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When he was about 12, Giorgi Gigashvili discovered the Argentine pianist Martha Argerich. A young pianist himself, Gigashvili had recently realized he wanted classical music “to be a part of my life,” and when he came across a YouTube video of Argerich performing Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 3, “I fell in love with both the piece and Martha Argerich,” he says.
Argerich became an idol for the aspiring Georgian musician — and, just a few years later, they crossed paths under auspicious circumstances. In 2019, the then-18-year-old Gigashvili won a piano competition in Spain, and he got to meet the head of the jury: Argerich. “That was the moment I truly believed that what I was doing was the right choice,” he says.
Such is the life of one of the global classical music community’s most lauded emerging talents. Now 24, Gigashvili has already amassed a long list of achievements: performing to a sold-out Carnegie Hall in New York, being among the 2023 winners of the world-famous Arthur Rubinstein International Piano Master Competition in Israel, earning the distinction of resident artist at the 2024 Beethovenfest in Germany and much more.
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But notably, Gigashvili hasn’t limited himself to the genre where he first made his name. Instead, he’s incorporated pop, electronic and experimental music, because he believes that each musical genre has a unique charm — and that none of them should be underestimated.
Ninutsa Kakabadze
Gigashvili’s eclectic taste dates back to his childhood. Long before he was playing to sold-out concert halls and amassing accolades, Gigashvili’s mother and aunt nurtured his love of classical music. “Classical music was always playing in our home, on vinyl or the radio,” he recalls. “The sound of this genre and the works of great composers became part of my memory. We had an old piano at home, and since childhood, I was drawn to touch its keys. I loved its sound.” At age 6, he started taking lessons. “For many children, learning classical music can feel like a stressful process,” he says, “but for me, it was a source of great joy.”
But, concurrently, he was developing an interest in other types of music — and the 2006 musical film Dreamgirls was a major catalyst. An older friend gave him a copy of the film, which he says he watched “several times a day.”
“The music in it was very different from classical music, but it made a huge impression on me,” he says. “This is where the period begins when my love for music and my interest in it were no longer defined by genre. The idea that classical music is isolated and its love excludes the love for other genres is a snobbish approach and has nothing to do with understanding the phenomenon of music. I think it’s wrong to believe that there is no serious genre other than classical music. I don’t divide music into serious and nonserious genres. Every genre, for me, is serious and unique.”
Ninutsa Kakabadze
In turn, despite his recognition in the classical world, Gigashvili has ventured into other genres. He’s drawn on pop, electronic and other modern styles in his repeated collaborations with the young Georgian artist Nini Nutsubidze, which have included modern interpretations of Georgian retro songs — nostalgic for older generations and an engaging way to introduce younger audiences to their culture’s musical heritage. Listeners of all ages have gravitated to the recordings.
At Beethovenfest, Gigashvili performed with Nutsubidze, where they delivered a unique amalgam of classical, folk, electronic, pop, hip-hop and Georgian retro music. “The fact that I, as a classical music performer and pianist, am involved in creative, modern experimental projects makes it even more interesting to Western audiences,” he says. “The global audience today is more curious and interested in experimental approaches.”
Gigashvili says that the creative process differs with each genre — but that these differences are what make his work interesting and diverse. “When you play classical music, the opportunities for interpretation are more limited,” he says, explaining that because classical performers “can’t subtract or add notes,” the genre relies on more subtle differences in aspects like technique and emotion. “I enjoy this limitation because it makes me think more about what I can break and where I can push boundaries. When it comes to performing contemporary music and I am at the keyboard, I am completely free. There’s no need to add my personal signature to specific pieces because I am already the author. These two experiences together create Giorgi Gigashvili.”
Ninutsa Kakabadze
Meanwhile, as Gigashvili’s platform has grown, he has used it to advance causes beyond music. Gigashvili is one of those artists who stands out for his active civic position. With Georgia’s relationship with the European Union at a crossroad, Gigashvili has spoken out supporting the country’s European future and protesting injustice.
“When I express an opinion on social issues, first and foremost, I am a citizen, not an artist,” he says. “This is my primary status. Even on the day I stop performing, I will still speak up and I will still express my position. Today, when Georgia’s European future is at risk, I believe it is every citizen’s duty to clearly express their civic position. This is especially their responsibility if they have a large audience and the right platform. If someone doesn’t have a correct civic position, for me, their art, including music, loses value.”
As Gigashvili anticipates a busy 2025 — he embarks on a tour of America, Asia and Europe in January, and he’ll soon begin recording his second album, which will feature Prokofiev’s Piano Sonatas Nos. 6, 7 and 8 — it is music’s utility as an inspirational tool that continues to motivate him.
“Once, after a concert, an audience member came up to me and said, ‘It seemed like I had forgotten I had emotions, but today, this music made me remember that I am human,’ ” he recalls. “I will never forget this comment. If a performance can make you cry, laugh, feel sad, make you happy or even angry, it means it is real. For me, that is the purpose of music.”
“Loser Monologue,” by Sign Crushes Motorist, is 2:56 of uncut, unrequited longing. “If you knew how I felt, I wouldn’t even be writing this s–t,” the singer-songwriter says at one point, pivoting towards self-disgust as a haze of sustained notes swells around him. “I wouldn’t be so lonely.” There is no percussion and little change to the melody, just Sign Crushes Motorist discussing romantic fantasies that he knows “will never happen.”
