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From the moment she could crawl, Maeta was immersed in music. Spinning her father’s CDs on the living room floor wasn’t just a hobby—it was an obsession. “I’d sit there every day, pick a random CD, and just listen,” she recalls with a sheepish smile, hinting at her young age. But in that childhood ritual, a lifelong passion ignited. At seven, Leona Lewis’ “Bleeding Love” left a lasting mark, solidifying her path. “I thought I was the best singer in the world at seven—I was so trash,” she laughs, reflecting on her early confidence.
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Growing up in Indianapolis, a city she fondly calls “a breeding ground for dreamers,” Maeta was fueled by an unwavering determination. Despite limited access to a vibrant music scene, her imagination thrived. School choirs and after-school projects became her first taste of songwriting and recording. “It was bad,” she admits, “but it was the closest thing to the music industry in Indiana.” Even when her dreams felt unattainable, Maeta never wavered and her passion to be a musician was her compass.
Her journey into music wasn’t just about discovery—it was about persistence and vision. At 18, she left Indiana for Los Angeles, diving headfirst into the industry. “I spent four months in the studio, working with so many producers, every single day,” she says. It was overwhelming but formative, helping her find her sound. Even now, she remains fluid, saying, “I just did a dance project, but I’m about to go back into my R&B ballad bag. It’s fun to not always know where you’re headed.”
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Her creative process is as unpredictable as her musical direction. “Sometimes I cry, sitting in the dark for hours. Other days, I’m in a good mood,” she explains. For Maeta, the studio is a sacred space. “I like the lights off. I don’t even like to see my engineer half the time. I want to be in my little cave,” she says, describing the intimacy and solitude she needs to create.
But the path hasn’t been without its challenges. Maeta speaks candidly about the power dynamics in the industry, especially with men. “I’ve dealt with men in power trying to take advantage… that’s been happening since I was 13,” she says. Yet, she’s found a team that supports her fully. “I love my team so much… they’ve been so loyal. I wouldn’t want anyone else.”
Her journey is a testament to imagination, grit, and the unwavering pursuit of dreams. “Imagination is everything… but you need the determination to make it happen. I’ve wanted to give up so many times, but you just have to come back to it,” she admits, highlighting the resilience that has carried her through the highs and lows of her career. It’s this blend of vision and persistence that defines not only her artistry but also her personal growth. Now, her music carries a profound depth rooted in lived experience and emotional truth. “I don’t even like songs unless I feel something,” she reflects, emphasizing how her creative process has evolved. “I used to sing whatever I was told. Now, it has to mean something to me.”
This evolution mirrors her alignment with Honda’s ethos of determination, resilience, and the power of dreams. Much like Honda’s commitment to turning bold ideas into reality, she embodies the spirit of pushing forward despite challenges, finding purpose in the journey, and crafting something meaningful along the way. It’s this shared sense of vision and perseverance that makes her a natural fit for this year’s Honda Stage, a platform dedicated to highlighting artists who reflect these ideals through their stories and their music. Her performance becomes a celebration of not just her talent, but the grit and heart that have defined her journey.
Her latest song, “Back,” performed exclusively for Billboard and Honda Stage, delves into self-sabotage, an emotional vulnerability she openly shares. “It’s about when you’re your own worst enemy, especially in love. You overthink, hate yourself, and take it out on the person trying to love you,” she confides. It’s this raw honesty that resonates deeply with her audience.
Her music, much like her creative process, is a blend of spontaneity and intent, where every song carries “little pieces of me.” Maeta remains a chameleon, who finds joy in experimentation but is determined to leave an unmistakable stamp on her music. “You’re not gonna hear my song and not know it’s me.” For Maeta, collaboration isn’t just a part of her career—it’s the lifeblood of her artistry, keeping her inspired and pushing her creativity to new levels. “Artists and musicians are crazy. Creatives are just so inspiring… every time I work with somebody new, there’s just something weird about them that I love.”
Her music is a reflection of her journey, a symphony of personal growth, and the collective wisdom of her many influences. And despite the inevitable pressures of the industry, Maeta remains steadfast in asserting her artistic vision. “You can always tell when an artist is just a puppet,” she reflects, highlighting her commitment to authenticity over conforming to trends. For her, music is not just a career; it’s a lasting legacy. “I’ve been existential since I was a kid,” she confesses. “I want my music to outlive me.”
In the end, Maeta’s story is one of embracing life’s unpredictability. “Just relax. Let life happen and let it flow,” she advises her younger self—and herself today. It’s a sentiment that beautifully encapsulates her journey: a balance of vision, vulnerability, and relentless pursuit of her dreams.
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About Honda Stage:
Honda Stage is a music platform that builds on the brand’s deep foundation of bringing unique experiences to fans while celebrating determined artists and their journeys of music discovery. Honda Stage offers exclusive, behind-the-scenes music content and inspirational stories from on-the-rise and fan-favorite artists, giving music fans access to the moments they love while celebrating the creativity and drive it takes to make it big.
In November 2019, Michael Kiwanuka released his third album Kiwanuka at what felt like the edge of the world; the decade was coming to a close, and the pandemic that sent the globe into lockdown was just months away. He sings of such a place on the LP’s highlight “Solid Ground,” ruminating on how “it feels to be on your own” away from all the noise and bluster, imagining himself standing at the precipice of “where there’ll be no one around.” It was a moment and message that proved prescient.
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Kiwanuka was, by design, the singer-songwriter’s magnum opus. The record charted at No. 2 on the U.K.’s Official Album Charts and The Guardian named it “one of the greatest albums of the decade” right at the buzzer. It soon landed a Grammy nomination for best rock album, and won the prestigious Mercury Prize in the U.K.. How does one follow up an album with such acclaim?
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You don’t, Kiwanuka tells Billboard in the offices of Universal Music in London, where he is signed to Polydor Records: “All I knew is that I wanted to do something different, so that it was harder to compare. It was a good impetus to choose another direction creatively without losing who I am.”
That switch-up is his fourth album Small Changes, released Nov. 22. The London-born, Southampton-based artist retains his signature sound, blending sweet soulful grooves and melodies with elements of psych music and funk, but pares things back a touch.
He deliberately focused on making his vocals more of a presence, something he had been reluctant to do over his decade-long career. Hear it on “Rest of Me,” where his rich voice sits atop a lolling bassline and shuffling beats; in the past, additional production flushes would have guided the listener’s ears elsewhere, but here his voice stands central to the success of the song.
“I’ve got this obsession now with the idea that if a busker can play the song, and it sounds good going through a really sh-tty amp and their voice is through a bad mic,” he says. “If the song and the lyrics still move you, you’ve done the hardest thing.”
Michael Kiwanuka
Marco Grey
Kiwanuka signed to Polydor in 2011 and a year later won BBC’s Sound of… poll, a new music-focused list which has also been won by Adele, Haim, Sam Smith and PinkPantheress. He released his debut Home Again in 2012, and then topped the U.K. Albums Chart with 2016’s sophomore LP Love & Hate. His song “Cold Little Heart” appeared on the latter, and was selected by HBO to be the opening theme to hit TV drama Big Little Lies, starring Reese Witherspoon and Nicole Kidman. The song now sits at over 307 million streams on Spotify.
It was at this time that Kiwanuka formed a formidable relationship. It came with super-producer Danger Mouse, one half of pop group Gnarls Barkley, and London-based producer Inflo, the mastermind behind mysterious project Sault, which Kiwanuka has briefly performed as part of. The triumvirate have since worked together on what Kiwanuka is calling a “trilogy” of records, across Love & Hate, Kiwanuka and Small Changes.
“In 20 years time, this will still be the most poignant creative relationship that I’ll ever have,” Kiwanuka says. He feels that the trio all met each other “right at the time when we needed it.” Danger Mouse – whose production credits include Adele’s 25, Gorillaz’ Demon Days and U2’s Songs of Innocence – found a “passion for producing records again,” and was drawn to Kiwanuka and Inflo as “two young Black guys trying to prove ourselves” in the music industry. “I had this double-whammy of my mind being opened by two different people at the same time, in different ways.”
The comfortability and confidence in that relationship has enabled Kiwanuka to make his most authentic record, and usher in a stylish new era. Small Changes’ accompanying visuals are arresting in their simplicity: the video for single “Lowdown” makes six minutes out of a lone bike rider at dusk. During his performance at Glastonbury Festival in June, Kiwanuka paid homage to his upbringing by wearing a Kanzu robe, a traditional outfit in Uganda where his parents emigrated from prior to his birth.
