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Appearing on the smoke-filled stage of New Jersey’s Prudential Center on Tuesday night (Sept. 12), Demi Lovato was ready to reintroduce herself to a throng of screaming fans. Sporting a black vinyl gown and their now-signature slicked black hair, Lovato showed the MTV VMAs what it means to re-contextualize your pop stardom into rock glory.
Two weeks before their star-turn set, Lovato tells Billboard that they’re not feeling the nerves about their first performance in six years on the VMAs stage. “We just started rehearsals for it and I’m getting the creative locked in right now,” she says over a Zoom call. “I’m really excited. I think it’ll be a great performance.”
That confidence in her own skills as a performer are largely what helped Lovato make Revamped (out Friday, Sept. 15), her new album of old hits reshaped in her new rock image. The 10-track LP features some of their all-time biggest hits (“Heart Attack,” “Sorry Not Sorry”) alongside fan favorites (“La La Land,” “Tell Me You Love Me”), all refurbished with a punchy pop-punk feel to better fit Lovato’s venture back into the world of rock music.
For Lovato, change has been the constant of their career — whether that means transitioning from pop-punk into pure pop and back to rock music, or publicly opening up about their gender identity (Lovato uses both they/them and she/her pronouns). So going back and making aesthetic changes to her music wasn’t anything new. “It just feels really good,” she says. “I’m really proud of the work that we did, and I’m excited for the songs to be out there.”
Below, Billboard chats with Lovato about the origins of Revamped, which song in her discography was the hardest to translate into rock, her abortion rights anthem “Swine” and her recent split from manager Scooter Braun.
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Take me back the beginning of this process — when did you start seriously thinking about going back and re-recording these old hits?
Well, I started putting together these rock versions of the songs last year when I was heading out on tour. I had to figure out the puzzle of how to make [songs] like “Sorry Not Sorry” and “Heart Attack” work with all of the new rock songs I was doing. So, the thought was, “Why don’t we edge them up a little bit and see what what they sound like?” We did that, and they just ended up sounding great. I performed them on tour, and the fans really loved them. I thought, “Why don’t I rerecord and release them?”
Were there any songs in particular on Revamped that felt much more difficult to reimagine as rock tracks than others?
Oh, definitely. I think “Tell Me You Love Me” was the one that felt really tough to translate into a new genre of music. The vocals are just so soulful on that one, and so trying to keep it soulful while also amping it up for this record was pretty difficult. Ultimately, I think we made it work — it turned out really great.
When you started creating these rock versions of your biggest hits, did you find that it changed your relationship to the original pop songs themselves?
Actually no — I think it reignited an excitement inside of me for those songs. Like, take “Give Your Heart a Break,” for example: I got really tired of performing that one live, because it had been in my catalog for so long, and it didn’t really reflect any sound that I had anymore. Even when I went more R&B-pop, it just wasn’t the kind of sound I was looking for anymore, because it was just so pop. But when we put together the rock version, I was suddenly having a really fun time on stage performing it.
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It’s worth noting that it’s been 15 years since you put out your debut record Don’t Forget, and your voice has grown and changed a lot since then. Were there any moments in the re-recording process where you found yourself adjusting the songs around your evolved voice?
Yeah, I’d say my voice like expanded in a really positive way. So, if anything, with some of the songs I found myself going, ‘Oh, I can hit higher notes than I used to.’ And so I started hitting higher and higher notes when we were recording — to be honest, I think we added an extra high note on every track. I think that’s actually part of the exciting thing with this album; getting to hear the the higher notes that I’m doing in my songs and like taking it to another level. I’d even say they were easier to record, just because I’ve been singing them for so many years.
Re-recordings have become something of a trend in the business as of late — obviously you have Taylor Swift re-recording her masters, but also icons like Lucinda Williams, Moby, U2 and others going back through their catalogs for re-makes. What is it about revisiting your past work that’s so appealing to artists?
I think that anytime you’ve been like performing a song for a long time — for me, like you said, it’s been 15, 16 years, since I put out some of these records — it’s appealing to get to really reinvent them. It’s also a cool challenge, which is exciting. For me, the challenge was, “How can I go in and make this better vocally?” Because the producing was largely done by my incredible production team [Oak Felder, Alex Nice and Keith Sorrells], so I didn’t really have to challenge myself with that.
I think if you’re the type of person that’s always striving to be better, then this process is going to be naturally appealing to you. So, I guess it just depends on the artist; if the artist is totally chill with having their songs out there as they are, and they’re proud of the work that they’ve already done, then that’s great. But I’m the type of person that wants to out-do myself always.
You made headlines in recent weeks when it was announced that you were parting ways with Scooter Braun and SB Projects. Can you talk about what went into that decision?
You know, I’m really thankful for my time with SB Projects, and now I’m just looking forward to the next chapter in my career. Ultimately, it was just time for me to move on and go in a different direction. But I’m really excited for my next chapter.
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Let’s talk a little bit about the other song you put out earlier this year, “Swine.” This felt like such a poignant “f–k you“ anthem about the state of abortion rights in America — what went into making that track in time for the one year anniversary of the Dobbs decision?
Well, when I went into the studio to make “Swine,” my goal was to make an anthem — I wanted to write an anthem for women and people that give birth. It was something that was really thought-out for me. Yeah, to be honest, I just wanted to do exactly what you said; make a f–k you anthem to anybody that opposes our rights. [Laughs.] And it felt really good.
I also wanted to commend you for hosting a gender-diverse cast in the “Swine” video, including trans and non-binary people in the clip. Why was that such an important part of making the video for you?
Inclusivity is just something that’s really important to me, and will always be really important to me. Any time I’m doing something that is such a statement like “Swine,” I want to make sure that we keep it inclusive. I’m not trying to limit my art to just one type of person, I think that’s unfair. There has to be representation in my work, so keeping that in mind always is at the forefront of my mind whenever I’m working.
With Revamped coming out, what can we expect to see next from Demi Lovato?
I think after the VMAs and a couple of show, I’m going to be getting back into the studio after the month of September. We’ll be trying to, you know, figure out what the near future looks like for me.
Per Sundin had seen the future.
Then the President of Universal Music Nordic, Sundin was invited to Ibiza to see Swedish House Mafia play their 2008 residency at Pacha.
“It was like, ‘When are they going on stage? Half past two? In the morning? Oh my god,’” recalls Sundin, who at this time was not yet fully steeped in dance music’s late-night culture. At Pacha he ventured onto the dancefloor amidst a massive crowd “fist-pumping towards the DJ booth.” It was then he knew: “This is the future of pop.”
Back in Stockholm, Sundin looked around for his own dance act to sign, eventually connecting with a young Swedish producer then going by Tim Berg, along with the artist’s manager, Ash Pournouri. Sundin signed the artist’s 2010 debut single, “Seek Bromance.” The label and the producer, who was by then going by Avicii, followed that with 2012’s “Fade Into Darkness” — and then, of course, the era-defining global phenomenon that was “Levels.”
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But the biggest success was yet to come.
Avicii’s debut album, True, came out on September 13, 2013. By its release date, it was already soaring on the wings of its lead single “Wake Me Up,” the first-ever country/EDM hybrid to cross over to top 40, which as of today has 1.18 billion official on-demand U.S. streams, according to Luminate. The song reached No. 4 on the Billboard Hot 100 in October of 2013, marking what would be the highest-charting song of Avicii’s career, and his only top 10 hit. It also spent 26 weeks at No. 1 on the Hot Dance/Electronic Songs chart, and this past June, became the RIAA’s highest certified dance song.
Dance music purists may have hated the track — when “Wake Me Up” was mentioned at a business lunch in 2013, one dance music publicist put her finger in her mouth and pretended to vomit — but anyone with ears had to admit it was catchy. True was also a phenomenon: With it, Avicii bucked the trend of EDM artists only releasing singles, instead presenting a cohesive body of work that bore surprising country/bluegrass influences, which were at first misunderstood, but ultimately distinguished him as an innovator and world class creative.
The album currently has two billion total on-demand official U.S. streams, according to Luminate. It reached No. 5 on the Billboard 200 in October of 2013 and spent eight weeks at No. 1 on Top Dance/Electronic Albums. Today (Sept. 13) marks the ten-year anniversary of True, which will be celebrated with never-before-released footage of the album’s production, released on the Avicii social media accounts over the next month.
Sundin — now the CEO of Pophouse, which purchased 75% of Avicii’s recording and publishing catalog in 2022 — here recalls the album’s origins to Billboard, along with the excitement for it within Universal, and how an unlicensed Soundcloud mix helped shift hatred for the LP into global acclaim.
Tell me about the earliest phases of the album.
[“Levels”] really moved my career internationally and inside Universal. At that time when I came into [the dance world], everyone did instrumentals beats, and then they tested that on the audience. If the audience liked it, they called in a topliner or vocalist to write the lyrics, and tried different verses and different topliners.
But Tim was like, ‘I want to be an artist. I don’t want to do one song instrumentals and this [testing] process. I want to do an album.” I said “You know, this is dance music. You don’t do albums.”
But he told me that they were already working on it — so I went to Tim’s studio, which was just a five minutes walk from Universal’s Stockholm office — and they played me me “Wake Me Up.” This was in February of 2013.
What did you think when you heard it?
I tried to hold back, because if I say, “It’s fantastic,” then Ash would increase the price for the advance, so I had to hold back everything. I was like, “Yeah, this could work.”
That was the only song they played me. I went back to the office and I called my superiors — because this was above my pay grade, because he asked for a lot of millions for this album — and talked about it. We did so well with “Levels,” and that really was a breakthrough for us, for me and for Universal Music Sweden, because that really ignited interest around the world for EDM music. So when this album was in place, we went all in on it and just did everything we could [for it].
So you first hear “Wake Me Up” in February, and then a month later the album is being debuted at Ultra Music Festival in Miami. Famously, that show bombed. What was it was like being there?
I invited people from all over the world to Ultra Music Festival. There, Avicii decided together with his management to premiere the album — with the original songwriters and topliners he worked with on the album.
So he first played an approximately 45-minutes set of a traditional Avicii concert. Then, for the audience it was like a changeover, like a new act coming on. The DJ booth was moved to the right of the stage, and then came a guy who started singing “Wake Me Up.” For me, it was obvious, because I love the track. But for the audience, it was a disaster. They hated it.
Then Dan Tyminski did “Hey Brother,” and no one understood. They wanted traditional Avicii songs with big drops, and to just able to dance in their party mode, if I say so. So online it was terrible, like, “Rest in peace Avicii’s career.” It was really, really tough for him. He was devastated. He was like, “Am I wrong? Have I done something bad?” He just really didn’t understand the reactions.
What was that moment like for you?