A drumless dispatch from the perspective of a despondent loner — not usually what people imagine as pop music. Yet “Loser Monologue” has more than 55 million plays on Spotify alone. “People are just drawn to that kind of stuff once in a while,” says Liam McCay, the 19-year-old behind Sign Crushes Motorist. His theory is that, while listening, “you can pretend like you’re not as mature as you are.”
In addition to Sign Crushes Motorist, McCay records under more than a dozen other names, including Take Care, Sweet Boy, Birth Day and more. Across these monikers, his most popular tracks often share some characteristics: leisurely tempos, short lengths, simple guitar melodies but often little else in the way of instrumentation, and vocals that are hushed to the point they can be hard to make out.
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When they’re discernible, though, the lyrics often conjure what McCay describes as “a sense of longing for some kind of a connection.” “You weren’t supposed to leave, and now you’re gone,” he sighs on Sweet Boy’s “I Still Think About You.” Take Care’s “Everything Reminds Me of You” echoes a desperate wish from “Loser Monologue” — “All I want is to hold you” — while “Nothing Happened At All” is so self-effacing that it borders on self-erasing: “I’d do anything for you, I will be anything for you.”
“I was an angsty teenager — I’m starting to grow up a wee bit,” McCay says sheepishly. “I never seemed to have much luck with the women and all that.” Plus, Ireland can be “a depressing place” at times, especially in winter.
All that angst is resonating with a growing audience; McCay recently pulled in 16 million streams a week across his catalog, according to Luminate. “His ability to craft full albums that soundtrack specific moments in your life, even at such a young age, stands out,” says Conor Ambrose, whose company Listen to the Kids serves as McCay’s publisher.
Despite the melancholy and futility that courses through the singer’s most popular tracks — McCay named a Take Care album Agony — he is quick to crack jokes, especially at his own expense. Before touring the U.S. earlier this year, he had to revisit some of the songs he had recorded and released in a frenzied spurt of activity. “I had to actually listen to them again, like, ‘This guy’s just going on about nothing,’” McCay quips.
When performing his records, he continues, “sometimes it’s a wee bit embarrassing having to sing the lyrics.” And in a YouTube interview earlier this year, he cheerfully announced a plan to “lock the doors” and “make some stuff that no one’s really gonna like.”
McCay grew up in Donegal, a pint-sized town in northwest Ireland, and his first foray into music was playing traditional tunes on the fiddle. When he pivoted to guitar and started to try to write songs, “obviously it sounded like s–t” at first. But during COVID-induced lockdown, he began to improve.
In 2021, he concocted a “big two-year plan”: He would put out a pair of EPs followed by a science fiction concept album. “That’s always sometimes been a fault of mine, big ideas,” he cracks. But after working extensively on the first EP, McCay was unsatisfied with the result.
He took a break, temporarily writing other songs “to express something different,” and the resulting music sounded way better. “After that, everything became a side project,” McCay explains. In the summer of 2022, when he released Boyhood (as Birth Day) and i’ll be ok (the first Sign Crushes Motorist album) within two months of each other, some of those side projects started to gain a following.
Major labels have made overtures, but he has rebuffed them. McCay is not completely on an island; he has a manager, plus Ambrose to help with the famously complicated world of publishing.
Ambrose believes McCay “embodies the essence of a modern independent artist,” and the singer seems content to continue operating in this fashion. “Every musician’s goal is to be able to live off their music, and I’m able to do that,” he says. “So I think I’m going to keep going the way I’m going.” (An independent solo artist consistently earning more than 15 million streams a week is making a robust six-figure annual income.) Plus, it’s likely that a major label would interfere with his way of working — spraying out music rapid-fire across a dozen different artist projects — and want him to focus on making a single moniker as big as possible.
Even as McCay stays the course, there is one difference: He has moved to Los Angeles, a world away from Ireland’s cold, dark winters. “I feel a whole lot better now coming out to the sun,” he says. And that means “I just haven’t been really as interested in making sad music as of recently.”
That’s not to say he’s lacking inspiration. His recent tour — 17 dates across U.S. cities, mostly in 500-cap clubs — introduced him to flesh-and-blood fans who had once seemed like a distant mirage. “Numbers on the screen are all well and good,” McCay says. “But to actually meet somebody and hear them talking to you about the music feels really nice.”
He might launch yet another side project, this one named Flesh World, after a magazine he spotted in Twin Peaks. And he also wants to put out a “midwest emo album” that he made a few years ago.
“I think I’m going to make two more albums and try to have four albums out in January,” he says. “Why not?”
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Argentina and Uruguay are two nations with deep-rooted connections to cumbia. Throughout history, artists of the genre have emerged from both sides of the Río de la Plata, becoming the soundtrack of daily life for millions of families in both countries. This past year, that cultural legacy was further strengthened by Valentino Merlo and The […]
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When Cai Xukun — the 26-year-old Chinese singer-songwriter better known as KUN — began working on his smash single “Afterglow,” he wanted to capture fleeting moments of change by connecting time and space with art and fashion. “I pondered for a long time about what kind of word could represent this imagery and mood,” he says. “Finally, the word ‘afterglow’ came to mind. We often see this scenery during various travel moments — including while driving; it represents our feelings in that instant. I chose this theme and combined it with some of the images in my mind: models on the runway, flashing lights, shifting time and space and changing people.”