Kiwanuka has spoken before about his feeling of “imposter syndrome,” but that the shifting sands that the music industry is built upon now provide artists with opportunities. “They’re [major labels] nowhere near as powerful as they once were when I was starting out, running the shop and telling people what to do. It felt like everything they said was gospel. It affected how you made music, or at least affected your confidence.”
Kiwanuka points to Irish rock band Fontaines D.C. and rising U.S. guitarist and producer Mk.gee as examples of artists who have pushed past the noise to release strikingly original LPs in recent months.
“The volatile relationship of the industry has actually made it artist-friendly, because no-one knows what to do,” he says. “So they let you create and let you make records and experiment because they don’t know what to say… which is fantastic!”
Kiwanuka
Marco Grey
Building confidence in his creative output and vocals has been a journey that has been hard-won. He credits the move away from London as giving him additional conviction in his capabilities: “You hear your own voice a bit louder, but you have to have a bit more conviction because you have no choice. You don’t have as much to compare it to.”
What would he tell his younger self, the one eager to please the public, his label and to meet his own personal standards? “There’s strength in your voice. People always try to tell you but you don’t hear it,” he says. “You’re always accepting advice from other people so you always think the validation is going to come from outside, and then one day you realize it’s not.”
He adds, “I was always trying to sound like my favorite singers, or [thinking] that [my vocals] weren’t good enough. But now I think I just want to sound like me.”
As Billboard speaks to British dance duo Maribou State, who are readying to release their third album Hallucinating Love, an epiphany strikes the pair. Liam Ivory reminds his longtime friend and bandmate Chris Davids, that we’re speaking on the year anniversary of the day that Davids had life-changing brain surgery.
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In late 2021, Davids began suffering from debilitating headaches and was often struck down with crippling pain. He was eventually diagnosed with a chiari malformation which, he explains, is when the lower part of the brain herniates into the spinal canal putting pressure on the brainstem and spinal fluid. The American Association of Neurological Surgeons estimate it impacts less than 1 in 1000 people. It is an injury that is perhaps not well suited for someone who needs to be locked to the intricacy of music production, or peering into a laptop screen trying to piece the whole song together.
“It had a profound effect on the music,” Davids tells Billboard of the LP, which was written and recorded as they worked their way through multiple challenges on the personal front. “A lot of the music was shaped around the theme of struggle, and creating to remove yourself from a difficult period and projecting into something that’s brighter and more hopeful.”
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Hallucinating Love arrives after a particularly torrid period since their last LP, 2018’s Kingdoms in Colour. That record, which included a collaboration with Khruangbin, landed at No.25 on the U.K. Official Albums Charts and its songs collectively boast over 271 million streams on Spotify. The tour ended with a sold-out show at London’s O2 Academy Brixton (5,000 capacity) and saw growing headline gigs in North America and mainland Europe.
Maribou State
Rory Dewar
The pair got their start in 2011 releasing their Habitat EP on Fat Cat Records, and would later release singles and EPs on Fatboy Slim’s Southern Fried label. They later signed to beloved London-based dance label Ninja Tune, home to releases by Bonobo, Barry Can’t Swim and Peggy Gou, and released their debut album Portraits in 2015, which stars “Midas,” a single was certified Silver by the BPI and sits at 152 million streams on Spotify. Elsewhere they’ve remixed records by Lana Del Rey and Radiohead during their decade-long career.
When Maribou State’s last tour concluded in late 2019 and the world went into lockdown soon after, the problems began. The pair had lived a high-octane life on the road, hopping from city to city, partying, neglecting themselves but putting on bigger and better shows. The confines of being at home impacted their wellbeing and pulled into focus mental health challenges that had been pushed to one side. Davids was battling insomnia and was coming to terms with an ADHD (attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder), while Ivory was living with increased anxiety.
Even so, their star grew on social media and streaming despite a period of inactivity; next year, they’ll headline three shows at London’s 10,000-capacity Alexandra Palace, and take in prestigious North American venues including New York City’s Terminal 5 and Toronto’s History.
Hallucinating Love (released Jan. 31, 2025) has emerged as their most thematic and sonically cohesive record to date. Their sound, which fuses psych-rock, funk, retro-soul and banging beats, is warmer, looser and more attention-grabbing than anything before. “Other Side” with key collaborator Walker is as direct a pop moment they’ve ever had, while “Peace Talk” has the feel of an undiscovered cult classic, such is the majesty of the swelling string refrain.
As they release their new single “Dance On The World,” the pair tell us about their difficult period, the pressure of being on the road and staying loyal to their collaborators.
It’s been a six-year gap between the release of your last two studio albums. When you finished touring Kingdoms In Colour, were you anticipating a break like this?
Liam: It took us by surprise. Historically we have taken quite a while to write albums compared to other artists, but through a number of things happening in the world and in our lives personally it just took a hell of a lot longer than we anticipated. There were times where it felt like it was never going to happen.
A lot has happened between lockdown, medical issues and focusing on your mental health. How do you look back on the experience in totality?
Chris: With mixed feelings to be honest. It was a really important process for us to go through, personally and creatively. We learned a lot about ourselves in that time. We’re grateful that we were in a position where we were able to press pause for a minute during the writing process, and to look after ourselves and not just push through and break ourselves when doing it.
Liam: We’re also lucky to be able to say that things are in a good place for us now. It’s easier to look back with rose-tinted glasses on as we managed to find a way through that period which we might not be able to do if we were still struggling. It’s nice to be able to box that off.
The adjustment from being on the road to being back home was clearly difficult…
Liam: When we were touring we weren’t looking after ourselves very well and we were partying quite a lot. So transitioning back to normal life either way would have been difficult, but we landed right at the start of the pandemic. We went from touring on a super high-octane lifestyle to being shut at home.
We were quite separate at that point, too. I’d just moved in with my partner and friend; Chris was back home with his family. We came back together when things eased up and started working together and then it became a very supporting relationship.
Chris, can you share more details on what you’ve had to go through?
Chris: In 2021, I started getting these chronic debilitating headaches. We were staying over at the studio one time, and I remember I woke up one morning and when I stood up I was bent over in pain. I got an MRI scan and a few months later I got diagnosed with a chiari malformation.
That was a shock. We’d been going really hard to make this record but we were both not really in the right place to be doing that. We weren’t feeling super creative and we were doing it for the sake of doing it rather than because we wanted to. Getting that diagnosis gave me a reason to take a break, so we both had a good few months out at that point.
I was trying to plough through and I’m someone who doesn’t like to admit defeat. In reality, it’s something I should have just got sorted and then came back. But it’s hard to push aside something that you love doing.
Liam, It must have been hard to see your friend go through that?
Liam: Yeah, the thing with Chris is that he’s so bloody stoic so he would just push on. We’d be in sessions and then he’d keel over in pain and just say ‘give me a minute’ and then shrug it off. I didn’t know what to do as it didn’t feel like we should be carrying on… but he was up for it and there was a deadline looming. Some additional insight into how little Chris will admit defeat: when he was in hospital, he was commenting on the artwork, replying to emails like a week or two after surgery. Just crazy.
How did this period inform the music you ended up writing for Hallucinating Love?
Liam: When we write we usually hire an Air BnB, take our studio and some collaborators and hash it out until we have the ideas. Those trips are peppered throughout the period that we recorded the album in. Looking back, one or two of those trips were really difficult; none of us were in a good headspace at all, really low mental health, really struggling. Ironically the songs that came from those sessions are some of the most hopeful and uplifting, but they’re really specific to a moment and you can put yourself back into that time.
You’ve mentioned that “Blackoak” is a bit of a love letter to the British dance scene. How did that manifest itself?
Chris: Over the years mine and Liam’s tastes have been very broad. We were into lots of different things and Liam was into loads of hardcore, metal and punk, but the one thing we always aligned on was dance music and artists like Prodigy, Aphex Twin and some British scenes like happy hardcore. We went to [Warwickshire dance festival] Global Gathering, to [London club] Fabric and then also saw Daft Punk live together. Over the years we’ve made club-influenced music but influenced by more contemporary stuff like future garage, but “Blackoak” felt like more of a homage to what we listened to growing up.”