I remember Andrew Kronfeld, who still is the Executive Vice President of Universal Music, was standing there with me and said, “Don’t worry, this is a fantastic album. It was fantastic yesterday, it will be fantastic tomorrow.”
Did the marketing plan for True change at all, after what happened at Ultra?
Yes. What happened was that… we knew the music was great, but we couldn’t release it, because “Wake Me Up” was supposed to be out in mid-June. We couldn’t play anything until that. Then Ash said, “Maybe we can do a remix of it and put it out on SoundCloud.” And I said, “You can’t do that, because that’s not legal.”
Ash said, “But maybe if I do it…” And I was like, “I’m not involved in this, but yes, do it. Just put the mix together.” Avicii remixed all 10 songs from the album and put a mix on SoundCloud. You can still find it there. It’s a fantastic. The reactions in the comments comments — everyone was like, “This is really good.” “Why did people say this was bad? This is fantastic.” I have goosebumps talking about it again, because it was like, “Oh my god, this is really happening.”
That must’ve been exciting.
It created a hype on SoundCloud. Ash could do it, but we [at Universal] couldn’t, because it was licensed to us. [At that time] they didn’t have a deal for for releasing music on SoundCloud that was under contract. So that’s why I was reluctant to do it. If it went wrong … we couldn’t really handle it. But again, I said, “OK, do it.” And they did.
That’s how it took off. That’s how the other conversation changed from being brutally tough and hateful to love for this True album.
Was it always obvious that “Wake Me Up” would be the lead single?
Yes, it was obvious. It wasn’t even a discussion. “Hey Brother” is a little bit too country, so that wasn’t it. “Addicted To You” was one that was discussed. In hindsight, you can always say, “This is what we believed in the whole time.” And, you know, sometimes you lie about it to sound smart. But in this case, it was, “This is the single,” and it was from the beginning.
I was going to ask if this album felt like a business risk within Universal, given the country influences, but it sounds like there was a lot of goodwill around it.
Yeah. Everyone that heard it said, “This is going to be sensational,” because there were so many singles on it. We could work for a long, long time on it… We believed then at Universal Music that EDM was the new big wave. And it was, with Swedish House Mafia and Tiësto and David Guetta and Calvin Harris. It was just, bang.
Was there anything you’d have wanted to change about the album?
One sad thing is that my favorite song on the album was “Heart on My Sleeve” with Imagine Dragons. The interesting thing is that Ash, and I think this is quite clever, didn’t want to have any features on the on the album. Every other EDM artist had “featuring whoever” on the on the songs. Everyone did at this time.
But Ash decided no one could be featured — because if someone like Imagine Dragons gets featured, then it’s going to be “Imagine Dragons featuring Avicii.” If you take all that away, then it’s just an Avicii song, and Avicii is the artist. So when radio station played the song, it’s Avicii.
So that was a negotiation with Imagine Dragons. And [the band] said, “If we don’t get our full credits, you’re not going to get us on the album.” That’s why the song was taken off and why [that track] is an instrumental on the album. It was ready to go. It was recorded.
Then when we did the [posthumous] Tim album, we contacted Imagine Dragons and said, “You will get credit; we really want you to be part of this.”
Was there a feeling of anticipation within Universal around the album of like, “Wait until they hear this”?
Yes. That’s why it was such a crazy feeling when we were at Ultra. I had drink tables paid for. I was spending a lot of money to have everyone from Universal there: marketing directors, managing directors. I played the music the day before the festival, and they loved it.
So it was a shock, because we believed this was going to be so good, and everyone that heard it said it was fantastic … Maybe it was badly presented from stage, so people didn’t understand. It was not communicated that this is what they were going to do … It was a combination of people wanting to party to hit songs they’d heard before and not good presenting from stage. There could have been a voiceover with someone saying, “And now ladies and gentlemen, you’re going to hear the new album from Avicii.” And that wasn’t done. Was I shocked about it? Yes, I was.
So you’re in the VIP section at Ultra with bottle service and all the business people — what’s the mood?
You question yourself. “Am I totally getting this wrong?” “Am I reading in the wrong way?”
I’d always considered that moment for Tim and everybody on stage, but I hadn’t considered your perspective.
No one cares about the record execs. [Laughs.] But it was worse for Tim, of course. He was devastated. He went to his parents, I think it was in Los Angeles, and [his father] Klas told me that he was just shocked.
But it all turns itself around rather quickly, and obviously the album becomes a massive hit. At what point do you start celebrating?
Everywhere in the world, you heard “Wake Me Up” on the radio, but you never celebrate. That’s the crazy thing about being in the music business — you can celebrate when you give an artist a plaque or whatever it is, but then you’re already onto “OK, what’s next?”
Do you think Tim felt that pressure of “what’s next?”
I never talked to him about exactly that. But he was just — he was a very, very good igniter when it came to creating music. When he unfortunately died too early, if you look at sketches, demos and songs on his hard drive, he was close to 100 [projects]. He loved to study, loved to work with other people.
When he when he landed in Oman [editors note: Avicii died by suicide in Muscat, Oman on April 20, 2018], we had a conference call and talked about the music. He was so in a positive mode. “This is what we’re going to do, and please book a studio in [Kenya]; I want to work with people there, and then I want to go to New Hampshire, then l want to go to London.” He just wanted just to have studio time, he loved to be in the studio and do his thing. So yeah, so he was looking forward.
10 years on, what do you think True‘s legacy is?
It’s hard for me to say. Billboard did a thing about the 100 biggest moments of EDM, and the number one was Tim’s career. I just…I get emotional because it’s… [a pause while he tears up, then collects himself], because what we accomplished during this short period of time, it’s just unbelievable.
It’s fitting that on the same day that Hilary — Southern California’s first tropical storm in 84 years — rains her way out of Los Angeles, Sean “Diddy” Combs breezes into Billboard’s studio for a sit-down interview. He’s a fascinating whirlwind of activity from the moment he arrives in his ever-present shades: stopping first to huddle with the photographer about the lighting for the shoot, orchestrating the background setup for his video chat; then changing outfits to match his vibe just before the cameras roll. “It’s just not my vibration,” he declares at one point as the backdrop is being rearranged. “I’m in a high frequency right now.”
“High frequency” and “low frequency” are phrases that often crop up during this interview and a follow-up conversation a week later as Combs talks about returning to music with his first album in 13 years, The Love Album: Off the Grid, and explains his take on what fans have been missing from him.
“You’ve always got to bring something new and fresh,” he says. “I wouldn’t have come back after 13 years if I didn’t have something to say.”
And right now, Combs has got a lot to say. This year marks the 30th anniversary of Bad Boy Entertainment and the 10th anniversary of his REVOLT TV network, with its reimagined REVOLT World summit (featuring keynotes, panels and performances by Don Toliver, Mr. Eazi and more) slated for Sept. 22-24 in Atlanta. And with his sixth studio album that his own Love Records will deliver on Sept. 15 (“Diddy Day,” he calls it), he’s officially launching a creative renaissance, too.
The R&B album features Diddy rapping alongside a guest roster of 29 established and emerging stars, ranging from Mary J. Blige, H.E.R., Summer Walker, Jazmine Sullivan and Coco Jones to The-Dream, Justin Bieber, Ty Dolla $ign, Burna Boy, Kalan.FrFr and Love Records artist Jozzy. Comprising 22 tracks and two interludes, The Love Album: Off the Grid is dedicated to late producer Chucky Thompson, who was an original member of Bad Boy’s in-house production collective called the Hitmen. The Weeknd makes his final guest stint on the album’s next single, “Another One of Me,” with French Montana and 21 Savage. Another track, “Kim Porter,” with Diddy and Babyface featuring John Legend, pays tribute to Combs’ late former girlfriend and mother of three of his children.
“This isn’t just an R&B album; it’s an R&B movie [about love],” says Combs, who executive-produced and curated the project. “It’s probably one of the biggest collections of talent ever, all unified on one album. And I happen to be blessed to have The Weeknd’s last feature. The song talks about being unique, in a sense — telling your ex-girl that another one of me won’t come around.”
As an artist, Combs’ bona fides speak for themselves. Since his ’90s heyday, the triple Grammy winner has sold 8.1 million albums in the United States, according to Luminate, with five titles charting in the top 10 on the Billboard 200: No Way Out (No. 1, 1997), Forever (No. 2, 1999), The Saga Continues … (No. 2, 2001), Press Play (No. 1, 2006) and Last Train to Paris (No. 7, 2011). He has landed 38 career entries on the Billboard Hot 100, including 15 top 10s and five No. 1s: “Can’t Nobody Hold Me Down,” featuring Ma$e; “I’ll Be Missing You,” with Faith Evans and featuring 112; The Notorious B.I.G.’s “Mo Money Mo Problems,” featuring Puff Daddy & Ma$e; “Bump Bump Bump,” with B2K; and “Shake Ya Tailfeather,” with Nelly and Murphy Lee. Still, when his new album’s first single, “Gotta Move On,” with Bryson Tiller, peaked at No. 3 in 2022, it was his first top 10 on the R&B/Hip-Hop Airplay chart since “Last Night” featuring Keyshia Cole in 2007, which went to No. 7. (“Gotta” also topped Adult R&B Airplay for two weeks last November.)
Then in September, Combs rocked the industry with the surprise announcement that he was returning his publishing rights to the artists and songwriters who had helped build his Bad Boy Entertainment into a success — a move that came after detractors, most notably Ma$e, alleged that Combs had treated his artists unfairly over the years. Ma$e, Evans, The LOX, 112 and the estate of The Notorious B.I.G. are among the creatives who have already signed agreements to regain those rights.
During his interview with Billboard, Combs speaks about his push to close the wealth gap for Black people and promote diversity, equity and inclusion initiatives. On behalf of the latter cause, his Sean Combs Foundation recently donated $1 million to Jackson State University, a historically Black university. He also announced a $1 million investment fund in partnership with Earn Your Leisure founders Rashad Bilal and Troy Millings to provide a practical model for economic empowerment in Black communities. He notes as well that profits from the fund would support his three Capital Preparatory charter schools in New York and Connecticut.
Referencing Tulsa, Okla.’s iconic Black Wall Street — which was destroyed in a racially motivated massacre just over 100 years ago — Combs says, “I’m about empowering Black minds, Black ideas, Black businesses. That’s my focus. I used to be looking for the next Biggie. Now I’m looking for the next entrepreneur that I can help support through resources and knowledge. My purpose has leveled up.”
Dina Sahim, who has been co-managing Combs at SALXCO alongside company chief Wassim “Sal” Slaiby since 2021, says there’s a reason why her client has helped foster the careers of so many other stars: “He doesn’t take days off. Every minute of every single day is spent doing something that contributes to his growth as a person, as a businessman and to the people around him. He didn’t get to where he is by mistake. And he lives to perpetuate wealth and inspiration. He wants everybody to eat like he’s eating; wants to teach everyone to take what they have, build on it and create an empire.”