“Afterglow” immediately connected with audiences. On its release day in early June, the song achieved a score of over 95 on the Tencent Music Uni Chart, which aggregates data from nine major platforms and over 100 radio stations. The song remained on the chart for 10 weeks and became the fastest song to receive gold certification on the Tencent chart; it also made the June edition of the Tencent Music Wave Chart, which is voted on by over 200 Chinese music industry professionals. That success has informed his selection as China’s representative for Billboard’s Global No. 1s, as chosen jointly by Tencent Music Chart and Billboard China.
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KUN created “Afterglow” with soul and rock sounds, and his integration of modern and classic production influences helped to give the song a timeless feel. And the song’s success marks the beginning of a new musical phase for KUN. “In my upcoming works, I will include some classic or modern elements,” he says. “I hope everyone can gradually sense a recognizable style in my music.”
In fact, several new singles KUN released in 2024 represent his fresh musical explorations. For instance, “Remedy” features clean piano sounds paired with a vintage vocal style, revealing his more minimalist side. It also reflects his listening habits: “I often enjoy classic songs, especially in quiet moments alone, listening to music and savoring that dialogue with myself,” he says.
While his previous works were warmer, KUN’s 2024 release “RIDE OR DIE” introduces a sound that’s new for him. “This song serves as a signal I’m conveying, heralding a transformation in my future musical style,” he says. “I believe it is essential to present something distinct to my audience, which has always been my aspiration. Consequently, the production process for ‘RIDE OR DIE’ extended over a considerable period and traversed numerous iterations, aiming to express the ‘stormy night’ concept that has long resided in my heart.”
KUN photographed for the Billboard China Global No. 1s Issue.
Tianyao Wang/Billboard China
Looking ahead, KUN plans to continue to expand his online live concept Art Lab, chronicling his growth and reflecting his changes from year to year — while strengthening his connections with audiences. “I can feel their enthusiasm, and they can feel my energy,” he says of his live performances. As time progresses, KUN is learning to “enjoy the process,” he adds. “Whether you genuinely enjoy the experience or merely fulfill a task can yield entirely different results. I believe that embracing this journey is paramount.”
Now, KUN is relishing a journey of “accumulation.” He’s preparing for a long journey ahead and accumulating new musical energy that he plans to direct toward producing more great songs. “This year, through the process of production and performance, I have engaged in numerous discussions and collaborations with various artists, which have profoundly influenced my personal perspectives and aesthetics,” he says. “Next year is likely to be a year where I unveil the fruits of my introspection.”
As Chinese artists increasingly gain international acclaim, KUN believes that the intersection of music across diverse cultures transcends language and geography, fostering cultural exchange. “I aspire for more individuals globally to experience music that is authentically ours as Chinese,” he says. “This has consistently been my ambition.”
This year was largely defined by pop stars who rewrote the rules, genre outlaws who succeeded in new territory and a rap beef that gave us a unifying anthem. But throughout the year, a handful of artists were enjoying their own major milestones — ones that not only defined their year, but their career.
From award recognition to chart firsts to major synchs and more, artists including Victoria Monét, Gracie Abrams, Natasha Bedingfield, A. G. Cook, Carín León, and Tems reflect on their defining moments of the year.
Gracie Abrams
Gracie Abrams
Abby Waisler
Last year, every single time I watched The Eras Tour — which was every time I opened — never once did it feel like there was going to be an end. When we were asked to come back, knowing that it would be to close it out, I immediately felt so nostalgic for the experience. Over the past few challenging, strange, scary years, Taylor has been a source of light for people who desperately needed it, and for developing artists, the tour has been an unimaginably significant springboard. For my career, it’s been undeniable. It’s hard to make sense of streaming numbers on your phone — I’m not someone who’s ever really been super tapped into that data — so to track the difference in audience reception quite literally in front of my eyes on The Eras Tour has been mind-blowing. I thought I was hallucinating when I first heard [Swifties] singing my lyrics back.
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What was most exciting about my own headlining tour was that I had made [2024 second album] The Secret of Us with my live show in mind. I’ve had the most fun performing “us.” in particular because on the days I’m not singing it with Taylor, it becomes this duet between all of us onstage and everybody in the crowd. And it was nominated for a Grammy! The whole reason Taylor and I wrote it in the first place was we’d just come off a dinner where she’d very sweetly said we needed to celebrate my first Grammy nomination [for best new artist in 2023]. The full circle of it all is hard for me to wrap my head around.
The Secret of Us has had the most traction out of any of the projects I’ve put out before, and there are milestones that are fun to acknowledge. When “I Love You, I’m Sorry” ended up being the song that took off the most, I felt like it was — not that we needed it — permission to allow acoustic guitar to remain the driving force behind “That’s So True,” which came from the feeling of living with a burning, fiery rage of jealousy. Seeing the life that song is having right now is psychotic to me. The audience’s engagement has only felt stronger as these rooms have continued to, by some miracle, expand. But what I clock as my metric for success is how it feels to create a thing and then sing it with a group of people who resonate with it. I just can’t believe any of it is real.