There’s also familiar collaborators like Holly Walker, but new names too with Andreya Triana. It must be nice to have developed a consistent community around yourself?
Liam: We’re not ones for setting up random sessions with people and seeing how it goes. We need to have a relationship with them first. The way we write music is quite a long arduous process for us, and you need to be around people you really connect with.
Chris: The whole connection thing is so important. Because we’ve tried lots of sessions with other vocalists and nine times out of 10, it doesn’t work. We had a collaboration with Khruangbin on the last album and I’m so glad we got it to work in the end, but it was lots of sessions we had to do over a long period of time. Like Liam said, there’s something to feeling comfortable and once we’ve established a friendship, things can be so much more fluid.
Holly takes the lead on a number of tracks, and you’ve worked together on several songs now. What is that bond like?
Chris: We just clicked with Holly. She’s incredibly funny, really intelligent and an amazing lyricist. We wrote a couple of songs that got put on the first record, and we struck up a good writing relationship from there. And it’s definitely not been a totally easy relationship over the years, there’s been a lot of push and pull and quite strong creative forces on both sides, but I think that’s what has created such great music between us.
You mentioned touring taking its toll last time. How are you feeling about getting back out on the road?
Liam: One thing we navigate is being several years older and being in very different places in our lives and trying to protect a quality of life. Although we’ve not been out touring yet, there’s a lot of conversations about what it’s going to be like and how we’re going to get through it. It’s going to be a very different affair to when we were out last time in 2019.
And you want to create as great a show as you can, right?
Chris: There’s such high expectations of what a show should look like in terms of production and everything that’s put on both on stage and behind the scenes. Not just musically. It’s also more of a challenge to create content because labels want so much more from the gigs, so there is that pressure that touring costs a lot more but also you need to spend a lot more to meet the standard. You can’t just do an Oasis and go out and stare at your shoes and a couple of lights in the background.
Liam: We’re also so fortunate that the fanbase feels more tangible than it ever has. We’ve been lucky that over the years, even when we’ve taken a break, it’s just grown and gone from strength to strength in parallel while we were struggling personally. It’s made us even more committed.
Between the triumphant, box office-topping Bob Marley biopic and the long-awaited release of dancehall legend Vybz Kartel, Jamaica has had a lot to celebrate in 2024. This year also marks the ten-year anniversary of Where We Come From – the landmark 2014 debut studio album from Popcaan, one of the most important dancehall artists of the past decade and half.
Following early Stateside crossover success with heaters like “Only Man She Want,” “The System” and “Unruly Rave,” Popcaan released Where We Come From via Mixpak Records, the Brooklyn-based indie label founded by record producer Dre Skull. Upon release, Where We Come From became the first of Popcaan’s five consecutive projects to reach the top three on Reggae Albums. According to Luminate, Popcaan has moved over one million career album equivalent units, with Where We Come From accounting for 130,000 of those units.
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To commemorate ten years of Popcaan’s debut, Mixpak has released a new deluxe edition featuring three previously unreleased songs: “Beat the Struggle,” “Don’t Finesse Me” and an acoustic version of the set’s title track.
“Part of me wonders why the hell they weren’t a part of the original album,” Dre Skull tells Billboard. “It’s exciting to dust off some songs from that era and share more about what was happening in the studio and in Popcaan’s head at the time.”
As executive producer of Where We Come From, Dre Skull developed an incredibly intimate partnership with Popcaan. The two dancehall maestros first crossed paths in 2010 during the recording sessions for Kartel’s Kingston Story, the first full-length release for Mixpak. Though they met before “Clarks,” a globe-conquering collaboration between Popcaan and Kartel, dropped, Dre Skull instantly recognized Popcaan’s “natural star power.” By the end of 2011, he signed Popcaan to a three-single deal that yielded “The System,” a song that combined the politically conscious lyricism of roots reggae with the bombastic tempos of dancehall, laying the groundwork for an album that would usher dancehall into a new era.
Around the time Popcaan signed that initial deal, Kartel, his mentor since he joined Gaza Music Empire in 2008, was arrested for cannabis possession. That charge would trigger a decade’s worth of legal ordeals, including a life imprisonment sentence for a murder charge that would take until 2024 to overturn. With his mentor imprisoned, there was an opportunity for Popcaan to assume the leading role Kartel had occupied for years – but this time with a twist that prioritized emotional vulnerability and melodic delivery over brash braggadocio. Dre Skull started conversing with Popcaan’s team about a larger album deal around the end of 2012; though he encouraged them to pursue deals with majors should they be offered, his work with Kartel and on Kingston Story earned the trust of both Popcaan and his team, setting the stage for the first of two Mixpak-backed Popcaan LPs.
Contrary to America’s most dominant genres, dancehall’s affinity for the album as an artistic statement is relatively recent; dancehall albums are often compilations of an artist’s hottest songs from the past few years. “As a fan, I love that, but the press was not giving their full attention to pure singles,” Dre Skull says. “You’re going to be hard pressed to get on the cover of The Fader with just the hottest single. I’m not saying it’s never happened, but it’s rare.” Kartel did end up landing the cover of The Fader for Kingston Story, as well as a print feature in the Arts & Leisure section of The New York Times. Those PR wins provided a blueprint for Popcaan’s Where We Come From rollout – and foolproof confirmation that a fully realized LP was the best way to formally introduce and break Popcaan in America outside of hubs of Caribbean immigrants like New York City.
Ten years later, Where We Come From still stands as a stunning amalgamation of mid-2010s dancehall and the boisterous dance-pop that dominated top 40 at the time. “Everything Nice,” the album’s lead single – which was originally recorded on a completely different beat, according to Popcaan — slyly combines elements of dancehall’s sunny synths and drums with the languid emo-rap vocal stylings that were beginning to creep into mainstream hip-hop at the time.
There’s also “Waiting So Long,” a pop-dancehall fantasia that casts Popcaan as the conductor of a kaleidoscopic orchestra of syncopated handclaps, stirring strings, ethereal chimes and tinny synths that keep the track in lock-stop with the electro-pop of the times. Those EDM-adjacent flourishes also pop up on “Addicted,” a song tucked away in the album’s back half that flaunts Popcaan’s knack for catchy pop melodies that don’t betray the roughest edges of standard dancehall delivery.
“There’s so much subtlety. Because of his mastery with melody, his songs can be catchy in different ways,” says Dre Skull, who produced five of the album’s 13 tracks. “For a certain subset of songs, my view was the riddim should almost contrast with that.
Where We Come From was impressive upon its debut – and remains so – because of how deftly Popcaan balances the record’s party moments with its stints of introspection on tracks like “Give Thanks,” “Where We Come From” and cinematic album opener, “Hold On.” After impressing Dre Skull with his grasp on weightier topics like violence, poverty, remorse and guilt, the Brooklyn producer “had a feeling the melody and the chords on ‘Hold On’ would resonate” with Popcaan. And they did. “Everything we still get the minimal/ Society still treat we like criminals/ But one day we’ll be free at last/ Jamaica,” he croons at the end of the song’s first verse.
“At the time of creating Where We Come From, I said exactly what I wanted to say and sang about how I was feeling,” Popcaan tells Billboard. “I just wanted to touch people’s hearts while being real. I always try to motivate the yutes who are still in the struggle to never give up, and in doing that through music you expose some vulnerability.”
For Dre Skull, “Hold On” felt like a “mission statement.” “Some of those songs are like hymns,” he muses. “He’s giving music to help anyone get through their hardest day or week. At the same time, he’s singing hymns that are based on things going on in his life. I have come to see that he’s writing those for himself, and they serve a purpose internally.”
Notably, Where We Come From houses just one collaboration, the Pusha T-assisted “Hustle.” Popcaan and Pusha previously worked together on 2013’s “Blocka,” and the Virginia Beach rapper was the only artist he reached out to while making the album. “Sometimes it might make good business sense or a be a good look [to have big-name features on an album] – but this was a very important building block in Popcaan’s career. We wanted it to be a reflection of who he was,” notes Dre Skull.