But make no mistake: Combs is still all about having fun as he jubilantly navigates his return to music’s center stage. “I’m a 26-year-old in a 53-year-old body,” the MTV Video Music Awards’ (VMAs) newly minted Global Icon Award honoree says with a laugh. “There are still a lot of things I want to do on my Diddy list. So yeah, I’m back. Just in my bag and having fun. Whenever it feels like work, I’ll leave.”
Combs photographed on August 21, 2023 in Los Angeles.
Austin Hargrave
First things first: What prompted you to return the publishing rights to the Bad Boy artists and writers?
I decided to reassign publishing rights to the whole catalog in May or June 2021. The news is just now coming out because it took time to finalize everything. But this was during the time that I was holding the Grammys to task. I was also getting major offers for the catalog during the [acquisition] frenzy back then. When I was looking at the catalog and everything, I was put in a position where I felt like I had to look in the mirror. I had to make sure that what I was standing for was my total truth. We live in a time where things are constantly evolving. And it was about reform for me. It was me looking at ways I could reform things as a person that’s been asking for change. It was just the right and obvious thing to do; something I’m proud I did. As a businessman, there comes a time when you have to pick purpose over profit. I’m glad that I’ve seen both sides. As a businessman, I’ve evolved and was blessed to be in a position to give the publishing back.
Ma$e was very vocal about reclaiming his publishing rights. Have the two of you reconciled?
Everything’s cool and good now. You know, we’re brothers and brothers fight. I love him and that’s it.
The other big recent news is the release of your long-promised ode to R&B, The Love Album: Off the Grid. Why a return to recording at this point in your career?
It’s been 13 years since Last Train to Paris. When it came out, it kind of broke my heart because people didn’t understand it right away. It was a bit before its time, and I know I was in my ego.
What didn’t they understand?
I had to compromise the uncut Blackness and soul of what I was trying to do, like on the song “Coming Home.” I have the talent as a producer, you know, to make a No. 1 record. But that’s very dangerous because sometimes that record may not be authentic or your intentions aren’t in the right place. My intentions were to get another No. 1 record instead of keeping the album uncut and soulful.
As time went on, people were able to connect with the album, and it’s become a cult classic. But for a couple of years after that, I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t hearing the sounds. Then I started just dealing with life and had to go through a healing journey. When I came out of that, I was like, “What do I want to do that makes me happy?” And it was, “I need to get back to music.” So I immediately said, “I’m going to start a new label called Love Records, and I’m going to focus on R&B and bring back what it’s missing: that soul, that love, that unapologetic Blackness, that expression of vulnerability and on a different, higher frequency.”
The album sounds very autobiographical. Was that also one of your intentions this time around?
Yes. This time I decided, “I’m going to just bare my soul and give people my truth.” So this is my love story through all of my different relationships. It’s about going away for 48 hours with a young lady, turning the phones off, locking in and connecting. We should all go off the grid with our significant other, whoever it is you love, and get to know each other better. And I had the musical vision for my story. I was like, “First, I’m going to make some R&B music for dancing to make her feel comfortable, then some slow love- and baby-making music for the strokers, then some baby-don’t-leave-me music.” And I have some of the best — and my favorite — voices in R&B telling my love story. What I’m bringing back to the game is that Puffy sound, not following any trends or algorithms. I’m not knocking anything that’s out there, but a lot of things are just so toxic.
Combs photographed on August 21, 2023 in Los Angeles.
Austin Hargrave
Why has R&B become such an important crusade for you?
My first love is R&B. The first record that I produced was the remix of “Come and Talk to Me” by Jodeci. And from there going on to Mary J. Blige and, you know, to being the king of hip-hop soul.
When I was younger, R&B saved my life. I thought I was going to be a football player. Then I got hurt on my last day of camp as a senior. My heart was broken; I didn’t have a B plan. And that music really saved my life. Dancing in the clubs in New York, getting the chance to be picked up as a background dancer and seeing the industry that I fell in love with saved me. Then as life goes on, you get hit with so many things: losing the mother of my children, losing my girlfriend; just being hurt, down and lost. R&B helped me find myself and get back on my feet again. So I can’t wait for people to hear how I’ve come full circle.
In fact, I’ve come full circle on so many things. It’s rare, having a career of 30 years and still having the ability to make relevant music without selling out or trying to be on somebody else’s wave. I’m here to unify us, the whole R&B community. I returned to my roots of production; those sensibilities like when I was just starting out at 23. As a student of the game, I’m working with all the new, younger producers. We have a nice new crew of Hitmen that has been assembled to take this to the next level. I’m learning from them and their fresh energy, and they’re learning from me. That’s one of the things that I’m always going to be: a platform. I went from being on the stage to becoming the stage. So launching some new artists on the album was also a definite priority.
Why did you say last year that R&B is dead?
When I said, “R&B is dead,” I wanted to wake up the R&B universe and shed some light on it. My intention was to do exactly what’s happened. We’re now in this R&B renaissance. After leaving the game for so long and coming back, I realized there was a lack of resources, a lack of support from radio, a lack of belief. When I said [that], it wasn’t being said in a negative way. It was also part of unifying us in getting back to our Blackness, getting off that computer and getting back into feeling. If you ain’t got no feeling, you dead. So I’m here to bring back that feeling.
There are a lot of artists out there, of course, pushing the envelope with different styles of R&B. And I’m seeing people step their game up. This renaissance has such incredible artists from Summer Walker and SZA to The Weeknd and Brent Faiyaz … so much richness. But I believe we have to make some noise to be heard more and get the same resources to be able to compete. This genre deserves to be put in a position to win. R&B and hip-hop are not the same.
I’m glad to hear you say that because many people in the industry keep putting R&B under the hip-hop banner.
I’ve had conversations with some of the people in power, and almost all the people in power are not from the R&B community or the culture. That’s when you get the lack of understanding and resources. To them, it just sounds like the same thing. So I’m in a season of total independence. I had an experience with Motown where it was like, “I’ve come too far to ask somebody that isn’t where I’m from about cultural and artistic things. If I’m going to bet on anybody, I’m going to bet on the people I believe in.” So I decided to go independent with Love Records and Bad Boy. I decided to come back into the game with bolder ideas of ownership, distribution and future manufacturing because those are the things that we as a people are cut out of.
Since #TheShowMustBePaused, has the music industry overall made any substantial progress in terms of diversity, equity and inclusion?
We have some representation … Shout out and all due respect to everybody that’s in power. But [for most people], there’s still somebody over them, a white man that they have to get permission from to do something. And it’s always been the same, no matter what the industry. When you’re independent, you don’t have to ask that permission. You can do what you want to do. It’s time for change. And the only way you get change is you’ve got to make the change — and not just change progress. It’s all a bunch of bulls–t. Diversity isn’t about inclusion; diversity is about sharing power. And nothing has changed. It’s gotten worse.
What about the changes the Recording Academy has made since you put the organization on notice in 2020 for the Grammys never respecting Black music “to the point that it should be”?
They went right to work immediately. There’s a lot of work to be done, but radical steps have been made. And that’s really what I’m on: radical change. Not making tiny steps. Me making those statements made them look at themselves, made me look at myself and made the whole industry have to look at itself and our [collective] responsibility toward evolving through diversity, through economics and through this human race where everybody just wants to be better. But it wasn’t just me; there were a bunch of us [Black executives] that stepped up behind the scenes as a collective in pushing for change. And the Academy really responded in a responsible way. So now it’s also up to artists to understand how to get in there and really utilize the academy for their benefit.
Speaking of change, you signed with SALXCO for management. What was behind that decision?
Finding the right manager is hard. Someone that’s going to be kind of obsessed about every move you have going on as much as you would be. That’s what you hope for: to find someone with that kind of talent, who can actually tell you something worthwhile and understands a bigger picture. For example, one of the big decisions we’ve made is that my first concert will be in Europe, not in America, as we make this a global release. There were a lot of things that affected the whole energy behind how this project is being rolled out and positioned. So I respect Sal’s opinion and vision. And he and Dina make it enjoyable.
Combs photographed on August 21, 2023 in Los Angeles.
Austin Hargrave
In addition to celebrating your 30th anniversary in music, REVOLT is marking its 10th birthday. What’s your vision for the network moving forward?
To make it not just the biggest Black-owned network but the biggest media company that I can. I’m not pigeonholing myself. Again, nobody’s going to give us power, and they’re not going to share it with us. That’s why 10 years ago, I named my network REVOLT, because we have to take our quality of life back. There’s so much value and information. And when the Black media doesn’t have an outlet that’s controlled by somebody of color, then it’s not truly a Black free press. REVOLT is the only foundation right now that’s going in that direction. But it takes time. I own 65% of REVOLT, so we could change the narrative. I’m investing in the Black future with REVOLT. It’s not a hustle, not a money play. Everything I do is to make sure that I do my best to break down the barriers. Media is one of the most important and powerful parts of freedom.
As far as our business strategy, we’re in acquisition mode to really build a Black-owned media conglomerate. That’s why we were looking at BET and at a couple of other businesses. BET is definitely the mecca, the originator of Black media, and still is. So just the thought of unifying … We’re not going to be able to reach our highest level of success in the media world, like a Rupert Murdoch, if we don’t unify. Like me, Tyler Perry and Byron Allen. We have a responsibility because it’s like 15 of us getting money, but 10 billion people in the world. We need to pool our resources, everybody from LeBron James and Issa Rae to Tracee Ellis Ross to Jada Pinkett [Smith] and Queen Latifah. That’s what I’m pushing for: unity in a disruptive way that’s never been done before. Having such a media platform is one of the most powerful tools in changing our trajectory.
Given your busy September with the VMAs, the album rollout and the REVOLT World summit, is the long-awaited Verzuz battle between you and Jermaine Dupri still on the table for this month?
The only Verzuz I want to have right now is Puff Daddy versus Diddy. The only person I’m in competition with is myself. (Smiles.) But the battle with Jermaine isn’t off the table. We’re still trying to work it out, and I definitely look forward to that.
You entered Forbes’ billionaire rappers circle last year. Who’s on their way from hip-hop’s next generation?
Nipsey Hussle, to me, was that young Puff version. But one person that I can say right now is Travis Scott. I can relate to how he’s diversifying his portfolio and really understanding how to take it to the next level. I also think Yung Miami [aka Caresha Brownlee] from the City Girls. She reminds me of Oprah with the endless possibilities that she has as far as her clothing line, television shows, performances, live podcasts. I really respect both of their hustles and see them being able to break through.
Despite this being the 50th-anniversary year of hip-hop, music pundits have written stories about hip-hop’s lack of top-charting singles and albums in 2023. What’s your take on the genre’s evolution into 2024?