Natasha Bedingfield
Natasha Bedingfield
Cameron Jordan
Last year, my publisher reached out and I recognized the name [in his pitch]. I was like, “Ah, [filmmaker] Will Gluck! I remember him.” My song “Pocketful of Sunshine” was a big part of his [2010] movie, Easy A. He seems to use my songs in things and they resonate. So when I wrote back [about using “Unwritten” in his new film], I said, “A hundred percent yes.”
I went to the premiere [of Anyone but You], and the actors were like, “They just kept making us sing your song!” I think he made them sing it in every scene. I remember my publisher being like, “They’re really using it a lot.” And they even came back after they edited the movie and said, “We actually want to give you a bit more money because we ended up using the song even more.” We were really blown away by how it was used and how funny it was. There’s a moment where Sydney [Sweeney] is looking up at [Glen Powell’s] butt, singing, “Reaching for something in the distance.” I mean, that’s the kind of humor that I love.
People watched the movie and they left singing the song, and then they filmed themselves singing it and put that up on TikTok. And I got a call from Will saying, “Because the song is trending on TikTok, it’s making more people go see the movie.” So it was this really amazing thing that kind of served each other.
It feels like “Unwritten” has been one of the songs of the year. I feel really touched by this, and I couldn’t have anticipated it. Last year, I was thinking, “We need to do something for the [20th] anniversary! Let’s celebrate. Let’s put music out.” And then this happened without me. It was outside of my control, and it’s just been wilder than I could have imagined.
I think it’s everyone’s song, but nobody knew that until Anyone but You. What’s so poetic about this is that “Unwritten” itself is a song that’s changing and growing, and the story about it is evolving. When I was writing it, we imagined the arenas and the stadiums and the crowd singing it. And when we were producing it, I remember being like, “How do we pick sounds that aren’t going to be dated?” “Unwritten” is like my baby, and I hope it keeps shape-shifting.
A. G. Cook
A.G. Cook
Henry Redcliffe
Charli and I were talking about doing remixes almost from the beginning. I was really pushing this notion that I have about music in general in the post-streaming era. I like that music doesn’t have to completely end at the album release; the masters that get uploaded to streaming aren’t necessarily the final version.
What’s been so nice about brat is that even the way it was rolled out, the Boiler Room set happening early on and so forth, it’s holistically been about there being different versions. We’d sometimes even talk about remixes while working on the tracks themselves. There was always this notion that at some point, there would be a high-effort extension of the album. Thematically, brat is so interesting in how it is pure Charli, not using features. But obviously there’s all that energy building up for actual collaborations to happen. We knew while making it that if we wanted to collaborate, that would go on the remix album, but we’d also give collaborators agency to make songs even more in their image.
The original tracks were operating in real time, so it was no surprise that the remix album just continued that experience [by reflecting on] those months [after brat’s release]. The confessional nature of brat also provoked a lot of the remix collaborators to match that. Especially the [“Girl, so confusing” remix with Lorde], because it was conceived right as the album came out. That set the tone for the remixes to be actual conversations.
For [the “Mean girls” remix with Julian Casablancas], we wanted to make sure he could really make it his own, that it wasn’t just “Julian’s going to jump on for a verse.” That would have felt wrong for everyone. Charli and I wanted to demonstrate, like, “We’re not precious. We’re fine to dismantle it.” There are some remixes that didn’t happen simply because we sent it to people and they didn’t know where to start or were uncomfortable making a completely different genre. But the “Mean girls” remix is a good example of making sure it didn’t just feel like a feature, but an amalgamation that would then challenge Charli and I to also put ourselves on it.
The original songs are as clubby as DJs want to make them, or not. There’s so much ammo in brat, so many intriguing moments that could be looped, taken apart. I’ve already heard people do so many of their own remixes. There are funny ones where Charli is interviewed and is like, “Yeah, I love dance music, but I don’t really like drum’n’bass.” Then there’ll be like 10 drum’n’bass remixes, almost as like a “f–k you.” I think that’s the most fun part.
Carín León
Carin León
Carlos Ruiz
Being at the Grand Ole Opry was culturally very significant. As a Latino, as a Mexican, as a fan of country music, to go to the capital of country and play inside the temple of country music meant a lot to me. I think we made our mark.
I’ve always been close to country music, listening to Johnny Cash, George Strait and the newer generation of artists who are so good and are breaking parameters and doing things differently, just as we are with Mexican music. I love what artists like Luke Combs and Post Malone are doing, but if I had to choose a single country act, it would be the great Chris Stapleton. He’s given us a lot of love.
In fact, the last time we performed in the South, we sang “Tennessee Whiskey,” and I said, “Respectfully, for me, the best country singer, technically and artistically speaking, is Chris Stapleton.” Then we realized his wife was there, and she got up and came to the stage to see us. It made me realize music really has no borders. We have a country project set for next year, mostly in English, with a lot of collaborations.
We’ve been making other inroads with country music this year, and one day my manager, Jorge Juárez, and I were on a flight and he said, “We’ve just been confirmed for the Grand Ole Opry.” As if this was normal. My first words were “You’re kidding me!” Because I know how hard it is to play there. Many American artists never get to do it. It felt like confirming the biggest stadium ever.