Arriving on June 10, 2014, Where We Come From materialized at the same time the music industry was on the precipice of a culture-shifting transition to streaming as the dominant form of consumption. Billboard started incorporating YouTube data into its chart rankings the year before Where We Came From dropped – but Dre Skull was already familiar with just how important the video-sharing app was to the dancehall ecosystem. He remembers a digital scene dating back to 2009, where kids in Brooklyn would run YouTube channels like music blogs, uploading the year’s hottest dancehall singles to their tens of thousands of followers. “Dancehall artists and their managers were paying those teenagers to upload their music, because they wanted to be part of that stream of consumption,” he recalls. “It was a similar thing to rap’s mixtape era, where there was all this unmonetized and uncheckable consumption happening. Those artists weren’t getting money off those streams, but they were getting show bookings.”
Following the strategy they employed with Kartel’s Kingston Story – Dre Skull notes they were an early adopter of uploading lyric videos for every song on an album – Mixpak capitalized on Popcaan’s YouTube pull with complete uploads of his early radio interviews, “Unruly Clash Wednesdays” series (a weekly showcase for burgeoning deejays to battle-test their skills in front of live, participatory audience) and commercials compiling the album’s rave reviews. Though streaming would truly explode by the time Popcaan’s sophomore effort, 2018’s Forever, rolled around, the inroads he made on those platforms with Where We Come From set the stage for streaming juggernauts like 2020’s Drake and Partynextdoor-assisted “Twist & Turn.”
In the ten years since he dropped his debut album, Popcaan has morphed into one of the most recognizable dancehall stars of the 21st century, working with everyone from Chris Brown to Burna Boy. To date, he’s earned over 1.7 billion official on-demand U.S. streams – a testament to his remarkable ability to sustain crossover success.
“Popcaan showed how to be a successful artist in this new era,” proclaims Dre Skull. “He’s proven to be a very strong operator who knows how to follow his own vision for his career instead of another person’s template. With [Where We Come From], he showed other dancehall artists that albums are important and reminded them that they’re a very good way to push your career to career to new levels. More people are putting out proper albums as an artistic statement and not just a compilation of previously released singles. And musically, he also showed that you can make a serious album and not go chasing hits but still end up with some.”
As dancehall figures out where the genre is headed next, other stars looking to emulate Popcaan’s success would do well to revisit Where We Come From and its pivotal rollout. Though his focus is currently on celebrating the 10-year anniversary of his debut, Popcaan has new music on the way with Dre Skull. Now signed to Drake’s OVO Sound label, Popcaan and Mixpak formally parted ways in 2020, but their work together continues to inform the future of both Popcaan’s career and dancehall as a whole.
“We made a classic,” exclaims Popcaan. “A timeless and boundary-breaking album that still resonates today. 10 years later and still going strong!”
Just as the The Waitresses‘ “Christmas Wrapping” captured the melancholy and romance of spending the holidays alone — making it a holiday-playlist perennial, Cat Cohen has recorded, Overdressed, an album of 10 original songs that mines the comedy of single life today, including the kind of sloppy end-of-year merrymaking that lives on in nightmares and brunch conversations.
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While Overdressed, which drops on Nov. 15, is not strictly a holiday album, it does take the stuffing out of office Christmas parties and the boorish behavior that takes place at them in songs such as “Plus One,” “Time of Year” and the inevitable self-help delusions accompany new year’s resolutions in “Just Bought a Journal” and “Blame It on the Moon.”
“I’ve been doing cabaret songs in my standup act for a really long time, and I’ve always wanted to do poppier versions of them — fancier, fun tracks,” Cohen says. “The holidays seemed like a good way to get into that celebratory mood. I had a bunch of songs that fit within the holiday theme somewhat and thought, this is a fun little idea.”
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That said, Cohen’s idea of fun, as expressed on Overdressed, would have made Bing Crosby drop his pipe. After “four to six glasses of wine” at an office holiday party, the star of “plus one” gets pretty granular recounting the time she had sex on a boat. And in the future Instagram-generation anthem, “Can You Send Me That?,” she ends up going home from the club with a foot fetishist in a fedora. “Thankfully no one took any pics,” she sings.
Before anyone thinks the characters in Overdressed have set women back decades, Cohen throws herself into “Time of Year,” a song that would fit on the soundtrack of Black Christmas — pick your version — or any other Christmas-themed feminist slasher movie.
“When you wake up in that hole wondering how you got so low, know it’s you touched my lower back at a party four years ago,” Cohen sings. “And when I see your friends, cuz it’s that time of year when the boys will close down the bar, I’ll let them know with my eyes, there will be no surprise. If you touch me, I’ll destroy your life.” (Spoiler alert: the guy in the hole doesn’t make it.)
On the eve of Overdressed‘s release, Cohen spoke to Billboard about the inspirations behind the music, many of which came from personal experience.
Why record a comedic holiday-themed album?
Comedically, the holidays are a great thing to mine for jokes.
Were any of the songs on Overdressed inspired by your actual experiences?
Unfortunately, they all are.
Okay.
The story of the guy asking to see my feet at the club. That’s true. The story of the sex-on-a-boat situation as mentioned in “Plus One.” I’ll heighten things in my act or change details, but I’m always pulling from real life, for better or for worse.
I was going to ask you if you really had sex on a boat and was sand involved?
Sure. Give it a go. Try it out. I want to encourage all my listeners to try it out. You know how the floor of a boat is always wet and sandy. Something must have gotten lost in the mix.
Office parties are always great fodder for comedy. Is “Plus One” based on any particular experience?
I wrote that song pre-pandemic. I often see pictures of these totally lavish parties these companies would throw. I was like, “Wait, just because I don’t have an office job doesn’t mean I should be left out.” Big parties are coming back, so this is my formal plea to be invited to yours. I want a seafood tower, I want a DJ, I want specialty cocktails.
Songs such as “Blame It on the Moon ” and “Just Bought a Journal” seem to be more about the contemporary tropes we buy into that we — usually mistakenly — think are going to be a path to self-improvement.
Totally. I’m just fascinated by how we’re all obsessed with bettering ourselves. I make fun of all this stuff but only because I’m doing it as well. I have paid so much money to astrologers, healers, psychics — because I’m obsessed by it. The same with the journal. Especially on New Year’s Day, you’re like, “Wow, I think this journal is going to change my entire life.” So I thought that would be a relatable point for people.
And then you stop journaling before January ends.
Exactly. A few years ago I bought one of those five-year journals where every day, you’re supposed to write a sentence. It stopped like the 18th of January.
Did an astrologer actually ask you to dip your nipple in…
Yes, yes. This is a while ago. We were talking about drinking. I was like, “I think I’ve been drinking too much.” What should I do? She was like, “You should have some sparkling water. Drink sparkling water. Play around, feel it. I don’t know, put your nipple in it.” I was like, “Wait, did I just hear you right?”
Good lord. The album spans a few different genres of music. It starts out with kind of a disco feel, and there’s a bit of Prince-y funk. But you’re also doing some sort of cocktail music. Are those genres your touchstones?
Before I went to the studio, I was listening to a lot of ’90s Spice Girls. Beyond that, when I’m writing a comedy song, it’s like, “h, if you’re talking about some grotesque thing, maybe we’ll make it a love ballad.” Juxtaposition is always interesting to me. The genre I use is just to comment on the message of the song, and what joke I’m going for. That’s why it spans so many different little bits.
Are you going to be touring at all behind this release?
This album is like, half old songs that have already been in my specials and half new. I think I’m going to wait until I write my next hour of comedy to go on tour. I just finished a tour at the end of the summer. So, I’m going to start fresh in the new year, and then hopefully, incorporate some of these newer songs in my next show. I’ll probably not be touring for a few months.
You were in the current season of Only Murders in the Building. What character did you play?
I play one of the Brothers sisters.
You did? Looking at the photos from this album release, I did not make the connection.
I hope I’m a transformative actor, so I appreciate that. Especially living in New York, Only Murders in the Building was a dream gig — working my comedic heroes on a show that everyone watches. I’m waiting for the next big gig, so I’m manifesting, obviously — a massive role for the new year, this interview.
And seeing an astrologer about it as well.
Always, always.
Cat Cohen
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Declan McKenna is in a transitional state. When Billboard speaks to the British musician in early October, he’s surrounded by boxes while he moves apartments in London. He’s also packing his gear for a string of live headline dates in North America, which include a role as a special guest on Sabrina Carpenter’s Short n’ Sweet tour, his first-ever arena gigs. It’s a period of fresh beginnings and new opportunities.
