ve always wanted to be. Somewhere along the way, I lost that excitement. Before, people would sell out musically, but they’d do it discreetly. Now it’s out in the open: “Let’s make this trash because we know it’ll work.” And if you don’t do that, you get stuck in this giant drawer of [old artists]. I was in that space, and this album brought light back into my life — into that empty space where my passion, drive and effort had disappeared.
Mary Beth Koeth
With today’s business models, I keep hearing that artists need to manage their businesses themselves.
A lot of artists love to say they’re entrepreneurs and that’s fine, but I don’t believe it. As an artist, you can try to make a living however you want based on supply and demand, but I don’t think you can truly be an entrepreneur at the same time. There’s a complete conflict of interest there.
Beyond the music, you’ve spoken openly about your experiences with depression and mental health in 2023. Why?
Because it’s important. If not us, then who? If we can’t openly talk about these things, then what are we showing the people listening to this interview, for example? That they should be ashamed of it? No. But it’s a very personal thing.
Did it take you a while to decide to say, “I’m feeling bad, but I’m going to talk about it”? I ask especially because you’re so private.
Yes, I’m very private about the things that aren’t anyone else’s business because, really, no one cares about what I do in my personal life. But this is something that affects everyone, and I think it’s good to talk about it. When I was going through it, I struggled with social situations. Seeing too many people at once gave me anxiety. But the one place I felt comfortable was onstage.
You’d think it would be the opposite.
Exactly. I did my first concert in Spain and thought, “If this goes well, I’ll do the tour. If not, I won’t.” And I felt amazing up there. As the tour went on, I made changes to prioritize myself. For example, I decided not to meet with anyone after the show. I’d finish the concert, go to my hotel or my house and not worry about meeting everyone’s expectations. That’s so important — to be polite, do your job well, be kind to your people and that’s it. That’s all you need to demand of yourself. The rest should be whatever makes you happy. If signing autographs for 20 hours makes you happy, do it. But if it doesn’t, then don’t.
Do you have mechanisms to manage your anxiety?
It’s less about mechanisms and more about habits. I’ve learned to say no. You always try to be the person you once were — to be nice to everyone. But I know how to set boundaries now, and I don’t let things get out of hand.
What can we expect from this tour?
I’m really excited to include new songs in the setlist. I want to invite friends to some of the shows, but mostly, I want to completely refresh the repertoire. I don’t know if I’ll perform the entire album, but almost all of it. There will also be changes within the band. We start rehearsals in July and will spend all of July and about 20 days in August rehearsing in Spain at my place in the country. I set up a tent there, and we rehearse surrounded by horses, sheep and chickens. I want to create something beautiful and put a lot of care into the stage design. There’s always a special connection during the concerts. We always create something unique, and it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other.
Best known as a dancer, rapper and singer-songwriter in BTS, j-hope has long stood out, with a magnetic stage presence and captivating dance moves that helped propel the group to global stardom. Now — as ARMY around the world anticipate the group’s remaining members completing South Korea’s mandatory military service and BTS reuniting in June, with group activities on hold until 2026 — the charismatic 31-year-old is distinguishing himself further, carving out a bold solo identity that showcases a versatility and creative range that extend far beyond his BTS persona.
Following his 2022 debut solo album, Jack in the Box, which peaked at No. 6 on the Billboard 200, and his 2024 Hope on the Street, Vol. 1 EP that rose to No. 5 on the chart, j-hope has already released collaborations this year with stars including Miguel, Don Toliver and Pharrell Williams. And with his Hope on the Stage World Tour, which kicked off Feb. 28 in Seoul, j-hope is reaching new heights: His show at Los Angeles’ BMO Stadium made him the first South Korean male solo artist to headline a U.S. stadium. (His bandmate Jin will hit the road this summer.) The tour — which will wrap June 1 after visiting 15 markets across North America and Asia, including a May 31 show in Osaka, Japan, that will be broadcast live to cinemas around the world — has mirrored his own artistic growth as he prepares for the next stage of his solo journey with his upcoming album. J-hope sat down with Billboard Korea in Los Angeles for an exclusive chat about his music, touring and inspirations.
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Louis Vuitton shirt, jacket, and pants; Audemars Piguet watch.