It was the culmination of all those dreams I had as a kid of playing in a mythical and legendary space. Playing there allowed me to be me and to be that person that since childhood has loved country music, especially because our Mexican music is so influenced by country. I think it’s the only place where I’ve cried onstage. It’s something money can’t buy — and a memory I’ll take with me till the day I die.
Victoria Monét
Victoria Monét
Dalvin Adams
I really liked the process of getting into the Grammys. I was doing a lot of prep physically, like watching my food intake, lots of workouts. A really special moment happened where I took [my daughter] Hazel with me to a fitting with Versace. It was my daughter’s first time on a red carpet, and she [was going to] be matching with me. Versace allowed us to pick a specific brown and bring that theme of [my album] Jaguar to life.
[Winning the best new artist Grammy] was one of the biggest goals that I had for the year. You know how much it takes to get recognition in this industry or bring a vision to life and what kind of marketing it took to get there, what kind of focus and dedication and sacrifice. [But I have this] yin-yang mentality like, although this means the world to me and I appreciate it, I can’t make it my be-all and end-all to determine whether or not I’m good — because the other [nominees] were also amazing and they didn’t get it, and they’re going on with their lives and doing amazing, incredible things.
I have [my Grammys] on a banister upstairs; it’s kind of become an awards banister. There are a few plaques there and a framed tweet about the Grammys that I tweeted in 2015, almost like a manifestation. It puts a pep in your step to know that you did the right thing, but also you have so much more work to do, so just keep going and remain grounded and know that all of these things are a blessing.
You want to continue to do what you love even if the accolades don’t ever come again. There were many years where I thought I was great and I didn’t have those awards on my banister. It was just knowing, because of my work ethic, greatness comes that way. And when the recognition and attention come, you want to make sure that doesn’t become your driving force. Those are extras, but it does feel really nice.
Tems
Tems
Adrienne Raquel
Once I have a vision, I’m always trying to do everything to put my vision in place. But that can also sometimes turn into perfectionism, which I learned to let go of while [making my debut album, Born in the Wild]. You [have to] be as authentic as possible and allow yourself to flow in the music — letting go of anything that you think you’re supposed to do, be or show.
I’m not thinking too much about genres or rules: “Oh, you have to make Afrobeats.” My “why” is different. My “why” is to release my thoughts. It’s an honor to be able to make music that you want to make and for people to be able to connect to it — and for someone to recognize that is also really great.
[At Coachella], Wizkid was around and we asked him if he’d come out [to perform “Essence”], and he was really down. Justin [Bieber] happened to also be around. He hit me up that morning and said he’s down to come out if I needed him. And I was like, “Yes!” It was amazing. Everybody was going crazy. The crowd was screaming, the floor was shaking. It was a vibe, like a huge party.
[In November], we had just arrived at midnight in Melbourne, Australia, so I wasn’t thinking too much about the Grammys. I was extremely tired, so I went to bed hoping to get a little bit of rest before my show the next day. Around 5 a.m., my phone started vibrating on my bed. It’s calls and people shouting, “Oh, my God. Congrats!” I’m like, “Bro, what’s going on?” They’re like, “Bro, three Grammy nominations!” It was worth being woken up for, especially for the people that have worked on this album — not just me, but my friend and my producer [GuiltyBeatz], [and] Spax, [who] also engineered it.
There are so many people that worked sleepless nights and really did their best to help me out, and it’s beautiful to see them have the recognition. All it takes is a Grammy-nominated project that you were a part of for your life to change. That’s what I really care about the most.
This story appears in the Dec. 14, 2024, issue of Billboard.
Lay Bankz’s “Tell Ur Girlfriend” sounds as if someone sliced up Ginuwine’s “Pony” and Omarion’s “Ice Box,” tossed them in a blender with a four-to-the-floor kick drum, and served up the results. “It felt like a hit to us,” says Alec Henderson, head of digital at Banks’ label, Artist Partner Group. “But labels never really call the hits.”
In this climate, labels sometimes give up on songs that aren’t immediately greeted rapturously by listeners. But APG stuck with “Tell Ur Girlfriend,” running TikTok campaigns that played on the track’s saucy lyrics: “Should tell my boyfriend what I been doin’/ Been thinkin’ of you every time I screw him.” “We really believed in that song,” Henderson says.
Their faith was rewarded when two creators developed a dance set to the track. On TikTok, where trends bloom and die out rapidly, dance trends are ancient history — they were more common back in the platform’s early days, 2019 and 2020. But the “Tell Ur Girlfriend” dance “just went crazy,” according to Henderson. The song cracked the TikTok Billboard Top 50 chart in April. A week later, “Tell Ur Girlfriend,” debuted at No. 58 on the Billboard Hot 100 (dated April 27), thanks to nearly 9 million official U.S. streams, according to Luminate.
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Lay Bankz’s hit was one of 24 songs that appeared on the TikTok Billboard Top 50 before jumping to the Hot 100 in the first 11-ish months of 2024. (“Tell Ur Girlfriend” ended up spending three weeks at No. 1 on the former chart.) That’s a considerable number, but still ultimately a small percentage of the platform’s biggest 2024 hits: More than 600 songs appeared on the TikTok Billboard Top 50 during this period, showing that even hard-won virality on the massively popular app does not necessarily correlate with widespread listening activity.