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Then there’s the biggest change: after a decade signed to Columbia Records, McKenna is going independent. McKenna signed with the label in 2015 aged 16 following the success of his viral single “Brazil” and his victory in Glastonbury Festival’s Emerging Talent Competition. The indie–pop song was a riposte to soccer governing body FIFA and their decision to name Brazil as hosts for the 2014 World Cup without addressing deep-seated inequality and poverty. The track is approaching 675m streams on Spotify.
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McKenna released three LPs on Columbia, most recently What Happened To The Beach? which charted at No.3 on the UK Albums Charts in February. There were shades of Paul McCartney’s 1971 solo record Ram and a looser West Coast feel to the record which was made in LA with producer Gianluca Buccellati, whose credits include Arlo Parks and RAYE. McKenna also played a 10,000 capacity headline show at London’s Alexandra Palace to accompany its release.
As the deal was approaching its end, McKenna started plotting a new path forward. Now, he’s self-releasing his music via his label Miniature Ponies, a joint venture with ADA, a distribution company owned by Warner Music Group.
“I did like the idea of being independent and not having to explain what you’re doing and why you’re doing it,” McKenna says. “I feel quite confident that I know how to do it, and it felt like the right time to try and get something else out.” He’s effusive with praise with some of his collaborators at the label, but says the relationship had met its natural end having fulfilled his obligations for three studio albums.
McKenna toasts to the new era with a double AA-side single “Champagne” and “That’s Life,” the first release on Miniature Ponies. On the two tracks he fuses more electronic elements into his sound, and retains his passion for hooky songwriting; McKenna’s melodies and choruses are some of the best to come out of British pop in recent years. Both songs examine the ludicrous excesses and follies of success, and on “Champagne” we’re drawn into vacuous conversations where the social currency is attention: “Of course I didn’t mean what I said, I just wanted them to laugh,” he begrudgingly admits.
A key reason behind the decision to go independent, McKenna says, was to streamline the decision making process and to work freely with potential collaborators across his music and visuals.
“If I were there advising my younger self I would say ‘you need to stick to your guns on this,’” McKenna says. “There’s a lot of working through fear from all different corners of the industry but pushing past that and letting creativity happen naturally is so necessary and important.”
Outwardly facing, his catalog so far has shown little signs of compromise. His ambitious 2017 debut What Do You Think About The New Car? was produced with former Vampire Weekend member Rostam Batmanglij and James Ford, whose credits include Arctic Monkeys and Florence + The Machine. 2020’s Zeroes, meanwhile, nodded to ‘70s glam-rock and embraced the imperfect nature of the creative process, and boasts one of his finest songs in “The Key To Life On Earth.”
Likewise, McKenna’s voice continues to be forthright. In 2019 he released the single “British Bombs” which highlighted the role that British arms companies play in fuelling conflict on a global scale; it’s now a fan favorite and a staple of his live performances.
The new independent era dovetails with some of McKenna’s biggest shows. From Nov. 1, he’ll join Carpenter as her main support at arena shows in Los Angeles, Seattle, Denver and more. He said the pair met at Lollapalooza Festival in Chicago last summer where Carpenter revealed she was a fan of his work. Earlier this year Carpenter invited McKenna to join as a special guest, following on from fellow British artist Griff who also got the call for the tour.
“It might be surprising for some people, and it was surprising for me to an extent, because I’m not exactly the bookies favorite to do this gig,” he laughs. “Sabrina, along with a couple other pop artists that are quite obvious, has brought a sense of fun back to pop music”
He adds: “Most of the music I love isn’t super clear about the lyric meanings and intentions. Sabrina has a bit of that. She can hammer home a concept, but also have fun.”
After that he’ll head to Australia for a string of co-headline dates with Northern Irish indie heroes Two Door Cinema Club and next summer McKenna will join Imagine Dragons on their stadium run through Europe, his biggest ever venues. The final date will arrive at his beloved soccer team Tottenham Hotspur’s Spurs Stadium in London. “I feel very lucky as that is a dream gig,” McKenna says.
Next step in his journey as an independent artist is to increase the speed of releases. He says he’s still “hoarding” music that he’s keen to share, something that falls squarely on Miniature Ponies’ label boss: himself.
“I’ve always spearheaded what I’m doing and who I’ve worked with creatively, but there’s a different layer to it now where I don’t have someone looking over my shoulder,” he concludes. “It’s a freeing thing.”
Riding a wave of indie success, Chicagoʼs Friko — led by vocalist/guitarist and principal lyric writer Niko Kapetan and drummer Bailey Minzenberger — will embark on a 40-date headlining tour beginning Nov. 2 in Amsterdam (with U.S. dates beginning Dec. 27) and on Nov. 22 release an expanded version of their 2024 debut album, Where we’ve been, Where we go from here — with 11 bonus studio and live tracks, and a cover of My Bloody Valentine’s “When You Sleep.”
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The first track from the expanded album, “If I Am” — which Kapetan says was among the first songs the band played at its initial club shows in the Windy City — drops on Oct. 23.
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This past summer, Friko brought its fiery full-on sound — powered by Kapetan’s turbo guitar-playing and quavering emo vocals, and Minzenberger’s high-energy drumming — to their first festival performances at Lollapalooza, Newport Folk Festival and Fuji Rock, and they recently finished a tour opening for Royel Otis. The group’s November European dates will be their first and include an appearance at Pitchfork Festival London. Tickets are on sale this Friday at 10am local time.
Before one of Friko’s last summer dates, as the band’s van chased Royel Otis’ buses and semi. Kapetan spoke to Billboard about the the evolution of the group, its album Where we’ve been, Where we go from here, the rigors of touring and plans for the future.
For a band that released its debut album in February, Friko has really blown up on the indie scene. How did you arrive at this point?
I had a cover band with friends beginning in sixth grade, and we would play local shops or block parties or whatever. Friko started in 2019, and that’s when we just started doing lives. We played a ton of Chicago shows and in Milwaukee, Minneapolis. By the time we got through making this debut record, we had a lot of live time in our back pocket. We were releasing stuff independently and in the Chicago scene but releasing with ATO introduced us to most of the people that know us now. We’re figuring out our live show at an exponential rate, especially now that we’ve been on a tour with big, sold-out rooms with Royel Otis over the past couple of weeks. Even now, this is the first time it feels like we’re a true band, band. We felt that with the record, too, and we just keep pushing that.
You’ve said that Where we’ve been, Where we go from here was completed before you signed with ATO.
Yeah, pretty much, because we recorded it – Scott Tallarida, a friend who has an event space in Chicago with a studio in the back of it, let us record there for free as long as we were out of the way of events. It could get booked at any time ,so that’s why it took a while, but we were able to do it basically free.
Is that what you hear when you play the album now, or did you sweeten it after signing to ATO?
After we recorded at Scott’s place and then also Palisade Studios in Chicago, we basically mixed it ourselves for months as well. We mixed it with our friend Jack Henry, and it was a learning process for us. This whole first record was just us pretty much doing everything ourselves and learning how to do it. It was a good learning experience, but we’re excited to expand from that. We probably had it done at the end of 2023 — maybe November-ish. We signed to ATO before we were done mixing it, but it was all recorded and half mixed.
Did ATO come to you?
We were playing Chicago clubs, and Erik Salz from Arrival Artists — who’s now our booking agent — came to some of them. Then once we got a small team together, they were pitching labels. It got down to a final few labels, and ATO was very passionate about working with us, not just for a record, but to start our career. It seemed like the right choice.
Were you able to keep your masters?
We definitely did.
The album has a kind of do-or-die urgency to it. It almost demands that you listen to it. Where does that come from?
It’s just a natural thing. Every show feels like that for us, and we play it that way. When you’re opening for another band, and everybody’s there to see them, you need to give them a reason to listen. You need to have the songs, but then you also need to have something for people to look at. I think Mitski said that people are paying to see people go out there and believe in themselves. There’s a bunch of bands coming up now — bands we grew up loving — that just give everything they can, and when that happens, I feel like I can get lost in the music.
I read that you love Nirvana’s “All Apologies.” What other artists do you like?
I don’t listen to The Beatles as I did growing up, but they definitely informed my melodic and cord progressions and learning the basics. I love The Replacements. I like a lot of the more melodic punk stuff that just has all the attitude but also the melody. There’s a lot of cool, new bands I love. Black Country, New Road definitely blew my mind in 2020. We just hung out with English Teacher in New York. They’re super cool. We want play shows with them. Them and Stellar, East. I like the local scene in Chicago, and I like Horsegirl, Genome. There’s a lot of exciting new bands out there.