Right now, people are looking for something fresh. Everything’s been so monotonous and low frequency with everybody sounding so much like each other. However, I think you’re going to see a balance. You’re still going to have your ratchet stuff, you’re still going to have the turn-up. But people are going to come up with new styles. It’s time. The beauty of it is that you can make your own type of music and cultivate your own community. When you have 8 billion people in the world, you can do all right if you have 2 million in your fan base. I just see hip-hop constantly evolving and constantly melding with different types of music. There’s Afro beats melding with trap melding with what’s going on in London melding with what’s going on in dance music. Everything’s just coming together.
The smile on your face as you say all this … it’s like maybe seeing the younger Sean during the Uptown days.
Definitely. I’ve gotten a chance to look at everything with new, fresh eyes. I learned that from my baby … You know, I just had a baby. And the baby looks around at everything. So I started to look around, hearing things and being more open-minded. The future of hip-hop, I think, is really looking up, especially with AI coming in. I think it’s going to have an impact; that it will be another category of music. But also looking at older hip-hop and R&B artists selling out arenas … it’s a wealthy season right now for music in general.
As you reflect on your career thus far, how do you view your legacy as an elder statesman of hip-hop alongside Dr. Dre and Jay-Z?
We’re all different people at different stages in our lives, you know what I’m saying? But there’s only one Diddy. There’s only one Jay-Z. There’s only one Dr. Dre. We’re all good where we’re at, and we’re in our purpose. I’m living my purpose as far as coming in and making people feel something. Breaking down barriers and showing people how to hustle, make money, make a career and living — and be successful.
The scene will be immediately familiar to anyone who has attended a music festival: a DJ riling up a crowd, playing a hit but ratcheting up the anticipation by toying with the melody before the drums charge to the rescue. Only this time, the hit hadn’t come out yet — the South Korean producer Peggy Gou was teasing an unreleased single titled “(It Goes Like) Nanana.”
Attendees at the Lost Nomads festival outside of Marrakesh hardly seemed to mind; a TikTok video capturing Gou’s set shows listeners throwing their hands in the air with abandon. One onlooker, standing behind the DJ’s right shoulder, removes the cigarette hanging unlit from his lips to unleash a hoot just as the percussion hits.
That sunset TikTok clip helped kickstart a viral chain of events that has turned “(It Goes Like) Nanana” into Gou’s mainstream breakthrough. The single is her first to scale the Billboard charts, climbing inside the top 40 on the Global 200, and it’s earned 24.5 million on-demand streams in the U.S. since its release, according to Luminate. For a time it was the lead track on Spotify’s flagship playlist Today’s Top Hits, a spot usually taken up by major-label superstars, not dance producers on the independent label XL.
No one is more surprised than Gou. She didn’t have TikTok when “(It Goes Like) Nanana” started to go like viral; she found out about that success from her friends. She also doesn’t watch the charts. “I really did not expect this reaction,” Gou says. “My song was never on a chart before. In the beginning I wasn’t sure what [charting] meant exactly.”
But the excursion into new commercial territory is welcome — a relief, in fact. After her rubbery 2019 single “Starry Night” became popular on dancefloors, Gou felt pressured to top it. “Sometimes pressure is a good thing,” she says. “It always kind of pushes me.”
“(It Goes Like) Nanana” was born during the pandemic, while Gou was binging dance music and hip-hop from the 1990s. The simplicity of the house music she absorbed from that decade stood out: “A lot of the hooks are repetitive, but it’s still catchy, you don’t get bored.” She cites SNAP!’s chugging hit “Rhythm Is a Dancer” and the German producer ATB as touchstones.
Musical train-spotters on TikTok have thrown out a handful of other references in video comments: Kylie Minogue! (Presumably because she knows her way around a “la-la-la,” which isn’t too far from a “na-na-na.”) “I Like To Move It”! (Maybe in the progression of the bass line?) A Touch of Class’s “Around the World;” Gala’s “Freed From Desire” — take a fistful of Ultimate Dance Party CDs from the second half of the ’90s, throw them in a blender, and you might get something along the lines of “(It Goes Like) Nanana.”
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Gou’s biggest tracks to date — “Starry Night” and “It Makes You Forget (Itgehane)” — are sung predominantly in Korean. But when she tried that approach on “(It Goes Like) Nanana,” “it didn’t really work,” so she ended up singing it all in English instead. Gou also subbed in an entirely new bass line at the last minute before she started playing it out at festivals like Lost Nomads.
Badr Bounailat, who shot the popular video of Gou near Marrakesh on June 3rd and posted it June 5th, has two theories about why it amassed over 7 million views. First, he says, “I’m a photographer, and that’s a good frame.” (The top comment on his post: “Can we talk about that zoom quality ouffff.”) Second: “People were in it, they were responding well to the song.”
The scenic locale may have helped as well. Harmony Soleil, music director for KNHC, a dance radio station in Seattle, was excited to find the video of Gou in her feed. “I’m a tiny bit obsessed with her, in a not weird way,” Soleil jokes. “She’s always in amazing places. What do you mean, you’re in Morocco and you’re in Spain and you’re in Japan?” (Soleil has been playing Gou on KNHC, jumping at the chance “to support an artist who hasn’t had a lot of U.S. radio airplay otherwise.”)
Thanks to all the online attention, by the time “(It Goes Like) Nanana” was officially released on June 15th, Gou felt like the track “was already out.” She was quickly inundated with requests from DJs — from “EDM to jungle to soul to hardcore techno” — asking for stems to make their own remixes.
The biggest re-work has come from Ian Asher, a DJ and producer with a large following who has a knack for making mash-ups that drive TikTokers wild. Asher, who calls “Starry Night” “a classic,” decided to fuse Gou’s single with CamelPhat’s “Cola,” a skipping but hard-nosed dance track that became an international hit in 2017. “What I love about it is that you have two party songs,” Asher explains, “but one is very bright and summery, and the other is like you’re going into a nightclub.”
His mash-up from July went bananas on both TikTok and Instagram, appearing in more than 780,000 user created videos. The “Cola x Nanana” meld is not officially available, which in practice means there are bootleg versions on Spotify, YouTube, and SoundCloud as of this week. “It keeps getting taken down, but people keep re-finding it and uploading it on every platform,” Asher notes. “It’s a whole mini-drama.” (It gets taken down because the remix is technically unauthorized; Gou only gave stems to the German DJ-producer Boys Noize.)
The social media fervor around “(It Goes Like) Nanana” in its various forms propelled the track out of the world of independent-label dance music. “I first became aware of Peggy about three years ago on more of an underground level,” says Jonathan Geronimo, vp of electronic/dance programming for SiriusXM. He found out about “(It Goes Like) Nanana” from his colleagues overseeing TikTok Radio, saw that it was “exploding globally,” and put it into rotation a few days after its official release. SiriusXM has played the track more than 700 times since, and Geronimo believes it has “a shot” to make the jump over to pop radio, “especially with the format really keeping a close eye on what’s happening on TikTok.”
Gou’s single hit the Global 200 in July and has since climbed to No. 33, giving her a strong tailwind as she finalizes her full-length debut, due out early in 2024. The album also draws on her recent dive into ’90s sounds. Once again, though, she is feeling the need to top herself. “I don’t think there’s any track on my album that’s as catchy as ‘Nanana,’” Gou says. “The second single that’s coming out is very different — close to pop.”
That said, predicting audience reactions is notoriously difficult — she didn’t know that millions of listeners would find “(It Goes Like) Nanana” so bewitching. Still, the pressure remains. “My mindset is always: I can do better,” Gou adds. “I can do better.”
Nigerian dance artist Kah-Lo released her debut album, Pain/Pleasure, on Sept. 8 via Epic Records. Here, she writes about the long journey that brought her to this achievement.
I always knew I would become a musician, before I even knew how to spell the word. I always wrote poetry and other bits, but didn’t start making music until I met a bunch of like-minded friends in secondary school in the mid-noughties.
Prior to meeting these friends – most of them rappers and boys – a lot of my dreams of becoming a musician seemed so wildly far-fetched that at 13, my teachers and classmates once sat me down and, out of genuine concern, tried to talk me out of chasing these dreams.
Growing up in Nigeria at the time, telling most people you wanted to make music for a living was like telling them you wanted to toss your life in the trash. Telling them you wanted to make globally accepted music was even worse. To be a successful musician – one who made a lucrative living, was so beyond anyone’s imagination, you started to sound crazier the older you got.
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It was a dream that was never validated until I met those friends. We wanted to make music Nigerians had never even thought to make, and we wanted it to be so good it would be heard, respected, and measured on the same plane as the musicians we idolized.
We started to see what could be possible when a label called Storm Records launched with a slew of rappers, musicians and producers fusing Nigerian instruments and slang with Western patterns and flow in a way we had never heard before. They had Naeto C and Ikechukwu, who came onto the rap scene fresh from New York. They also had Sasha P – a standout female MC who started out with one of the first rap collectives known as the Trybesmen. She came back on the scene with a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it lyrical maturity I’m still decoding to this day.
It started to dawn on me that our dreams were, indeed, valid. These rappers weren’t making Afropop or Afro- anything. They were making rap. But this was 2007, and Afropop itself was barely even scratching the surface, let alone Nigerian artists making Western-adjacent music in Nigerian accents. However, I left Lagos for New York in 2009 — knowing at the very least, it was possible.
I eventually started cultivating a sound and posting my original music to SoundCloud. I started getting messages from DJs asking to use the monotone deadpan talk-rap sections of my reverb heavy alt-R&B over dance music. In that era, dance music was dubstep and Baauer’s “Harlem Shake,” so these requests confused me. How would it even work?
I eventually connected with electronic producer Riton via Twitter, and used what was then my last $20 to head to the studio in Brooklyn to record with him. We made two tracks. One of them was a carefully written alt-R&B number, and the other was “Rinse and Repeat.”
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At his insistence, I used the talk-rap style over a minimalist dance beat he had made. I had never made dance music before – at least not intentionally. I couldn’t fathom how a genre I mostly associated with looped vocals and sample-heavy hits from the early-2000s by the likes of Daft Punk, Fatboy Slim and Groove Armada could possibly command significant attention. The climate of dance music I knew at the time didn’t accommodate such stylings. I cried on the way home and decided to move back home to Lagos since it was clear music wouldn’t work out for me. Who would listen to that?
I was wrong. The song became a global hit.
Over the next few years, I would perform in places I had yet to even dream of. All over Europe, North America opening for Sofi Tukker, touring in Australia and a brief gig in Russia. Albeit incredible, it was also a bit uncomfortable. The bulk of the shows would be lineups full of white male DJs where I’d end up being the only Black person/woman on the stage. Sometimes, it would be entire towns where I seemed to be the only Black person there at all.