Even so, marketers say it remains an essential plank of most campaigns — sometimes the only plank. “All roads lead back to TikTok at this point, in some capacity,” says Amy Hart, who worked at the digital marketing agency Flighthouse and the label 10k Projects before co-founding prairy, a new indie label. This remains true, she continues, even though “the odds of actually starting something from scratch are so small.”
TikTok is usually portrayed as an initiator, the platform that kicks off the chain-reaction that later creates a hit. The potential power of this approach can be seen when looking at the songs that made the leap from the TikTok Billboard Top 50 to the Hot 100 this year: They often climbed to the upper reaches of the chart — their average peak position was No. 18 on the Hot 100 — and they spent a healthy 20 weeks on the chart. (In total, 88 songs appeared on both the TikTok Billboard Top 50 and the Hot 100, including 37 that appeared on the two rankings the same week, and 27 tracks that did a reverse crossover, showing up on the Hot 100 first and then appearing on the TikTok Billboard Top 50.)
Digital marketers who focus on TikTok will face additional challenges in 2025. Most important, the future of TikTok is an open question (again). Federal judges recently upheld a law requiring Bytedance to sell the app by January 19th or face a ban in the U.S., where some 170 million people use TikTok.
The outcome of that fight is outside of marketers’ control. But closer to home, “the biggest thing that I’ve noticed is influencer campaigns just don’t work,” Hart says.
In TikTok’s early days, paying a creator with a following to make a video with an artist’s song was common, relatively cheap, and occasionally effective. While it’s still common, it’s now expensive and often worthless. “I’m starting to put less and less faith in influencer marketing as a vehicle for the distribution of and marketing of music,” says Sam Alavi, who co-manages the artist bbno$. (bbno$’s “It Boy” hit No. 10 on the TikTok Billboard Top 50 this year.)
Some marketers have instead looked to contest platforms, which recruit a pool of creators and offer them cash prizes to make videos with specific songs, awarding the money to the clips that get the most engagement. This ties performance to payment, in contrast to traditional influencer approach — most influencers charge a flat rate, so they get paid the same whether their video gets two views or 2 million.
The contest platforms offer “a much easier way to get a volume of sound uses” compared to reaching out to one influencer at a time, explains Marisa Kurtz, vp of marketing at Fearless Records. “And the contest element does encourage creators to make thoughtful videos in the hopes of getting the most views.”
Other executives haven’t seen as much success with this approach, however. “We’ve actually been working on moving away from contest-style campaigns in the last seven or eight months,” says Rafael Rocha, CEO of the marketing agency NuWave Digital. “Those are, in our view, also becoming inefficient and oversaturated.”
Another strategy that has caught on with marketers is to create and oversee their own artist fan pages, which can shotgun posts onto TikTok at a low cost. These accounts operate as if you had “a media outlet at your disposal at all times,” Laura Spinelli, digital marketing manager for Shopkeeper Management, told Billboard earlier this year. Tim Collins, co-founder of the digital marketing agency Creed Media, noted that fan pages “can tell the story of an artist without the artist having to be the voice.”
One thing is certain: Whatever approach works now is unlikely to work in three to six months. “Tik Tok is always moving and changing,” Hart says. As a result, marketers have to continuously adjust their approach.
“As much as we all like to think that we can sit down at this table and be like, ‘This is the thing that’s going to go viral,’’ Alavi adds, “none of us f–king know.”
Amirah’s story unfolds like a carefully plotted script, peppered with the unexpected moments that distinguish dreams from reality. This 18-year-old emerging artist isn’t just a fresh face in music; she’s a testament to the power of vision, resilience, and a faith grounded in the support of family. From recording her first EP while still in high school to signing with 10 Summers and Interscope, Amirah’s rise reflects an artist who’s balancing authenticity with industry ambitions—and doing it on her own terms.
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Amirah’s journey has been propelled forward by her dedication and the encouragement of platforms like Honda Stage, which shares her mission of uncovering stories that embody resilience, passion, and authenticity. Honda Stage champions emerging artists and brings audiences closer to the often-hidden journeys that fuel the music industry. Much like Amirah, the platform celebrates individuals who are redefining music through unique perspectives, unwavering commitment, and unfiltered creativity.
Raised in Virginia Beach, Amirah grew up in a family that knew how to cultivate dreams. “I was always about music—I needed it,” she says, remembering the countless times she would talk to her mother about wanting to be a singer. Her grandparents championed her budding passion, capturing every recital and piano performance, and her mother taught her about the power of faith and self-belief. “My mom would always say, ‘Speak it into existence,’” Amirah shares, her voice carrying a quiet confidence that hints at a wisdom beyond her years. And speak she did—writing down her dreams, rehearsing the vision in her head, and setting her sights on making them real.
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It was during the lockdowns of 2020, and like many artists, Amirah was channeling her energy into creating and refining her sound, writing songs, and imagining what it would take to break into the industry. She’d been a devoted fan of Mustard’s work for years, studying his production style and envisioning what it would be like to work with him. But the idea of actually connecting with him seemed like a far-off fantasy, something her mom used to say to encourage her: “You never know; one day, Mustard might come knocking!”