You do put on a riveting live show, and I think that’s super-important for a band’s longevity. A number of bedroom acts that were signed around the time of the pandemic have faded because they’re not compelling onstage.
I don’t want to speak to TikTok bands. We just want to do the real thing, and we want to feel like we’re doing that every night. The goal is for the show to feel as cathartic as possible. The other day, at one of our shows, I accidentally broke my guitar from going too hard. My head was bleeding. There’s a beauty to that.
What was the inspiration for “Get Numb to It”?
During the pandemic, I dropped out after one year of college and started working in a warehouse. I did that for a few years, and after one particularly bad day there, I was in the car listening to a broadcast song. I started singing along to the song with lyrics that ended up in “Get Numb to It.” The demo came together through that, but then the band started playing it and it took on even more energy.
Is it true you released “Get Numb to It” on your own before it became a Friko tune?
I started off Friko as a solo thing at the start of the pandemic. I was just releasing demos and that was one of them. I remember showing it to everybody in the band one day on my laptop, and then it came together. It was the first song that people started singing along to at the Chicago shows, so it took on a real life with the fans.
How do you and Bailey collaborate. Is it just you two or are more band members involved now?
We probably would be considered a four-piece now. Especially with the live show, we’re writing new stuff, and it has been much more of a band effort from the start of the writing process. Also, Bailey plays guitar too, so there are a bunch of guitar parts. All four of us are the best at guitar in some way, so it has been a realy useful thing.
I love “Crimson to Chrome,” particularly the lyric, “Caught on the wrong side of the shoe” — nice turn of phrase. What are your favorite lyrics on the album?
“Where We’ve Been,” the first song on the record, is definitely one of them. That song came in like an hour or so. All the lyrics just flowed out and felt so natural. It’s what you want to go for with songwriting — where something just spills out and there’s no thought in it. That feels like the magic of it.
Now that you’re about to embark on a headlining tour, will your live show change?
It’s going to be kind of what we’ve been doing on the last tour, although we’ll be playing our new music. We’re playing larger venues — sweet spots that we’re excited to play. On the last tour, we started thinking more about stage design and lighting. For Thalia Hall, which will be a homecoming show at the end of the year, we’re definitely going all out. We’re touring with just five people — the band and our tour manager — so there’s only so much we can do on the road, evening with a headlining tour. We’re going to give it our all until we can have more people along.
When you say you’re playing new songs at your shows, are these slated for the next album?
Yeah, we’re in the talks about whatever the next thing is, whether it’s an EP or an album. For us, an album needs to be a full statement. We love the classic album format. So, we’ll see, but at this point we’re trying to keep writing and see what comes.
Have you started talking about when this new release will drop?
We want it to be fall 2025.
You’re also releasing a deluxe version of the current album. What’s new on that?
There are five songs that we were working on right before the album songs started coming along, and then we kind of pivoted. We were like, these are what we need to work on right now. We’ve always been fans of B-sides, so we’re excited that they’ll see the light of day. We are also including some demos that we released before Friko was playing shows, and some live mixes from our album release show.
What are the best and worst parts of touring?
The best is definitely when the shows are great and then you can — in New York, we went out with friends both nights. That feels like the adventurous part when you’re younger and you dream of going on tour. But sometimes that results in not getting much sleep and, like today, we’re bus-chasing Royel Otis for the first time. They have like a 20-person team — very nice, good people— two buses and a semi. We’re in a van and a trailer; just the band and two managers. So, we’re all driving, we’re setting up everything and we’re selling merch. So, it’s just a different team, amount of people on the road. It’s a lot of driving, which is not the worst thing, but when it’s two 10-hour days of just driving, you get kind of braindead.
Yeah. Do you have any advice for up-and-coming artists? Any survival tips?
Yeah, you have to love the people you’re touring with. Especially when it’s small scale. That’s the biggest thing by far, and just a s–t ton of caffeine. It’s sugar free herbal lattes because it’s the healthiest that you can do. There’s no other way around it.
Tim Heidecker sees a continuum between comedy and music.
“They’re just different modes of expression and communication,” he says. “All I’ve ever done in my creative life is when an idea comes — it could be a funny idea, a sad idea or a musical idea — the goal is to convey that to as many people clearly and in the most interesting way possible. People ask me, do I like comedy or music better, and I’m like, I wish I could exist in a place where I just make stuff,” he continues. “This year it’s the record, next year hopefully it’ll be a show or a movie. I’m just trying to put out interesting things that are coming from my weird brain.”
Heidecker’s latest project is not particularly weird — or funny. It’s a thoughtful, semi-autobiographical album in the classic-rock vein that tackles existential anxieties about growing older and losing one’s mojo: Slipping Away, which Bloodshot Records will release on 18.
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For those who know Heidecker solely from his surreal comedy, such as the Adult Swim series Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!, his acting (Bridesmaids, Ant-Man and The Wasp) or his Office Hours Live With Tim Heidecker podcast, Slipping Away is actually already the sixth solo studio music album the Glendale, Calif.-based multi-hyphenate has released under his name. He spoke to Billboard about his inspiration for the songs, his song “Trump’s Private Pilot” (which Father John Misty has covered) and the 2025 North American headlining tour he will embark on with his Very Good Band.
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You first became prominent through comedy but when I was researching you, I learned that music was your first passion.
They were concurrent, but music definitely felt more attainable, and it was something you could actually do as a teenager. I remember feeling a great love of comedy but not having any understanding of how to actually do it. I mean, the world doesn’t really want to hear what funny ideas 16-year-olds have. But you could get together with your friends and some practice amps and go in the basement and make sounds and music. I started writing songs at that age.
In college, things kind of shifted towards film — and not even comedy, really. Comedy was a dirty word for us in the ‘90s. It represented something very lame and mainstream. We were just making stuff that we thought was funny and made us laugh, but it wasn’t comedy. That is where we put all our energy, and I stopped focusing on music. But even in making all those shows, there was always music running through it. It was always a big part of the way I express myself.
Who were your musical heroes when you were 16?
The Beatles, Dylan, Pavement, Cat Stevens, Van Morrison, Velvet Underground. I loved my parents’ music. And then, very reluctantly, I started accepting the modern bands, Nirvana and Pavement — that Matador Records prime era.
You didn’t mention Eric Clapton, but listening to the new album your vocals remind me of him.
It’s so weird. You know who told me that? Randy Newman. We had him on my podcast, which was a great honor because he’s one of my heroes. He was like, “Yeah, I listened to your music and you kind of sound like Eric Clapton.” I had never heard that before, and now you are saying it. I’m not emulating him. It may be more of a J.J. Cale influence.
If you were going to draw a Venn diagram of your comedy fans and music fans, how much of those two circles would overlap?
There’s a fair amount of comedy fans that don’t fall into the music category. And I’m just starting now to find the people who are maybe finding the music first. I’ve been doing opening tours with Waxahatchee, and it has been interesting to see people that really don’t know me warming up to my music. She attracts a slightly older, norm-y audience. And I was like, “Oh yeah, I’m kind of making classic-rock genre-sounding music — that’s in their wheelhouse.” I think I’m winning that crowd over. Meanwhile, there’s plenty of younger Tim & Eric younger fans who, well, it’s just not the kind of music they like. It’s taken a little bit of time to warm up my crowd to what I’m doing here.
Tim Heidecker, “Slipping Away”
Bloodshot Records
On Slipping Away, you described the album’s arc as “before the fall and after.” A number of the songs are about losing one’s mojo. Did those feelings originate with you or from observations of others?
I’m 48 years old, and I have the perspective of being a creative adult for 20 years now. I’m past the stage of wondering how this is all going to go. Not that there are no surprises ahead and hopefully, a long career, but the mystery of this business and of this world is not as dark. It’s a little more like, “OK, I’ve actually lived a life for a while.” So when I’m writing, I’m accessing dark, quiet, often unsaid emotions and thoughts, writing them down and then moving on with my life. It’s like the songs are expunging fears, anxieties and questions.
It’s cathartic.
It’s cathartic, yeah. I think all those questions that are in the record are hopefully, like you said earlier, observations or questions or fears that the audience might not know they have. The lesson I’ve learned lately, not only about the music but comedy, too, is we enter these dark or uncomfortable areas, and the benefit of that is getting them out into the sunlight and talking about them. It’s healthy to have these thoughts.