Julian Dakdouk
What does it mean to you to be on the cover of Billboard as a solo artist?
Growing up, Billboard seemed like a completely different universe to me. I’d follow the charts to see where my favorite artists landed, and that’s how I got a sense of the era’s musical flow and what sounds were defining each moment. So having my own music recognized by Billboard still feels surreal and exciting. To me, Billboard remains a dreamlike presence, and the amazing thing is, that dream is still unfolding, much like my song, “Sweet Dreams.”
You’re widely regarded as a symbol of hope — not only for your fans, but also for many Asian artists globally. How does it feel to have that kind of impact?
Just as I drew inspiration from the artists I admired growing up, shaping my own music through their influence, I’d be honored if my work could inspire others and pass on that same positive energy — that would mean the world to me. Above all, I hope to continue growing into an artist who brings light and encouragement to others wherever I go.
Louis Vuitton jacket and pants, Audemars Piguet watch.
Julian Dakdouk
Is there a particular message you want to convey with this tour?
Embracing my identity as j-hope, I found myself reflecting more deeply on the true essence of hope. I realized it’s not something to be taken lightly, so I wanted to channel that sincerity into my music and bring it to life through Hope on the Stage, sharing it with as many people as possible. I was hands-on with everything — stage design, choreography, fashion and even the props — pouring my heart into every aspect. I hope the audience left with a sense of genuine positivity and inspiration. Moving forward, I want to keep creating authentic performances that unite everyone through the power of music.
You made history in April as the first South Korean male solo artist to headline a U.S. stadium. How did that feel?
Having performed at countless stadiums with BTS, I was always part of a seven-member team filling the stage. This time, I was on my own, and honestly, I wondered if I could handle that immense energy and pressure by myself. But I pulled it off and that means a lot to me — it’s a milestone I’ll always cherish.
Louis Vuitton shirt, jacket, pants and shoes; Audemars Piguet watch.
Julian Dakdouk
You’re often hailed as a fashion icon. What ignited your love of style?
Ever since I was young, I’ve had a genuine passion for clothes. I don’t really see myself as a fashionista — I just have a deep, genuine love for fashion. To me, clothing is a powerful way to express my identity. Even during BTS world tours, I’d make time to visit local boutiques and explore different styles, which really helped shape my personal aesthetic over time. For my solo world tour, I handpicked every outfit for each performance, ensuring every look was distinct. I believe my approach to fashion adds a fun, dynamic element for fans to enjoy while watching my shows.
Your recent single, “Mona Lisa,” debuted at No. 65 on the Billboard Hot 100 and was released in March two weeks after your Miguel collaboration, “Sweet Dreams.” What’s the story behind these tracks?
I believe my music should evolve as I grow. Before my enlistment, I leaned into my roots in dance, experimenting with a variety of sounds to express different facets of myself. But just a week after my discharge, I headed straight to the U.S. because I wanted to explore how the American producers I admire would interpret my sound. “Sweet Dreams” featuring Miguel — an artist I’ve long respected — has a smooth, soulful vibe that feels deeply personal. On the other hand, “Mona Lisa” brings a hip-hop-driven performance energy. Both tracks are easy to connect with, yet they offer a glimpse into the broader, more evolved musical world I’m building. This is just the start — I have plenty more musical experiments in store.
This story appears in the May 17, 2025, issue of Billboard.
Best known as a dancer, rapper and singer-songwriter in BTS, j-hope has long stood out, with a magnetic stage presence and captivating dance moves that helped propel the group to global stardom. Now — as ARMY around the world anticipate the group’s remaining members completing South Korea’s mandatory military service and BTS reuniting in June, […]
On a Friday night in late February, Tems was having dinner with the owners of San Diego FC, celebrating her new position as a partner in the MLS club. The next day, a video went viral of the 29-year-old Nigerian musician, known for her enviable levels of cool, briefly losing it while watching the club’s first-ever home game, bitterly throwing her arms down when her team missed a free kick and repeatedly yelling, “What the f–k was that?” while clapping her hands to punctuate her every word. Then, on Sunday, she headed to Los Angeles for the Academy Awards, strutting the red carpet in a feathered gown at the Vanity Fair after-party and striking poses with the likes of H.E.R., Victoria Monét and Normani at Beyoncé and Jay-Z’s annual Gold Party. By Tuesday, Tems was overseas at Paris Fashion Week, serving classic elegance while sitting front row at the Courrèges and Dior shows.