Once in a while, we’d do gigs where there would be other insanely talented Black artists in the green rooms – Raye, MNEK and Kelli-Leigh were frequent fixtures. However, I quickly started to notice, we weren’t on the lineups for our own merit. In most cases, we were there because we had collaborated on hit records with the white, male DJs who were booked for these gigs.
I dyed my wigs all sorts of bright colors to make sure I looked extra captivating on camera, because the recap videos and livestreams I asked my friends and family to watch almost always seemed to miss me. I figured perhaps I wasn’t dynamic enough on stage.
I didn’t start attracting my own attention until I debuted an electric green wig in Ibiza in the summer of 2018. I visually became hard to ignore with such a bright color against my dark skin, and that bled into the music and my persona as well. Things started to change, and I started to get booked on my own accord – much to the chagrin of my collaborators.
We – the Black artists who made up the bulk of the vocal prowess that was in dance music – weren’t supposed to be in the limelight. We were supposed to live in the shrouded mystery of samples, topline vocalists or even session musicians. In dance music, the DJ was king. To draw attention to yourself in that way was to overstep, and to even be credited as a primary artist on a record was something you had to fight for, and viewed as a “favor” you were to be grateful for.
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Meanwhile, Nigerian pop music was just starting to be recognized by mainstream media outlets as its own thing. My first few tracks had been referred to as having “Afrobeat elements” – I imagine due to my blended Nigerian accent. I had to constantly reiterate I was making house music, and not Afrohouse.
Regardless, it seemed like the very space I was taking up as an artist was defying odds, and it was wonderful, because it’s all I really ever wanted to prove. Being nominated for the Grammy for best dance recording in 2017, for “Rinse & Repeat,” was one of the best milestones of my career. One of the most respected musical bodies had recognized my art as it was, and not based it off of my cultural background.
I started getting collaboration requests on a larger scale from some of the biggest DJs in the world. Chances to release my own records were few and far between – and when I eventually did, I hardly got much support on the scale my features would.
It wasn’t until my dear friend and DJ/producer, Michael Brun, taught me how to DJ that I fully understood the power of my vocals. The delivery and global citizen feel of it made it a perfect fit for beat-matching, and it was malleable enough to go over any beat style. It started to make sense why – since my days on SoundCloud and even to this day – my a cappellas were always in high demand. It gave me a new perspective, and I began understanding the power of “no,” for instance, when the track wasn’t one I felt was a good fit for me and my brand.
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Understanding that power, and going from a scarcity mindset to one of abundance, opened me up to new opportunities. No longer would I be minimized to support DJs when I bring just as much to the track as they do. Some collaborators were not happy about this, and it led to a lot of friction, naturally so.
I moved back to New York and signed to Epic Records in 2020 at the peak of the global pandemic, and I released my debut EP in the summer of 2021, aptly called The Arrival.
For the first time in my career, I released a body of work that I had creative control over and truly represented me in every facet. It spawned a solo single on the Dance/Mix Show Airplay chart – a feat that was deemed unrealistic for a Nigerian and a Black woman making dance music.
“Drag Me Out,” a one-off single, followed the year after to the same acclaim. It wasn’t a fluke, and I could stand on my own. Black female “vocalists” – who are usually talented singer/songwriters in their own right – can stand on their own. I’m insanely proud of proving people wrong.
My debut album, Pain/Pleasure came out this past Friday, September 8th. The first half of it was written while I was going through a lot of these trials and tribulations, so I explore themes of anger on “fund$,” pain on the title track, and hurt on “Karma.”
The last half of it is a lot more triumphant, because through all of that and against all odds, I did it. I overcame, and there’s a lot to celebrate for it.
There were an unlimited number of ways the new Chemical Brothers album might have turned out.
Gathered in the studio, the duo — Ed Simons and Tom Rowlands — presided over a glut of music made during the pandemic. Unsure of what to do with it all, they considered assembling a triple LP, or a quadruple LP, or maybe something more loose and kitchen sink-ish that would highlight the nuances of their creative process.
“I was thinking, ‘Maybe that’ll be cool, to do something really different to how we’ve made our albums before,’” Rowlands tells Billboard over Zoom, “And then in listening to it, it was like, ‘Hm, that’s not so good.’”
So ultimately the pair, friends since their days at the University of Manchester and icons since the release of their groundbreaking 1995 debut Exit Planet Dust — did what they’ve done for the last 30 years and pared it all down to the 11-track collection For That Beautiful Feeling, their 10th studio LP, out Friday (Sept. 8) via Republic Records. With many options for how to Tetris the project together, the guys just let their moods dictate.
“We always want our music to not be a technical exercise, but to reflect how the two of us are feeling,” Simons says. “And I guess, you know, it has been a very strange four years.”
He’s not wrong. Much has gone down on a global scale since the Brothers released their last album, 2019’s No Geography. The world went into lockdown a few weeks after the LP won dance/electronic album of the year at the 2020 Grammys. Amid the pandemic, Rowlands tucked himself away in his Sussex studio and started banging out music, which Simons picked up when it was safe to do so. “It was the longest period we’ve spent apart for a while,” Simons says of that time.
As COVID eventually waned, the war in Ukraine began, living costs spiraled in the U.K. and elsewhere and the climate crisis became increasingly tangible and exponentially scarier. It was, is, a lot of psychic weight for them, and for everyone else. But there were, of course, moments of daily joy. That, altogether, was their mood, and thus that is the album.
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For That Beautiful Feeling catapults from ecstasy to dread (“we have no reason to live!” declares track two, “No Reason”), to sadness, to a sort of hectic waking dream state, to hope, to the transcendent title track that closes the LP. In total, the project reflects the anxieties and exhilarations of life on earth in 2023 through the same sort of tightly wound, acid-soaked, elegant, raucous, rock-ish, blissful and often subversive style that’s defined their discography.
This oeuvre contains many moments of grace and soaring beauty (“Swoon,” “The Sunshine Underground,” etc.), and it’s this same spirit of connection, love and hope that ultimately centers and steers the new project. Just listen to Beck assuring “When you feel like nothing really matters/ When you feel alone/ When you feel like all your life is shattered/ And you can’t go home/ I’ll come skipping like a stone” on the momentous “Skipping Like a Stone” and try not to feel at least a little uplifted.
“It can’t but affect what sort of music you want to put out,” Simons says of the global crises in play while the album was made. “But we didn’t necessarily want to dwell in that place. We feel like what we create is perhaps a way of having moments of release and escape. ‘Rousing’ became kind of a touchstone. Obviously there’s reflective music within the album, and there’s kind of quite sad bits, but generally we wanted the tone to be one of, not necessarily celebration, but — how can we get to the the part of people that wants to come alive and wants to not stay in this disenchanted, stagnant place?”
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“I mean, but it all starts with the desire of uplifting myself,” adds Rowlands. “That’s also what the title of our album is about… For that moment when you hear something, and it affects you and you just kind of get overwhelmed and overtaken. That moment is always the thing being in the studio or playing live is chasing.”
Anyone who’s seen The Chemical Brothers live knows their efficacy in achieving such a feeling in the live setting, with shows bringing audiences to heavy, cathartic, deliriously joyful and yes, ultimately beautiful places.
For U.S. audiences, though, the opportunity to partake has been fewer and farther between than many of us would prefer, with the Brothers playing only roughly a few U.S. shows over the last several years. This includes a primetime slot at Coachella’s Outdoor Stage this past April, a headlining gig at Portola in San Francisco last fall (“It felt really like a real post-EDM festival,” Rowlands says of the event. “We didn’t naturally feel at home in that EDM world”), along with dates in Santa Barbara, New York, Seattle and the Denver area. While they’re touring heavily in the U.K. this fall, they don’t currently have any U.S. shows on the schedule.
“The costs have gone up so much,” Simons says of touring in the States post-pandemic. “It’s just not really viable at the moment… I’m apologetic to the people who do want to see us that it is increasingly difficult for us to get to America, because we have had the times of our lives playing there.”
While the guys and their team have discussed paring down their show to make touring the U.S. more affordable — “a debate that has raged over Zoom,” says Simons — they don’t necessarily want to risk disappointing people who’ve seen social media clips of their current production, which involves a wall of equipment, a strange and captivating visual show and a pair of giant marching robots.
“[The production] originally came from the fact that we didn’t want to inflict [audiences with] just the two of us awkwardly standing with the synthesizers,” says Simons, “so we wanted a big back job, but it’s just grown and grown, and now we’ve got these 40-foot clowns voicing the words.”
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But if U.S. audiences can’t catch the guys live in the near future, access is available through Paused in Cosmic Reflection, a Chemical Brothers biography coming Oct. 26. Written with author and old friend Robin Turner, the book includes interviews with Simons and Rowlands, along with pals including Beck, Wayne Coyne and Noel Gallagher. The book tracks the Brothers since their earliest days, when they carried their own gear to sets and woke up the morning after to finish essays on Chaucer.
“I guess there’s no end date,” Simons says of this retrospective, “but we are nearer to the end of The Chemical Brothers than we are the beginning… It has been good to reflect and remember some history. I guess you’ve got to do it before you start forgetting everything, and I’ve got a really good memory.”
“He remembers, like, every small gig above a barber shop we ever did,” says Rowlands. “Then someone would produce a photograph of it and I’d be like, ‘Oh, gotcha. Maybe we did do that.’ … But one of the things about our band is, we don’t like stopping and reflecting. I always want to move on to the next thing. This book really felt like stopping and reflecting.”
They agree their biggest takeaway from all this contemplation is that, Rowlands says, “Our friendship is at the heart of it. That’s the thing that has enabled us.”
“Without being too trite, there’s a chemistry between us,” adds Simons. “We’ve just grown up together. We know what makes each other tick, what makes each other upset… We like each other, it’s as simple as that.”
In terms of legacy, neither sees an expiration date for what they do. Rowlands, who assures that he’ll always be in the studio making music, is pragmatic: “When no one shows up to your concert or your DJ gig, no one listens to your record, then it’s time.”
Simons says the legacy is simply the body of work they’ve created and continue adding to. Then he thinks about it a bit more and tells me a story about an all-ages gig they recently played in the English countryside.
“After, lots of our friends bought their teenage kids backstage, and they were all wearing Chemical Brothers T-shirts. And then there were little kids, and they had little Chemical Brothers baseball caps.
“Usually,” he continues, “when people come back it’s like ‘Do you want a beer?’ And this time it was like ‘Do you want some chocolate?’ Just seeing 10 or 15 kids who are all children of our friends, and they loved the gig. They lasted till the end. It was cool. That’s the legacy.”
He agrees that it was even, in fact, a beautiful feeling.
Simma down: The King of the Dancehall has returned.