I understand a lot of people have approached you to say, essentially, you are singing about my life. Do you think there’s a lot of anxiety in the world today over the subjects you’re expressing on the album?
A hundred and ten percent. A lot of these songs were written a couple of years ago — closer to the pandemic — and everybody I know was feeling versions of this, while also fantasizing or imagining how they would deal if things got worse. Post-apocalyptic media is fairly popular and that reflects what’s on our minds.
How many cities are you going to play on the tour?
Like 30 or something like that. I’ve done it a couple of summers now and this will be a winter tour, but it’s the most fun thing ever. I’ve done it with my standup character, and this time I’m doing without, but I’m bringing along some friends who are going to open that I hope people are excited to see – Neil Hamburger and DJ Douggpound. I’m trying to be serious about this. We put an album out, we need to hit the road.
You do look like you are having fun onstage. Do you feel like you’ve achieved that dream of really being seen as a musician now?
No, I’m just getting started in a way. On the Waxahatchee tour, I was definitely like, oh, this is paying my dues a little bit. I’ve ridden the coattails of my Tim & Eric fanbase, but I can’t settle for that. We all have huge ambitions and mine are going to be bigger than reality, I guess, but my ambition is to be up there like Phish or Goose. But also when I’m up there with my band, and we’re really cooking and having a good time, I’m like, “This should appeal to a lot of people.”
My career has oftentimes been confrontational, and clearly not for everybody. I don’t think this is for everybody either — but on this tour, I felt a real interesting urge to just put on a good show and not be a d–k. Not that I’m a d–k, but not actively engaged in turning people off for the sake of humor. For example, we did an Asbury Park SummerStage show, and in the middle of the show, somebody passed out. It was a medical emergency, and in the past, it would have been hard to resist goofing on that. I just said, “I’m just going to hang back.” It’s an act of self-control just to be like a proper, professional entertainer, instead of [being] a firestarter all the time.
At Central Park SummerStage, you played a song that you said you’d never recorded. I thought it was fantastic, and the crowd loved it. So why haven’t you recorded it?
It’s called “Why Am I Like This.” It’s a self-examination of, “Why am I like this?” There are a lot of answers for that. Is it my parents? Is it… whatever? It’s just another anxiety song really — but it hasn’t been recorded, because I wrote it right before our last tour and hadn’t gotten into the studio with anything else.
I threw it into the set because it feels like a good live number. We have some recordings of it from that tour, but it loses something when you listen to it at home. It really feels like it’s meant to be a shared communal experience. In the live version we get everybody to sing it. I had people that never saw me before on this tour all standing up and singing it. That’s just a great feeling. I joke that if I release it, it would be a Billboard No. 1 hit. I’m not putting it out. I love having a song out there that people only can really experience in the room.
My goal is to have that kind of career where there’s bootlegs and s–t out there. I’m glad you got to see the show live, because it’s something I’m very proud of. For years, I’ve made music and would go out and play a set in L.A. for fun or to promote something, and it would just be a nightmare the whole time, because you’re nervous and not rehearsed. And to be able to do it every night is such a joy, and I feel like I can just have fun.
Your bassist is also Waxahatchee’s bassist?
Eliana Athayde. She’s been with the band since 2022, when we did our first Very Good band tour. She’s a very important part of my musical career of late. She’s a big key to it, and I’m very grateful. She’s a big part of the record, of course, singing a lot with me and co-producing a lot of it. You know, my career is filled with partners. Comedy and music are collaborative things, and she’s become a true partner.
You’ve said that making the album was outside your comfort zone. Can you elaborate?
Making the album was very fun and very much in my comfort zone. I’ve worked with great people in the past, but it never felt truly collaborative. This album did with everyone there for the majority of the sessions, everyone chiming in, adding their own flavor to it. But the more records I make, the more I’m going into absolute vulnerable, sincere territory which is when I land outside my comfort zone. And there are certain songs — the inclusion of my daughter Amelia at the end of the record felt like I might as well be like John and Yoko nude on the cover of their Two Virgins record.
How did that song “Bells Are Ringing” come about?
We finished the record, and I thought, “This is kind of a copout to end the record on such a downer.” It ended on just, Oh, it’s over. The party’s over. The band is breaking up. And I was like, “Now is the opportunity to really decide if that’s the statement I want to make.” You have an opportunity to say whatever you want on your little record that you’re putting out, and I decided, “No, I don’t want to end on that note.” Meli and I often make little songs in my garage together and I just had this little line and I thought it would be lame for me to say it. It kind of wrote itself in a way.
At the show you did a funny J.D. Vance imitation that was based on his stilted visit to a donut shop. Are you keeping close track of the presidential campaign?
Yes, I’m monitoring it hourly. How can you resist the show? It’s an incredible thing to watch and think about. It’s very stressful and hilarious in a lot of ways. I mean the dogs and the cats and the concepts of plans. It’s all stuff that feels like we wrote seven years ago, and it’s now happening in the world in real time. At the same time, it’s incredibly serious and vital and important to the future of me and my children.
I played a song at the last show of the Waxahatchee tour called “Trump’s Private Pilot.” It’s about the pilot who flies Trump around deciding to crash the plane into a field in Pennsylvania — a very important state or commonwealth in the election — as an act of patriotism. It’s a very emotional song that had the audience cheer, in sort of a bloodlust way. At the end, I said, “Please help keep that motherf–ker away from my kids.” That’s where it comes down to.
Pennsylvania is also where the passengers on United Flight 93 rose up against the hijackers on 9/11 and crashed the plane into a field.
Yeah, I know. It’s a song I rightfully get s–t for, but it also feels really good sometimes to go to that dark place.
In the liner notes for her 2017 self-titled debut LP, Welsh electronic producer Kelly Lee Owens includes a quote by German author and polymath Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: “Whatever you dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. Begin it now.”
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Released when she was 28-years-old following a stint working in London’s record shops and as an auxiliary nurse in palliative care, Kelly Lee Owens was a culmination of years of absorbing music and beauty on her journey thus far. The dream to create and produce her own music, something she’d harbored since she was a child, eventually became a reality.
On her fourth album, Dreamstate, Owens is still thinking big. The new record, due out on Friday (Oct. 18), sees her collaborate with dance royalty The Chemical Brothers, as well as one of the biggest names on the circuit, Northern Irish techno duo Bicep.
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She’s also newly signed to Dirty Hit – home to The 1975, Bleachers and Beabadoobee – and their dance music-focused imprint DH2 to be their inaugural release. The imprint was set up by The 1975 drummer George Daniel and Dirty Hit general manager Ed Blow; Daniel also appears on the record in a producer role.
“This feels like the beginning of a new phase,” Owens tells Billboard of the move from Norwegian indie label Smalltown Supersound to DH2. “A new team felt right. I’m grateful for the past and the present, but I’m excited about the future because I really do believe that DH2 is really going to show the world some great dance music.”
Where Owens’ previous work was a sparse, sometimes experimental take on techno, house and pop, Dreamstate is more euphoric and maximalist. Lead single “Love You Got” is as radio-friendly as her material has ever been, pairing classic songwriting with pounding drums and synths. “Ballad (The End),” co-written with The Chemical Brothers’ Tom Rowlands, includes a string arrangement by Owens and builds to an emotional crescendo. These were new avenues to explore.
2020’s Inner Song, which reached No.30 on the UK’s Dance Charts, showed hints of this direction. But 2022’s LP.8, a knotty, left field collection, put paid to that clean upward trajectory.
Even so, the collection and her previous work caught the ear of Depeche Mode, who enlisted Owens to join them as a support act on the road for their mammoth Memento Mori tour. She speaks of the awe of opening the band’s shows in US arenas and Mexico City’s Foro Sol stadium, where the Mode headlined to 195,000 fans over three sold-out nights.
“Without knowing it at the time, they really instilled confidence in me,” she says of the selection. The band’s songwriter and keyboardist Martin Gore also gave crucial feedback on Dreamstate during its formation. As did Xavier de Rosnay of French electro duo Justice, who Owens met a decade ago while she was still bassist in the indie band The History of Apple Pie.
The conviction dovetailed with Owens’ role as executive producer on Dreamstate, a new challenge which included recruiting collaborators far and wide but retaining a singular vision. She points to her heroes Björk and Kate Bush as artists who have done so successfully. “It was something that at this point in my career I felt that I wanted and, more than that, needed,” she says. “Initially I thought that that would mean letting go of control more, but when you create with different people across different songs on an album, you have to be surer than ever of your vision.”