By 2021, Amirah was writing down all her goals, detailing her dreams, and practicing a manifestation ritual. She recalls that she’d just written a note in her journal that year, setting an intention to be signed to a major label by the time she was 16. She was 15 when the unthinkable happened—her phone pinged with an Instagram DM notification from none other than Mustard himself. In a message that was straightforward but powerful, he expressed his admiration for her work and wanted to talk more after seeing one of her covers online.
“I just remember staring at it, thinking, ‘This has to be a joke, right?’” she laughs now. “But it was real. And the best part? He didn’t just see the potential—I felt like he already knew the vision I wanted for myself.” They connected almost instantly, with Mustard helping her navigate the next steps, leading to her signing with Ten Summers and Interscope.
That DM wasn’t just a message; it was the manifestation of everything she’d been working toward.
By 2021, she was signed with 10 Summers and Interscope, making her one of the latest young artists to be mentored by the celebrated producer. “It felt like a fever dream,” she admits, still in awe of the trajectory that took her from a Virginia high school to recording studios in L.A. “I remember asking, ‘So, does this mean I can release music now?’ I didn’t know the process, but my team walked me through every step.”
That team—especially her managers and Mustard—has become an extension of her family, helping her navigate the industry’s highs and lows while supporting her growth as an artist. The creative back-and-forth with Mustard, she says, has been an anchor for her, one that’s reinforced her dedication to the work. “Sometimes I feel like my songs are corny, but he’ll listen and say, ‘No, you have to hear this through.’” With Ten Summers, she’s found a team willing to help her experiment while keeping her grounded, ensuring her artistic vision isn’t compromised.
Amirah isn’t an artist who’s chasing the flash and glamour often associated with success; she’s a self-described “earth girl” who takes comfort in simplicity. “I don’t need flashy stuff,” she says. “Knowing where I came from keeps me grounded and helps me hold onto my artistic vision.” Her home in Virginia Beach, with its coastal, laid-back vibe, serves as a touchstone that keeps her focused on authenticity rather than trends.
For Amirah, staying true to herself and finding balance in an industry driven by image and expectations isn’t a battle—it’s a principle. “I don’t feel pressure; I feel like we’re all just here to make dope stuff,” she explains. “It’s important to maintain who I am.” That ethos is reflected in her music, where each song offers a piece of her story, her evolution, and her soul. “My upcoming project is vibes, vibes, vibes,” she says, eager to share the songs she’s been recording since she was 16. “I hope people just have fun and feel connected. I want it to be a vision that everyone can understand.”
Beyond her music, Amirah is setting long-term goals that extend into acting and animated series, hoping to show her versatility as an artist with a personality that jumps off the screen. Her short-term plans, however, are all about staying in the studio, writing, and crafting music that resonates with audiences everywhere. “I want to write music that’s played in clubs but also tells the story of who I am,” she says, already visualizing the next stage of her career.
There’s a boldness to Amirah’s vision, but it’s grounded in faith—a faith she says is both personal and unshakeable. Her approach to setbacks is to turn to God, her family, and sometimes, a cathartic cry. “When I doubt, I pray,” she reveals, a simple phrase that carries the weight of her journey thus far. She’s learned that the road to success isn’t always easy, but she’s not one to give up. Each step she’s taken has reinforced her belief that with hard work, resilience, and a team who sees her potential, anything is possible.
Today, Amirah’s poised to make a name for herself in an industry that’s often more focused on profits than passions. But with her first EP out, a loyal team at her side, and a vision for what she wants to accomplish, Amirah’s on track to defy those odds. In her own words: “I hope everyone loves it, and I hope they can feel my heart in every song.” Amirah’s journey is one to watch—not just because of her talent, but because of the unwavering authenticity she brings to every note, lyric, and performance.
It’s peculiar to hear Jacob Slater talk so effusively about “the quiet life” when he is renowned for one of the most intense, rib-shakingly loud live sets on the indie circuit. He’s the sort of artist, it seems, who is striving to find meaning in life’s simpler moments.
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“I haven’t had a break in a long while,” he says, eyes narrowing as he lights a cigarette. The smoke plumes drift towards a large Bob Dylan poster spread across the ceiling. “The sea is cold and there’s been waves here the past few days, so it’s been good to get back out there. I’m a little bit rusty, though, as I now spend so much time out of the water.”
The Wunderhorse frontman has been readjusting to the natural rhythms of life in his adopted locale of Newquay, Cornwall. It’s here where the 27-year-old trained as a surf instructor a few years ago, a solo venture that helped to relight his creative fire after burning bright and crashing out in the much-hyped but short-lived London punk band Dead Pretties. Recently, he has spent his time sleeping in, listening to records, and catching up with friends over coffee. Best of all, Slater says in a blissed-out tone, there is little to no mobile phone signal. The temptation to go off-grid clearly looms large.