Those prime seats offered her a rare opportunity: to be off her feet and catch her breath before hopping on a jet to her next high-profile affair. Because while Tems’ music has become known as the ideal soundtrack for unwinding and vibing out, she never really has time to do either.
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“Every day is something different, which is actually very exciting for me,” Tems insists during an early April afternoon in her home base of London, looking laid-back in a chic “groutfit” (monochromatic gray): oversize zip-up hoodie, tank maxi dress and black leather peep toe heels, her hair slicked back in a bun with laid edges. “I’m always like, ‘Hmm, I wonder how today is going to go. I wonder what’s going to happen.’ ” But even amid her whirlwind schedule, she manages to maintain some grounding daily rituals: “In the mornings, I always do my self-care. I pray and declare that everything is going to be good and whatever comes my way, I’ll be fine.”
Tems will headline THE STAGE at SXSW London on June 5 in an exclusive concert presented by Billboard at London’s iconic music venue Troxy.
That affirmative mindset has served her well. In 2020, Wizkid featured Tems on his summer anthem “Essence,” which hit the top 10 of the Billboard Hot 100 (partly due to a Justin Bieber remix); earned Tems her first Grammy Award nomination, for best global music performance; and played a pivotal role in ushering in the rise of Afrobeats in the United States. Five years later, the singer-songwriter-producer has become a global sensation in her own right, as well as a secret weapon for Western superstars. She collaborated with Drake on “Fountains” from his 2021 album, Certified Lover Boy, and the two appeared together the following year on Future’s Hot 100 No. 1 “Wait for U,” which samples Tems’ 2020 track “Higher,” from her debut EP, For Broken Ears, and earned Tems her first Grammy, for best melodic rap performance. That same year, she scored a feature on Beyoncé’s Renaissance and co-wrote Rihanna’s “Lift Me Up,” from the Black Panther: Wakanda Forever soundtrack; the song earned Golden Globe, Oscar and Grammy nods.
And since “Essence,” Tems’ distinguished solo releases have helped her remain at the forefront of African music. As “Wait for U” propelled “Higher,” For Broken Ears yielded another sleeper hit in 2022, “Free Mind,” which became her first solo Hot 100 entry (peaking at No. 46) and a radio fixture, spending 22 weeks at No. 1 on R&B/Hip-Hop Airplay and nine weeks atop Adult R&B Airplay. For Broken Ears has earned 853.7 million official on-demand U.S. streams, according to Luminate — and “Free Mind” accounts for 434 million of them.
Her A-list assists and limited but impactful solo output built expectations for Tems’ first full-length, Born in the Wild, an 18-track opus that secured three Grammy nominations, including for best global music album, and peaked at No. 56 on the Billboard 200 following its release in June 2024 through RCA Records and Sony U.K. imprint Since ’93.
“Tems is such an important voice for our times, bringing the experience of her life and music to a global audience,” RCA chairman/CEO Peter Edge says. “It is so special that RCA has been able to partner with her on her journey.”
Ferragamo dress, Justine Clenquet earrings, Mi Manera ring.
Zoe McConnell
Tems didn’t have much faith in her chances at the Grammys, and she’d thus planned a swift exit. “I was convincing myself it’s probably not me anyway. I was like, ‘Let me just sit at the back. If they don’t call me, I’ll just quickly leave,’ ” she says. So when the album’s jovial hit single “Love Me JeJe” won best African music performance during the awards show’s premiere ceremony, she “had to run to the stage,” she recalls. But she says her real “prize” that evening was witnessing the joy of her plus-one, her mother, who later spotted a certain celebrity. “She saw Will Smith and she was like, ‘Will Smith, wow!’ ” Tems says, bursting into laughter. “He was sitting at a table and was like, ‘Hey, nice to meet you!’ He was talking to her. Just giving her that experience was amazing.”