Seven years after his last studio album — 2016’s Unstoppable — Beenie Man is back with Simma, his latest star-studded, genre-bending opus. Featuring collaborations with a plethora of artists ranging from Shenseea and Shaggy to Giggs and Stonebwoy, Simma effortlessly traverses the intersections of dancehall, roots reggae, drill, hip-hop, and Afrobeats.
The album arrives amid something of a revival for the Grammy winner. This year, his classic 1997 hit single “Who Am I,” became the soundtrack for one of social media’s most popular music trends — in essence, people sing the first two words of the chorus (“sim simma”) and wait in anticipation for their chosen subject to finish the rest of the lyrics. La La Anthony recently used the challenge, aptly named #SimSimmaChallenge, to quiz famous friends like Kelly Rowland, Ciara and Kim Kardashian on their Beenie Man lyric knowledge.
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The trend is a natural extension of the timelessness of Beenie Man’s music. Dating back to 1983’s The Invincible Beany Man — which arrived when he was just 10 years old — Beenie Man has been reigning over the dancehall. Although the title of his latest album doesn’t have anything to do with “Who Am I” or the #SimSimmaChallenge, the record still houses a few career throughlines, including reunions with Mýa (“Docta”) and Sean Paul (“Supa Star”), who he previously worked with in the early ‘00s and ‘10s.
Simma, originally completed in 2021, suffered a lengthy delay after Beenie’s mother passed in 2020 following complications from a stroke earlier that year. “At that time when the album fit for release, I was in bare depression, mourning, all of these things,” he reflects. The album also serves as his first LP since his instantly iconic 2020 Verzuz battle with Bounty Killer. In this way, Simma is an unbridled celebration of life, longevity and resilience.
Beenie Man has earned six entries on the Billboard Hot 100, reaching as high as No. 26 with “Dude” (with Ms. Thing), the lead single from 2004’s Back to Basics. On the Billboard 200, the dancehall legend has racked up five entries to date, peaking at No. 18 with 2002’s Tropical Storm. On Reggae Albums, Beenie Man has notched six No. 1 titles from 13 overall top 10 projects.
In a conversation with Billboard, Beenie Man goes behind the scenes of the creation of Simma, recounts that improptu mid-flight performance, reflects on his storied career and gives advice to the rising generation of dancehall artists.
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Simma has been in the works for some years now. Did anything about the album change between its original release date and Sep. 1, 2023?
There’s a lot of things that change about the album, because we mek an album before and then my moms drop out by the time when the album fi release. So at that time when the album fit for release, I was in bare depression, mourning, all of these things. I was in it for two years until my brudda Blue decide to say, “Alright, we need to get into this thing now. Get out di depression, get out all di things you going through.”
So, my natural instinct is to go into the studio and beat up some riddim. So we got some from Fanatix from England – them send first – and then we got some from Busy Signal, and then we start from there suh. Then we went to England and get some more riddims and different type of beats. I never know seh di album turn out di weh it turn out, but when it finish, the job was great. No disrespect. We make over 60 song for di album.
There’s a host of genres on Simma — from roots reggae to drill — what was your vision in terms of exploring different styles on the record?
We’re just making music. We do Afrobeats, we do everything. Just make some music. Because people love good music and good music lasts forever. Regardless. Good music outlives you. Trust me.
You mentioned that there’s some Afrobeats on this album. Recently, there have been conversations around Afrobeats “replacing” dancehall on the global stage, and here you are merging the two styles on Simma. What do you think about the two genres’ ability to coexist?
There’s no music that can replace dancehall. Dancehall will never go nowhere. Dancehall will always be here. Because if there was no dancehall, there would be no Afrobeats. That don’t make no sense. People haffi stop, because they don’t understand the lifespan of music. You have enough music that come and last 5, 6, 7 years, but dancehall have been here from before hip-hop! If hip-hop a 50-years-old, dancehall almost 100-years-old! [Laughs.]
We have been through Shabba Ranks, we have been through Ninjaman, we have been through the greatest – Super Cat, all of them. So, dancehall is not going nowhere. Not at all.
There are many collaborations on Simma. Was there any thought of making this a straight collaborative album? Why did you decide to keep the solo tracks on there?
Every album I’ve been listening to is a million collaborations. You listen to Jay-Z last album, collaboration. You listen to Drake album, collaboration. So, why should not I? So you have a Busy Signal, Jamaican. You have a Shaggy, Jamaican. You have Sean Paul, Jamaican. These are superstars. So why don’t you use your own Jamaican superstars? In Africa, you have a pack of superstars. You have Stonebwoy, superstar. You have Giggs from England. We have all the superstars we can use. It’s my time. So, why not? [The King] has all his subjects.
We mek this album this way because the first part of the album was all me. Then I said, “Nah, get some people.” I’m still gonna be there. It’s not like somebody guh sing a song pon mi album which I’m not on. I am going to be inside that music. People sometimes dem like listen to other style or other version or other pattern, so mix up di ting.
Talk to me about the song with Tina (Hoodcelebrityy), “Let Go.” There’s this really dope conversational, back-and-forth vibe going on there. How did that song come about?
She even surprised me, because she never DJ my lyrics — she just get into the studio just like how mi know she a guh do. But mi nuh wan leave nothing to chance. So when she jump pon di record now and start do her ting, I say, “Oh, wow, murda.” She kill it. And the song wicked.
You and Teddy Riley have been friends for years. What was it like finally working together in a musical capacity on this album?
Teddy is a musician, and I’m a musician. Regardless of how long mi know him, it’s a matter of him a have time, because him always busy. The man spend six months a make a riddim for me. Six months. Every time I make di riddim, I finish the song, him send back fi di song and play a next riddim around it, and play a next riddim around it, and put on some other ting and mix the song different and send back di song inna different format and then mi haffi tell him “Stop!” [Laughs.]
And him say, “Hear this last mix, please listen to this last mix.” So, di man play di last mix fi me and mi seh, “Jesus Christ! Di brudda has a great mind. Just please gimme di last mix, don’t mek mi a beg.” And he gimme di mix. Cause mi nuh wan him fi touch di song again! But every time him touch it, the song get better.
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You’ve spoken before about modern dancehall shifting away from the tradition of riddims, who do you think shoulders the responsibility of maintaining that tradition?
It’s on us [as the older generation]. We are the artists that have been here before. We responsible, because it’s all music. Alright, say you’re having a dancehall stage show anywhere in the world, and you bring one million dancehall artists. You have dancehall artists from Africa, you have dancehall artists from Mexico, you have dancehall artists from America, you have dancehall artists from everywhere in the world!
But an artist like Ninjaman — none of these artists a bad like Ninjaman. They could never, because Ninjaman walk pon di stage — him don’t have to have a hit song today, him just need to present. Him just walk pon di stage, di people dem get crazy. Shabba Ranks. Him don’t have to have a new song today, all him haffi do is be present. So, imagine me now. I come after them, present, and get a response. Imagine a Buju Banton or a Sean Paul. Imagine a Shaggy, you get where I’m coming from? We will always be here. We nah going nowhere.
Music is not until death do us part. We dead and music still alive. So, this is what we are here for: longevity, to last, to be that person that people can always depend on. And this is why the album is called Simma, because the King is still here.
When it comes to the younger, rising generation of dancehall artists, who do you think are the emerging leaders?
Wow. Alright. I listen to Skeng. I listen to Skillibeng — sometimes I listen to him and laugh because I find him really hilarious. Valiant. Popcaan and dem are still my young artists dem still. They’re who I really listen to. You see, artists with substance and artists that make sense and take my brain somewhere. I don’t really listen to much new dancehall. I don’t — like, seriously. I’ll put in a Lauryn Hill CD and listen to that.
When did you first see the #SimmaChallenge online?
Well, somebody showed me, yuh know, because mi nuh pon di phone. [Laughs.] And then mi see a next person do it, and mi see another person doing it, and mi see dem still doing it. Then the challenge getting bigger and bigger. So, that’s the reason why I talk about songs with substance. The song outlasts you.
Alright, suppose I never have the courage fi still doing music, I would never have a new album. But the songs that I did from before gimme di courage fi know I can still do what I’m doing. You have to make songs with substance. Songs [where] we can hear inspiration, songs that can inspire you. You inspire your own self!
And I think that was really reflected at the West Indian Day Parade in Brooklyn over Labor Day Weekend. I heard different songs of yours all the time while I was out there.
Exactly. Alright, Bob Marley sing reggae. Mi sing dancehall. Bob Marley the King of Reggae, I’m the King of Dancehall.
I want to know the story behind that plane performance! They weren’t lit enough for you!
It’s not a story behind it! Mi leave out mi seat, mi wan look fuh mi band members. So, I went down there and everybody was sleeping. So mi wake up alla di band members dem and everything. But by waking them up, mi a wake up everybody. By the time we reach through di place fi go through the door for first class, everybody a seh, “You have to give something!” So, mi a seh, “What??” Because myself, I was sleeping. So, I said, “Give me something.” So, I’m just standing around and start [singing the opening of “Who Am I”] and the plane start sing.
It never plan. It’s just something that happened.
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Were you able to attend to Caribbean Music Awards the other week (Aug. 31)?
No, mi never able to see it. But I can remember the first time I win one of those. 1995. It’s been going on for a long time. I went up against Capleton, [starts singing Capleton’s “Tour”]. It was live on TV in America in New York, a matter of fact.
For those awards shows, I really feel appreciative of them — because they’re giving us the opportunity so we can work harder to become the people that we are today. People appreciate your work, so all yuh haffi do is just give thanks and appreciate what they’re doing. So, I do respect the Caribbean Music Awards and all the years it’s been going. Sorry I don’t have a visa to be there!
In light of the Bob Marley biopic hitting theaters soon, what are your thoughts on who gets to tell the stories of our Caribbean icons and legends, and how those stories get told?
Bob Marley have over five sons that coulda play Bob Marley, cause alla dem look like him. But dem decide fi use somebody else. Really don’t make no sense. Well, it’s a Bob Marley movie. Mi wait till mi can get it inna my circle. But, I think dem shoulda use Skip Marley, who is the last Marley. Or use Stephen Marley or Ziggy Marley or Julian Marley. But Bob Marley a Bob Marley. If you make a movie about Bob Marley, everybody wan see it.
Since you have reached the highest heights that dancehall, and music in general, has to offer, do you have any advice for younger dancehall artists who are looking to follow in your footsteps?
Two: Work hard in the studio and work harder onstage. Because onstage, people remember you the person, and in the studio, people remember the songs. But if you don’t work harder onstage people will not remember you as an individual, but people will always remember your songs.
Michael Jackson mek an album every two years, but people still remember him for his performance. I nuh care how many hits Michael Jackson sing, it’s never greater than that Moonwalk. Never greater than that backslide. Yuh see Michael Jackson with spandex? Nobody remember dat. They remember di performance! [Laughs.]