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Returning to the coast has become an outlet for Slater’s newfound sense of lightness. Rarely at home, he’s spent much of 2024 insulated inside a touring bubble, playing shows across Europe with Fontaines D.C. and racking up huge British festival appearances at the likes of Reading & Leeds and TRNSMT. In August, Wunderhorse’s second LP, Midas (Communion Records), hit No.6 on the Official U.K. Charts upon release; a major feat, given that 2022 debut Cub failed to crack the Top 40.
On his birthday, Slater got a call from his manager saying they had booked a gig at London’s 10,000-capacity Alexandra Palace next spring. In November, the group supported Fontaines D.C. throughout Europe, and now, through December, the band are opening for Sam Fender at arenas across the U.K. and Ireland, capping off an extraordinary year.
Though often mired in themes of self-destruction and volatility, the music of Wunderhorse is uplifting, cathartic, and compassionate. The four-piece are cult stars at the threshold of mainstream crossover, a reality that they are now encountering on the road. Each night, they come eye-to -eye with a predominantly young fanbase that has recently ballooned in size as a result of “unexpected” TikTok popularity. “Not to sound like an old man, but I really don’t know how that whole ‘online thing’ works. Yet it seems to be a real beast,” says Slater, speaking over video call.
It was after a headline show at Glasgow’s Barrowlands venue last month that Slater realized the band’s profile was changing. Combating a disrupted sleep schedule that had left him feeling like “a nocturnal creature,” he ventured out, alone, to walk off all the adrenaline he had worked up on stage. What he found was a city gradually revealing itself through characterful people, foggy images of bars shuttering up for the night, and the distant expanse of the M8 motorway.
Only an hour earlier, with sweat beads lining his forehead, he had been growling into the mic, stomping as each song reached its soaring climax. Video footage of the performance circulated on social media the following day, with clips of gig-goers crying and barking doing the rounds. Wunderhorse may have already inspired fan tattoos and custom trainers, but this felt like a new level of visibility altogether.
“Recently, the audience has solidified a bit more in its demographic,” Slater explains. “At first, I didn’t quite know how to take it when people were telling us that we had young fans. But I remember when I was younger, music meant so much to me. It still does, of course, but music has a particular potency when you’re a teenager. If people are connecting with us at that age, then that’s amazing.”
Initially a one-man endeavour, the first seismic shift in Wunderhorse’s trajectory took place when Slater decided to expand the project to a full band in the early days of creating Midas. He brought Harry Tristan Fowler (guitar), Peter Woodin (bass) and Jamie Staples (drums) into the fold, having met each of them at gigs in London and their native Hertfordshire. Slater figured out early that the best way to approach music was to build his own world and invite people in; he and his bandmates soon honed their bluesy, expansive, emotionally-weathered sound after bonding over seminal records from Neil Young and Joni Mitchell.
The release of Cub, meanwhile, had left Slater feeling as though he was treading water as a lyricist. Much of the album’s writing resonated because of its unvarnished frankness about a dark personal history, traversing selfishness (“Purple”), nihilism, and traumatic teenage experiences (“Butterflies,” “Teal”). For its author, however – who was in recovery from addiction issues at the time – having to accept the circumstances of his previous life for what they were became too much of a mental burden to bear.
“This is probably not the stuff you’re meant to say in interviews, but I think every artist has songs they wrote when they were younger and now struggle with,” Slater says, grinning beneath a big, raggedy scarf. “You start to realize that, whatever you write, you’re going to have to live with it for a long time. If people are singing songs back to you and you don’t like the words that you’ve written, then you end up standing on stage feeling like you’ve deceived yourself.”
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Slater notes how his record contract stated that Cub was meant to see him “deliver 18 songs at a minimum.” Only 11 tracks made the final cut, and he put “any leftovers that didn’t fit into the Wunderhorse world” onto 2023 solo LP Pinky, I Love You. Curiously, eagle-eyed fans noticed that, a few weeks back, the earliest Wunderhorse music videos had been removed from YouTube; they responded by creating a Google Drive folder with all the newly missing clips. Today, Slater admits this was his doing: “If I had it my way, there would be no promo, there’d be no videos. I find it all really difficult because it’s not the way that my brain works.”
Releasing Midas didn’t banish Slater’s feelings of alienation towards the music industry entirely, but it did explore a more peaceful coexistence within it. It seems as though the search for salvation he sings of on “Silver” is starting to bear fruit. Despite it all, Slater thinks that aspects of his life today would astound his younger self: he is thoughtful yet steadfast in describing how publications describing Wunderhorse as “generational,” only two albums in, can be disorienting for a musician still coming to terms with his changing stature.
“Worrying whether you’re going to become this ‘grand thing’ that people are saying you are will only cause you to get in the way of yourself. Nobody even knows what such titles mean,” he says. “Any songwriter who has stood the test of time has managed to stay true to who they are. Like, did Bob Dylan wake up one day and go, ‘I’m gonna be generational?’ No.”
It’s clear that Slater sees a gap between his intentions and the public’s reaction to his musical output. He’ll later mention how Midas’ “Superman” was “completely misunderstood” by listeners, but he’s also trying to let go of these things which are out of his control. “Nobody’s ever going to feel what you felt when you wrote the song as everyone is at the center of their own universe,” he says. “And that’s part of the magic.” True self-acceptance: Slater is steadily getting there, inch-by-inch, wave-by-wave, song-by-song.