She has given her mom plenty more reasons to be proud this year, with an awe-inspiring series of firsts: Not only is Tems the first Nigerian artist to win two Grammys, but she’s also the first African-born woman to be involved in MLS ownership and the first African female artist to hit 1 billion Spotify streams for a song, with “Wait for U.” Tems can hardly keep up with them all. When I ask her where she was when she found out about her recent Spotify accomplishment, she pauses before hesitantly admitting with a laugh, “It’s very possible that I’m just learning of this.” But she’s not taking any of her historic feats for granted: “It feels good to be able to do this on this scale. My life is a dream.”
She uses the same word in “Burning,” Born in the Wild’s other Grammy-nominated track, when describing the surreal trajectory of achieving and acclimating to her newfound fame. The extra eyeballs scrutinizing her made her feel especially “uncomfortable” in the beginning, she says, but they also proved how the tides have turned for African artists. Nigerian singer-songwriter Seyi Sodimu — who sings the 1997 Afro-soul classic “Love Me JeJe,” featuring Shaffy Bello, that Tems interpolated in her Grammy-winning song of the same name — said in a 2004 interview that he pitched the original record to multiple U.S. labels, only to be told it “was hard to market me because I look ‘American’ but I sound ‘African.’ ” Wale Davies, one of Tems’ managers who is also one-half of the Nigerian rap duo Show Dem Camp, says “it wasn’t cool to be African” back then.
But now, artists like Tems are rewriting that narrative while still honoring those who preceded them. Tems thanked Sodimu on X for clearing her song’s sample: “I’m glad that it’s getting its flowers today”; she also posted photos of them on the set of her self-directed “Love Me JeJe” music video, which features the two singing the bridge together.
“The responsibility an artist like Tems has is that you’re going to be the portal through which people see Africa,” Davies says. “We have to show them that you can operate at a global level.” As she declared when accepting the Breakthrough award at Billboard Women in Music in 2024: “I’m standing with a continent behind me.”
Despite growing up in the “hustle and bustle” of Lagos, the artist born Témìládè Openiyi prefers peace and quiet. Today, she calls her sacred silent time her “energy-saving mode.”
Tems didn’t speak until she was 3 years old and found music to be a more effective means of expression. As a kid, she fell in love with the sentimental balladry and powerhouse pipes of Céline Dion, Mariah Carey and the members of Destiny’s Child and says she aspired to create music with that same level of “soul and realness.” But she felt insecure about her deep natural voice and opted for a more delicate falsetto. The music teacher at her secondary school, Mr. Sosan, encouraged her raw, unfiltered talent and offered his music room as a safe space. But as she honed her craft, her mother had other plans: She wanted Tems to attend college.
“I tried to miss all the deadlines, [but] she enrolled me to school in South Africa last minute,” she recalls. While studying economics at IIE MSA in Johannesburg, Tems taught herself to produce and engineer her own music through YouTube tutorials. When she returned home upon graduation, she started a digital marketing job — but her real postgrad goals didn’t involve sitting behind a desk.
“It just got to a point where I couldn’t take it anymore… Spiritually, I was aware that this is not my path. It felt like life or death, like this can make or break your destiny and you need to make a decision right now,” Tems says. “And I chose to take that leap.”
Alexandre Vauthier coat.
Zoe McConnell
Tems figured once she was able to hand her mother her degree, “everyone should just leave me to be and let me do my music.” And her mom, whom Tems was caring for after she had broken her leg, gave her an extra push to pursue her true passion. “We were going through a lot at the time, and we needed that job. And she said, ‘I think you should go and chase your dreams and try this music thing. You can do it and I believe in you. Don’t worry about me. I’m here for you,’ ” she remembers with tears in her eyes. Tems quit in January 2018, and that July, she independently released her debut single, “Mr Rebel,” a buoyant, reflective track about standing firmly in her purpose.