Elvis Presley was the greatest entertainer before Michael Jackson. Dem still remember Elvis as in performance, not in song. When yuh go in Las Vegas, yuh find 10 Elvis Presley shows, because of his performance. That is my only advice to any artist.
During the week of the winter solstice last December, Allison Russell stood in a large circle of “goddesses,” chanting and singing together to conjure communal joy out of thin air. Drums, guitars and strings joined her and her circle of “chosen sisters” as they celebrated “being back in our bodies.”
If that sounds more like a new-age spiritual exercise than a recording session, Russell will be the first one to tell you that two things can be true at the same time. “It ended up being very witchy and woo-woo and wonderful,” she tells Billboard. “We just got to be so present and say ‘F–k oppressors telling us we’re not gorgeous and perfect as we are.’”
That sentiment was the leading ethos behind the creation of The Returner, Russell’s spellbinding sophomore LP (out Friday, Sept. 8 via Fantasy Records). The folk star wanted to create an album that didn’t look back on the pain of the past — she had already done that on her outstanding 2021 debut album Outside Child — but rather firmly planted itself in the present and called for a much-needed celebration. Or, as she more poetically puts it, The Returner is about “stealing joy from the teeth of turmoil.”
To accomplish that goal, Russell ventured outside of the world of Americana music that made her one of the fastest-rising folk stars of the last few years. Taking a “rhythm-first” approach to creating the new sound, the singer-songwriter and Dim Star — the production duo of Russell’s partner JT Nero and Drew Lindsay — employed elements of funk, rock, disco and pop to further bolster her folk roots and give The Returner a fresh new sound.
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Russell says that this approach came about in part because she spent the last few years getting to tour internationally for the first time. “We toured in a lot of places where English isn’t the first language,” she said. “We realized that there’s a transcendence that comes when you allow yourself to feel music with your whole body. A lot of the demos started with us hearing the polyrhythmic layers of groove within some of the things that JT [Nero] and I were writing. That informs melody, that informs even the syllables, the words that are chosen.”
After spending three months working with Dim Star to create demos that achieved something close to the sound they were looking for, Russell recounts being contacted by her label in late 2022 and told that, in order to release an album in 2023, they would need her master by the end of the year thanks to ongoing delays in vinyl production.
Where most artists would panic, Russell felt relief — booking six days at L.A.’s Henson Recording Studios (a space “presided over by my hero, Kermit the Frog,” Russell quips), the multi-hyphenate embraced the do-or-die nature of the sessions. “We recorded Outside Child in four days, so we were like, ‘Oh, we have six whole days in the studio? That’s great,’” she recalls. “It actually felt magical — Joni [Mitchell] recorded Blue there, Joni recorded Court and Spark there, Carole King recorded Tapestry there, Tina Turner and Cyndi Lauper blew everything off the top of ‘We Are the World’ there. There were all of these good ghosts in the walls.”
In order to bring the expansive new sound of The Returner to life, Russell brought together a 16-person band of women to the week-long studio session. Featuring artists like SistaStrings, Joy Clark, Elenna Canlas, Elizabeth Pupo-Walker and a dozen others, the group became the engine through which Russell and Dim Star engineered their creative vision.
“The magic of this circle is that everybody is such a high-level, multifaceted artist; everybody’s a lead singer, everybody’s a writer, everybody’s a composer, everybody’s a multi-instrumentalist,” she said. “So when we go in the studio, it’s with this level of trust — and because of that, the album ends up being a musical conversation in real time with these brilliant artists that I feel so privileged to be working with.”
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Throughout her conversation with Billboard, Russell refers to the femme-focused troupe as the “Rainbow Coalition,” a name she also interchangeably uses for the community of artists she surrounds herself with and her fans. While the name may evoke a sense of LGBTQ-centric idealism that Russell shares with those she accepts as her chosen family, the singer points to the term’s long history for context.
Before the name was adopted into a larger cultural context, the original Rainbow Coalition was formed in 1969 Chicago by Fred Hampton, the deputy chairman of the Black Panther Party. Hampton helped bring together the Young Patriots (made up of poor Southern whites), the Young Lords (made up of Puerto Rican migrants) and street gangs throughout the city to work together towards social change.
While the original coalition fell apart after Hampton’s assassination in December 1969, Russell says that the core organizing principle of the original Rainbow Coalition remains a cornerstone of her own worldview today. “Any of us, globally, who are interested in the business of harm reduction, and of pushing for equality versus inequality — that’s the Rainbow Coalition,” she says. “There’s so few places where we can gather people from all different kinds of beliefs, histories, ethnicities and heritages in joyful assembly — but we have that in playing and listening to live music together.”
It certainly helps Russell’s righteous cause that she finds herself in storied company — in the years since she began working as a solo artist, the Montreal-born artist has become a contemporary of superstars like Brandi Carlile, Annie Lennox, Chaka Khan, and even Joni Mitchell, who brought her onstage earlier this year for her Joni Jam concert at The Gorge.
“Community is vital [in the music industry], both in terms of sharing resources and also just artistically,” Russell offers. “Getting to be a part of that event, where we were all there in service of Joni and in reverence and celebration of our elder was the most inspiring, transcendent, beautiful thing to get to witness and to be a part of.”
After being welcomed with open arms by artists like Carlile and Mitchell into the industry, Russell is now laser-focused on doing her part to leave the world a better place than she found it. One way she intends to do that is by fighting back against the ongoing wave of anti-LGBTQ legislation sweeping through the U.S., targeting healthcare and privacy rights for the transgender community, as well as First Amendment rights for drag performers.
Even broaching the subject of anti-LGBTQ legislation immediately prompts Russell’s indignant fury. “It is domestic legislative terrorism,” she says, her friendly smile dropping into a grimace. “It’s so serious, and we sleepwalk through it at our peril, right? This is some Third Reich s–t, and we cannot allow it to continue; we must fight back. And that’s what I’m talking about when it comes to the Rainbow Coalition — it’s all of us who stand at any intersections of the margin, anyone who loves us, and anyone who stands with us.”
Russell, believing in the power of live music to bring people together, decided to channel her anger into action. Teaming up with Jason Isbell and number of LGBTQ non-profit organizations in Tennessee, Russell co-organized Love Rising, the star-studded benefit concert that took place just weeks after the state passed laws banning gender-affirming care for minors and banning drag shows in public spaces. Featuring performances from superstars like Maren Morris, Sheryl Crow, the Brothers Osborne, Hozier and plenty more, the event was a runaway success — especially considering they raised over $500,000 for LGBTQ charities in the area.
Looking at all the artists who came out to support Love Rising — especially many of the straight artists who chose to speak up for the LGBTQ community — gives Russell a sense of hope for the future. “It’s exactly what we need,” she says. “It’s people like Hayley [Williams] taking a red eye flight to come back from opening for Taylor Swift, because she said she’d rather die than not be there to support the trans and drag community in Tennessee. These incredible allies are so important.”
But the work is far from over — Russell says she plans to use her upcoming tour for The Returner as on opportunity to work with organizations like the Human Rights Campaign and Headcount to register concert-goers to vote in the 2024 election and learn more about the attacks against the LGBTQ community. “It’s all hands on deck,” she resolves.
She’s also not taking her eyes off the music industry at large — amid the rising tide of harmful rhetoric, Russell says that a number of fellow artists in the industry have remained “deafeningly silent” on the topic, specifically in the mainstream country space. Russell doesn’t name anyone in particular, in part because she doesn’t want to add to “the algorithm of problematic artists,” but also because, as she says, she’s not trying to rehabilitate the “empathy deficit” she sees in the genre.
“I’m not interested in fixing the toxic white supremacy and masculinity of the mainstream. I think it’s a waste of energy,” she says. “I’m much more interested in building the beloved community of people that are ready to show up and do this work together, that believe in equality. The others will come along eventually.”
In large part, that is the message of The Returner — it takes a village to make deep, meaningful change in the world around you, and Russell is ready to build that village from the ground up.
As the United States prepares to enter another particularly brutal presidential election cycle, the country’s cultural divide is continuing to play out across entertainment. In film, there are the dual box office phenomenons of Barbie and the QAnon-tinged Sound of Freedom — a dynamic that is mirrored in music with the undertones of racial violence in Jason Aldean’s “Try That In A Small Town” lifting the song to the top of the Billboard Hot 100 as Beyoncé’s Renaissance World Tour, a loving tribute to Black queer culture, breaks records around the world.
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Beyoncé’s seismic tour (in support of her Billboard 200-topping 2022 album of the same name) explicitly highlights, uplifts, and centers the lives and cultural contributions of the ballroom scene, a community anchored by Black and brown queer folk — the very people songs like “Small Town” seem to be railing against. It expands Renaissance’s explorations of the expanse of dance music and ballroom culture into a nearly three-hour multi-act spectacle. With the inimitable Kevin Jz Prodigy serving as the tour’s guiding voice, the Renaissance Tour stands in complete defiance of the recent tide of anti-LGBTQIA+ attitudes and legislation that has swept the country, immersing both creator and observer in the unadulterated freedom of ballroom.
Having kicked off on May 10 in Stockholm, Sweden, the Renaissance World Tour touched down in Las Vegas, Nevada for two shows at Allegiant Stadium on August 26 and 27. On Sunday night (Aug. 27), the Human Rights Campaign Foundation, the educational arm of the nation’s largest LGBTQIA+ civil rights organization, hosted the first-ever Equality Ball in association with Beeline Productions and the Shady Gang, with support from Beyoncé’s BeyGOOD Foundation.
“This is a beautiful manifestation,” gushes Human Rights Campaign president, Kelley Robinson. “The fact that it came together this year means so much, because not only has this been a vision that [we] wanted to manifest, but also we’re sitting in a state of emergency right now.”
On Sunday night, The Equality Ball — which Robinson says was the result of the HRC’s partnership with Lena Giroux Zakalik, executive producer for Beeline Productions, and Carlos Basquiat, a dancer and choreographer on the Renaissance World Tour — tackled the pain of death and grief as much as it celebrated the grandeur of ballroom culture. In fact, the Equality Ball served as a hopeful bookend to a month that began in the shadow of the tragic murder of O’Shae Sibley, a Black queer dancer who was attacked with a barrage of homophobic slurs before being killed by a 17-year-old for vogueing to a track from Beyoncé’s Renaissance album.
“Jonty, Yvette [Noel-Schure’s] basically adopted son, was killed,” Robinson says. “One in five of every hate crime is motivated by anti-LGTBQ+ bias, and, at the same time, we’ve got hundreds and hundreds of anti-LGTBQ+ bills that are moving forward in states every day. This was a moment where we needed to not only celebrate the Black queer experience, but [also] put it on center stage.”