“Immediately, I felt like, ‘I don’t know who this person is, but this person is singing for their life,’ ” Davies recalls of the first time he heard “Mr Rebel” soon after its release. It became an underground hit despite deviating from the feel-good, dance-driven Afrobeats popular at the time, which producers in Nigeria had always told Tems she needed to make if she ever hoped to succeed. But in the mid-2010s, the alternative alté movement was gaining popularity in the country, empowering a new generation of creatives to express themselves freely in their sound and style. “No one sounded like her. No one thought emotional, truthful, honest, no-filter music would work in Nigeria,” Davies says. And when Tems released “Try Me” in 2019, he continues, “everything changed. That song went crazy because so many people were like, ‘Ah, finally, a woman who can share our frustrations and say how we really feel.’ ”
“Try Me” and its gripping music video caught the attention of label executives from around the world, including Sarah Lorentzen, then an executive assistant at RCA (where she’s now an A&R executive) who was dedicated to “[supporting] music from back home” in Nigeria. She flew to London in October 2019 to meet Tems, who was slated to perform at Show Dem Camp’s Palmwine Festival (visa issues ultimately prevented Tems from appearing). Two months later, Lorentzen flew to Lagos for Tems’ In the Garden concert. “I just jumped in and started helping her build the stage, breaking palm leaves and sticking them in the stage,” she recalls. “We bonded throughout the night, and that was the start of a yearlong journey before she actually signed with RCA.”
Tems’ managers, Davies and Muyiwa Awoniyi, cite Lorentzen’s Nigerian heritage as a key factor in their decision to sign with RCA, as well as fellow Nigerian executive Tunji Balogun, then-executive vp of A&R at RCA (now Def Jam chairman/CEO), and his crucial work with the label’s Afrobeats and R&B acts. Before Lorentzen and Balogun signed Tems in 2021, they got her to hop on the Afrobeats remix of Khalid and Disclosure’s dance-pop track “Know Your Worth” alongside Davido, who had signed to RCA in 2016. Wizkid, who joined the label in 2017, invited Tems through Awoniyi to a recording session for his 2020 album, Made in Lagos. “[Awoniyi] called me and was like, ‘We’re at Wiz’s place, we just recorded two bangers.’ And one of them ended up being ‘Essence,’ ” Davies says.
The same weekend Tems and Wiz shot the “Essence” music video, she recorded “Me & U” with GuiltyBeatz during their first session together, in Ghana. Within a few weeks, they’d also made “Crazy Tings” and three other tracks that would appear on her first major-label EP, If Orange Was a Place. Music frequently flows out of Tems, who has recorded 7,000 voice memos worth of freestyled song ideas on her iPhone. (“I’ve saved every voice note I’ve ever had since 2016,” she adds.) But even as “Essence” blew up globally, Tems was already focused on what was ahead. “I’m so obsessed with the songs that I’ve not shared that I’m not even thinking about the outside world,” she says. “I’m more concerned with the creation of the art than the acknowledgment.”
Ferragamo dress, Christian Louboutin shoes, Justine Clenquet earrings, Mi Manera ring.
Zoe McConnell
Lorentzen believes Tems’ humble approach helps her make quality music that naturally resonates with fans. “When it comes from a pure place like that, a place without any specific intention to blow [Nigerian slang meaning “to be successful”] or for it to be a hit, it allows you to enter a different kind of flow state as an artist and really deliver what’s genuine and authentic and unique to you,” she says.
It helps that lightning also tends to strike right before she hits the booth. After a “lit night out” in London with her friends Dunsin Wright and Yvonne Onyanta, Tems took them back to the studio, where her producers Spax and GuiltyBeatz were making the beat for “Love Me JeJe.” Guilty says he and Spax initially didn’t have Sodimu’s hit in mind. “She walks in the studio and literally started singing, ‘Love me jeje, love me tender.’ We were like, ‘Yep, get on the mic and record this now,’ ” he recalls, adding that “Love Me JeJe” was the “easiest song” to make on Born in the Wild, taking under an hour to finish.
Kayla Jackson, then Tems’ project manager at RCA (and now marketing consultant), proposed debuting it during her set at the 2024 Coachella festival, where fans at the Mojave Tent instantly picked up on the nostalgic call-and-response track. For Guilty, the crowd’s reaction “reconfirmed what I believe — and that is whatever feeling you have while making music in the studio is going to translate to people.”
“Do you know this song?”
Tems is surveying the front row of New York’s Radio City Music Hall, searching for a lucky someone to serenade with a freestyle based off their name, as she did during every stop of the 2024 Born in the Wild world tour. Her security guard lifts a 9-year-old girl, coincidentally named Africa, onto the stage as “Found,” the Brent Faiyaz-featuring track from If Orange Was a Place, starts playing. Tems asks her a couple of times if she knows this song before she shyly nods her head and proceeds to surprise the singer — and 6,000 concertgoers — by not missing a single lyric.
“Everybody erupted,” Joe Harris, her agent at CAA, remembers from that night. “In that moment, I realized this woman has not only been able to touch people her age and older, but the youth of the world has fallen in love with her voice and her tone.”
And her team has made sure her voice can travel to as many corners of the planet as possible, especially on her native continent. When Tems originally announced her 31-date international tour last May, she had two unspecified African stops scheduled. Awoniyi says it’s difficult to find the right venues that will “match the standard” of the kind of show she wants to deliver, and Harris adds, “It takes a bit of groundwork to try to pull those shows together because of the infrastructure and politically whatever’s going on in each one of those different countries.” In January, after receiving backlash online for promoting her show in Kigali, Rwanda, that was scheduled for March, Tems canceled it due to the country’s ongoing conflict with the Democratic Republic of Congo. “I never ever intend to be insensitive to real-world issues, and I sincerely apologize if this came across that way,” she wrote on X.
But aside from occasional roadblocks, she has also secured major opportunities in Africa. In March, Tems became the first artist to perform at The Dome, the new, 10,500-capacity venue in Johannesburg that Live Nation launched with Stadium Management South Africa and Gearhouse South Africa earlier this year. “We’re always looking to create epic moments,” Awoniyi says. “Live Nation let us know about the venue that they were building. Our agents spoke to them, and because we are very moments-focused, for her to be the first artist to perform there is cool.” Her team is carefully planning on rescheduling her show in Rwanda while adding new stops in Kenya, Ghana and, of course, Nigeria.
Bringing the fruits of her success back home remains fundamental to Tems’ mission. Pave Investments — an African private investment firm that backs platforms creating opportunities to develop and support African talent globally, such as Tems’ company, The Leading Vibe — reached out to her camp with the opportunity to join the San Diego FC ownership group. “I grew up around my uncles and brother watching matches, and because they’re so loud, I’m forced to pay attention. I always wondered about being able to be in the business of it because it’s a man’s world,” Tems says. In her role, she’ll work closely with the Right To Dream Academy, a youth association football academy that started in Ghana and has since expanded with branches in Egypt, Denmark and the United States. “That’s something that piqued my interest, being able to build other Africans up, build other children up and give them more opportunities that they wouldn’t have otherwise seen,” Tems says.
Marc Jacobs jacket and shoes, Calzedonia tights, Jacquemus earrings.
Zoe McConnell
Her historic entrance into the sports realm aligns with the ethos of The Leading Vibe, which she established in 2020 and where she serves as a director. Named for a lyric from “Mr Rebel” — “I’m the crown, I’m the vibe, I’m the leading vibe” — it allows her to “[lead] by example” and make a “difference in the world” by holding and managing her assets (she fully owns her masters for For Broken Ears and co-owns the masters for If Orange Was a Place and Born in the Wild) while serving as an incubator for investment, philanthropy and new business ventures. Through The Leading Vibe, she’s working on an initiative to support young African female artists, songwriters and producers.
“The way her brand is constructed is not limiting. You can see her at a football match today, you can see her at Formula 1 tomorrow,” Awoniyi says. In February, Aston Martin reported that 15,000 people watched her perform “Higher” at the unveiling of its new car design for the 2025 F1 season at London’s O2 Arena. She’s yet to headline her own show at the famed venue, but Awoniyi says they “haven’t been trying to rush” her growth as an artist to ensure the longevity of her career.
Tems says she’s currently making music “that I’m really excited about that sounds nothing like Born in the Wild,” and that after contributing to the Black Panther: Wakanda Forever soundtrack, she wants to hear more of her music in film — maybe even in the form of an original score — and possibly get in front of the camera. But while her universe may be continually expanding, Tems still wants her impact on the world to be fulfilling.
“My 20s, they’ve been eventful. I’ve gotten used to the uncertainty,” says Tems, who turns 30 in June. “I hope it stays that way. I hope it doesn’t slow down.”
This story appears in the May 17, 2025, issue of Billboard.