Given that Las Vegas lacks the ballroom roots of New York City and the house music roots of Chicago, the city may initially seem like a curious choice to host the Equality Ball. Nonetheless, “we have to be here,” stresses Robinson. “We’re here today in the state that’s gonna be consequential in the 2024 election. We have to understand that for us to be able to celebrate inside that building, to be able to live our fullest and most, most authentic lives, we have to make sure we got laws and policy that protect us on the outside [too].”
Like with nearly every other corner of the Black experience, streaks of death mark the ballroom community at every turn — a fact that performers at Sunday night’s Equality Ball did not shy away from. The troupe Madame Arthur, one of the pre-ball performers, delivered a deeply moving cover of ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” that decreased the tempo of the original and featured lyrics rewritten to reflect and uplift the hundreds of thousands of lives that have been senselessly lost to anti-LGBTQIA+ violence.
The history of Madame Arthur – the drag cabaret venue the performance group is named after, which opened in 1946, currently features a troupe of queer artists — added an extra layer of nuance to their performance, a reminder that the fight for total LGBTQIA+ liberation has been roaring for decades on end. “[Ballroom] comes from a really harsh culture. It was birthed out of negativity, to keep it honest. People were getting kicked out of their houses and shunned by their parents,” says Stephanie “Packrat” Whitfield, one of the executive producers of the Equality Ball. “So to make a community, it’s like a phoenix rising from the ashes, right? Everything was against us, and we made this beautiful thing out of nowhere.”
For a culture that loses so many influential movers and shakers before they have a chance to bask in the glory of their own accomplishments, the Equality Ball allowed elders in the ballroom scene to enjoy a night of genuine revelry. Shannon Balenciaga, Overall Mother of the House of Balenciaga, and Stasha Garçon, Iconic Overall godmother of the House of Garçon, shared a good-hearted battle as they both walked the runway during a series of appearances from ballroom icons before the ball formally commenced. Kevin Jz Prodigy and Kevin Aviance, whose voices have provided a key backbone to both the Renaissance album and tour, performed throughout the night, with Prodigy emceeing a healthy chunk of the ball.
In addition, the judges panel for the ball’s five main categories included impactful ballroom figures such as Jack Mizrahi, Dashaun Wesley, Twiggy Pucci Garçon, Ricky Holman and Jennifer Barnes-Balenciaga. The night’s focus on pillars of the ballroom community instead of on the celebrity of Beyoncé emphasized the overarching goal of the Equality Ball — to capture the minds and attention of those who many have only been exposed to ballroom culture through entertainment media, and invite them into an authentic representation of the culture and the fight to keep it safe, preserved, and alive.
“With this Equality Ball, we’ve been trying to educate,” says Whitfield. “We have educational moments throughout the entire event where people can learn about ballroom, because it’s very secretive. We don’t let everybody in, because we are safe.”
While Beyoncé tapped a wide range of Black queer collaborators for Renaissance and its accompanying tour, such as Honey Dijon and DJ Mike Q, one of the biggest challenges with celebrity allyship is toeing the fine line between selflessly uplifting a marginalized community and unintentionally dominating that spotlight. Star power the size of Beyoncé’s rarely dims enough to completely disappear. But the “Break My Soul” singer was far from the focal part on Sunday night. Sure, her tour film crew and dancers — Honey Balenciaga and Les Twins, among them — were in attendance, but the Equality Ball did not buckle under the weight of her celebrity. In fact, most of Beyoncé’s involvement happened behind the scenes through her BeyGOOD charity foundation. Robinson recalls a phone call with BeyGOOD executive director Ivy McGregor, Carlos Basquiat, Zakalik and Whitfield “a week after Jonty was murdered, maybe two weeks after O’Shae was murdered.”
“It was about us sharing our individual experiences,” she reflects. “But it was also about this broader context of what it means for Black and queer folks who are fundamentally defining the culture right now to also have our lives stolen by doing what is necessary to be ourselves.”
Even though the journey towards the Equality Ball began several years before anyone heard a single note of Renaissance, Whitfield reveals that it was only at the “last minute” that everything came together. “It always fell through because people are still getting to know ballroom, and what it really means and how to represent that to the world,” she says. “Woo, I’m getting teary-eyed just talking about it.”
Sunday night was a special one for Whitfield. She and Carlos Basquiat not only got to take in the brilliant ball they co-executive produced, but they also got to debut their new kiki house, the Kiki House of FuBu. “It took us a really long time to find the right people to build the community to raise funding,” notes Whitfield. “That’s one thing in the ballroom community is that we are people from low-income housing, low-income communities. So to bring Black and brown people from all gender expressions and sexualities, it’s always a journey. It was a long road of seven years.”
In addition to the highly entertaining ball, The Human Rights Campaign also offered countless educational resources at the Equality Ball, including HIV testing, voter registration, and direct access to information about local LGBTQ+ programs and initiatives. Events like the Equality Ball are tangible manifestations of celebrity allyship, a mode of support that can often feel surface-level and exploitative. For an album with influences as specific as Renaissance, notions of support simply could not stop with the music. “We love y’all watching Pose and Legendary, but we also want y’all to come outside and support!” proclaimed Whitfield at the start of the night.
Renaissance — along with Pose, the Emmy-winning FX drama series, and Legendary, a ballroom-themed Max reality competition series — is one of the most prominent works of art in a late-2010s wave of Black queer-inspired pieces of entertainment. “Honestly, it was like ‘Finally!” That’s how I felt [when Renaissance dropped],” says Whitfield. “Some of us have been in ballroom for years and we see everyone use what we do and never give us recognition. There’s a lot of appropriation. So, while they’re elevating, we’re still on the ground floor and underneath the floor, and it’s very unfair.” With Renaissance, however, Beyoncé tapped ballroom icons, Black queer dance music producers and writers and hired tour dancers who “not only have put in the work in the ballroom community, but also have that skill to be onstage and empower a whole generation of new beings,” says Whitfield.
Converting consumers to steadfast supporters of the ballroom scene and Black queer liberation is a testy task, especially when so much of the struggle takes place within the joint vacuum of celebrity allyship and capitalism. Nevertheless, the Equality Ball shines as a beacon of hope. “We love everybody loving the album, but are you really coming to help us?” poses Whitfield. “It’s one thing to help the three or four of us that are onstage, it’s another thing to come into our community and learn about our culture.”
As BeyGOOD’s involvement in the Ball demonstrates, finding the humility to humble yourself and research and learn about a culture that is not yours is imperative to establishing a foundation for genuine, unwavering support. “We still have so many people that are homeless and are fighting for survival on a daily basis,” she stresses. “So, to have people really come in and support our community without just taking up space, but really taking up an active space of learning is what’s important.”
“A lot of people wanna be on the floor now,” she continues. “But you can be on the floor, if you learn the history and respect the pioneers that have laid down their lives for us to be here tonight.”
On Billboard’s Power Publicists list, the top artist representatives at labels and independent companies share stories of the unforgettable moments their careers in music publicity have included thus far, as well as the philosophies that guide them.
Below, members of their often-extensive teams weigh in.
On Their Craziest PR Memories….
“Super early on in my career I was on the carpet for a gala on a Monday in May. I was very junior and not necessarily supposed to be in this situation with this artist, but there I was walking up the stairs holding the longest dress train. As flashes began to pop, it became clear that I did not know how to properly fix a train for a photo. Needless to say this artist not-so-quietly instructed me to find someone who knew what they were doing, quickly. Note: I quickly learned to fix a dress train.” —Beau Benton, svp, media & operations, Republic Records
“I once took an early morning flight and went straight to set for a photo shoot that lasted over 24 hours. We didn’t leave the set once, not even to check into our hotels — we just walked right back onto the plane the next day. I take pride knowing that experience didn’t break me; however, it did break the internet…” —Marisa Bianco, svp, media, Republic Records
“Once upon a time, I had a client performing an acoustic session at a well-known publication. Above their studio was a therapist’s office and drums were not exactly welcome in the session due to noise concerns. Without divulging all the mishaps of the day — an actual physical showdown broke out over a box drum. As a publicist, you quite literally need to be ready for anything and everything and always have your mending kit ready because you never know when a box drum might start an underground fight club.” —Erika Clark, vp, artist & media relations, Island Records
“Walking life-sized llama puppets down the red carpet at the VMAs in 2015 with Fall Out Boy was never something I thought I’d be able to add to my resume!” —Natasha Desai, vp, Full Coverage Communications
“I can’t say I ever imagined myself working the doors at Stevie Nicks’ afterparty to celebrate her second induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. That was pretty amazing.” —Gabi Hollander, director, Full Coverage Communications
“My artist arrived to a red-carpet (my first-ever red-carpet) an hour and a half late after the driver got lost, so I sprinted and found them a mile away on foot. They were the only artist to arrive on foot and did so approximately 1 minute before Taylor Swift. We were sweaty but we survived!” — Katie O’Gara, manager, artist and media relations, Island Records
“I once had an artist alert our team they were ‘on their way’ to a full day of press in NYC that was slated to start in an hour. It turned out what they meant was they were ‘on their way’ to the airport in Los Angeles, set to depart on the 6 hour LAX to JFK journey, arriving right in time for our entire planned press day to end. The minutiae matter!” —Erin Ryan, senior director, artist and media relations, Island Records
“Attending an event at the White House with a client and getting into a bit of a disagreement with the Secret Service.” —Jessica Sciacchitano, vp, music and entertainment, R&CPMK
On The PR Nightmares They Survived And Learned From…
“Back in 2018, at a prior job, I was gearing up for an annual activation and performance jam session with an array of acclaimed talent when the venue was faced with a bomb threat the day of the event. I had to deescalate the tension and concerns of on-site press, affirming that this was not what we meant by ‘an explosive lineup,’ while prioritizing the use and reporting of the brand/talent’s approved language by media covering the evening.” —Joshua Dickinson, senior director, publicity, RCA Records
“Being stuck on the set of a music video for thirteen hours with a few important journalists and not being able to complete the interviews. It was a turning point early in my career and taught me the importance of building real relationships. Transparency, good conversation and craft services helped us all get through a very long shoot.” —Randy Henderson, svp, publicity, Interscope Geffen A&M Records
On The PR Philosophies That Got Them Through It All …
“While our world is filled with many uncontrollable variables that often cause us to quickly and strategically pivot, showing up for our clients and working hard for them every single day remains a constant.” —Avery Robinson, director, Full Coverage Communications
“I always strive to put thought and meaning behind anything I do for an artist. As publicists we should strive to tailor the opportunities as best as possible for each artist and always have an opinion on why they should do it. One of my very first bosses in this business told me that if all you’re doing is sending an opportunity via an email, anyone can do your job. What matters most is the inclusion of your thoughts and your passion for the project.” —Ayanna Wilks, vp, publicity, Epic Records