Owens was born in rural north Wales and says that Dreamstate taps into some of those formative experiences growing up, even when the creative industries, or simply just taking time to dream and reflect, can feel out of reach particularly for working class artists. “There is no separation between my personal life and what I do music and it’s an all-encompassing thing,” she says. “There’s a lot of sacrifice which a lot of people who don’t do this [career] don’t want to hear about.”
Kelly Lee Owens
Samuel Bradley
She moved to London and began working in record shops including Sister Ray in Soho and Pure Groove in Archway. There she met future collaborators, DJs Daniel Avery and James Greenwood, and began writing and recording her solo material. It has been a story that has stepping stones, gradual increments rather than overambitious leaps. Now she’s at a point in her life where the monumental achievements – she played Glastonbury Festival for the first time in June – mean even more to her.
“I actually didn’t want to be a big, massive, first album success because I watched a lot of my friends or people around me do that and found that they had nowhere to go,” she says. “I want to encourage artists to know that in your 30s you can be reaching a place with your inner confidence. You’ll get those absolutely epic firsts and you know you deserve to be there.”
Another first came through Charli XCX – who is engaged to Owens’ collaborator and label boss Daniel – when she hosted her Boiler Room party in Ibiza, and selected Owens to appear on the bill at Amnesia, her first time performing at the Balearic superclub. She joined a stacked bill including Charli, Shygirl, Robyn, Romy from The xx and more.
She’s a fan of Charli’s Brat and loves that the lines between pop chart hits and the club remain blurred. “We have so many sides to ourselves and as an artist, you need to be free to explore all of it as long as it’s genuinely authentic to you people will feel that,” she says.
Dreamstate is precisely that; all it took, as Goethe wrote, was Owens to be bold enough to begin it.
The old ways are dying. That was the message Spotify CEO Daniel Ek delivered during a headline-generating 2020 interview with Music Ally. “Some artists that used to do well in the past may not do well in this future landscape,” Ek said. “You can’t record music once every three to four years and think that’s going to be enough. The artists that are making it [today] realize that it’s about creating continuous engagement with their fans.”
Perhaps no artist exemplifies this ethos better than the Brazilian rapper Mc Gw. He makes his vocals widely available for sample-happy producers, and as a result, he has already appeared on over 3,700 releases so far this year. That’s more than 10 times as many as any other artist in Spotify’s top 500, according to the analytics company Chartmetric.
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Mc Gw’s jaw-droppingly prolific release schedule, the growing popularity of his chanting vocals, and the rapid rise and mutation of the internet sub-genre known as phonk have combined to fuel remarkable growth on Spotify. He now has around 20 million monthly listeners, up from 3.7 million two years ago. He has become the 11th most popular artist in Brazil, according to Chartmetric.
“Before streaming, if you saw that [an artist with a ton of releases], you would think, ‘This super popular guy spends all his time running around different studios in São Paulo and everybody knows him,’” says Glenn McDonald, a former Spotify employee and the author of You Have Not Yet Heard Your Favorite Song: How Streaming Changes Music. “The fact that you can now take a shortcut to that by having your samples run around instead of you is pretty effective.”
“If everybody did it,” McDonald continues, “it wouldn’t be as effective. But the first person who does it can temporarily get very successful that way.”
And that appears to be what’s happening to Mc Gw. He’s now collaborating with Ana Costa, a revered samba artist, and the producer DENNIS, whose “Ta OK” was a hit in Brazil last year. “It’s just scaling from there,” says Jake Houstle, co-owner of the label Black 17 Media, which has distributed a number of songs featuring Mc Gw. “All these opportunities are coming in, and they’re all based on the fact that people use his vocals on everything.”
Mc Gw grew up in Rio de Janeiro, listening first to more traditional musical styles — samba and pagode — before turning to Brazilian funk, also known as baile funk, in 2011. Baile funk is a home-grown descendent of Miami bass, typically characterized by a distinctive up-tempo rhythm and severely streamlined production that focuses the ear on the boisterous rapping. “My main influences are MCs from Rio: MC Didoo, Mc Frank, Mc Tikão, Mc Vuk Vuk, and Mc Smith,” Mc Gw says. (He responded to email questions with help from a translator.)
Mc Gw is an adaptable performer: 2017’s “Ritmo Mexicano,” which has over more than 260 million views on YouTube, nods to commercial reggaetón. And it’s actually a different genre that has played a crucial role in his rise in the last two years. Confusingly, this style is known as phonk, leading to a nomenclature nightmare — while Brazilian funk is different from American funk, and phonk is another thing altogether, all three share the same pronunciation.
Phonk has been around for more than a decade, one of several styles gobbled up by extremely online listeners. When the genre started to reach a wider audience in 2019 and 2020, it was bleak, militant music, with freeze-dried synthesizers and drums so grimy listeners reflexively reached for the Windex. Samples of Memphis hip-hop legends added a human jolt to the unforgiving tracks.
Most of phonk’s biggest artists — like Kordhell, who has a platinum single in the U.S., and DVRST, whose song “Close Eyes” was synced in a commercial that played during the NBA playoffs — are faceless producers. The music thrives on TikTok pages devoted to weightlifting, careening cars, video game highlights, and anime edits, not on the live circuit. “It’s like a substance: Just keep pouring the phonk over my ears,” McDonald says.
The genre’s commercially popular wing often follows a specific formula, at least for a time. Phonk’s initial streaming hits sampled the likes of DJ Paul, a founding member of the group Three 6 Mafia, and Kingpin Skinny Pimp, a rapper who contributed to Three 6’s debut album and maintained a regional following. Other producers hoping for a phonk hit of their own also lifted vocals from the same sources.
More recently though, Memphis rap textures are out of vogue, and Brazilian vocals are in favor. This has been a boon for Mc Gw. “Nowadays many phonk producers are using [my voice],” he acknowledges.
Mc Gw makes it easy for them to do so by creating packs of a cappellas that samplers can sift through on YouTube, SoundCloud and elsewhere. (They’re initially free, but producers may pay a price — in the form of a fee, a cut of publishing income, or both — for the sample after release, especially if the song is successful.) “He is essentially the Kingpin Skinny Pimp of this movement,” says Houstle, who estimates that close to a third of the phonk records that borrow Brazilian vocals lean on Mc Gw.
The rapper enjoyed more name recognition as he was sampled more frequently. And to an extent, this fire fed itself: “As his notoriety grew, he started being placed on more and more songs,” Houstle explains. That helps increase his notoriety further, and the cycle continues.
Just as TikTok creators use a trending sound in the belief that it will make them more likely to get eyeballs, phonk producers thought an Mc Gw sample would make their song more likely to attract listeners. “If I want to go find new songs that are popping in Brazil, I just scroll through his most recent releases,” Houstle continues.
One snippet of Mc Gw’s vocals found its way to the Argentinian producer S3ZBS, who dropped it into “Montagem – PR Funk” in 2023. This strident, 61-second anxiety attack of a song has nearly 400 million plays on Spotify alone.
Mc Gw calls “Montagem – PR Funk” a new door that opened for me.” But that doesn’t mean walking through it was easy.
Online music communities often operate without regard for music industry convention. Producers tend to sample first and ask questions later, obtaining official clearances after a release — rather than beforehand — if they clear them at all. “Montagem – PR Funk” was no different.
Black 17, which owes much of its recent success to embracing phonk, signed “Montagem – PR Funk” once it started to perform well on TikTok. The label almost immediately found itself in dispute with the owners of uncleared samples, according to Houstle. One was Mc Gw.
Black 17 and Mc Gw’s team negotiated a deal — he was eventually added to “Montagem – PR Funk” as a primary artist — and they now work together regularly. Black 17 previously forged similar business relationships with DJ Paul and Kingpin Skinny Pimp when the phonk community started sampling them.
Mc Gw now employs several staff members whose primary job is to track down uncleared samples of him and negotiate deals with the producers behind the songs. This is a business necessity, the rapper says, since “currently almost 100 songs are released per week with my voice.”
It’s impossible to catch them all, but if Mc Gw puts agreements in place at least with the songs that are earning noticeable streams, this continues to expand his reach, and ensures that he gets paid for the use of his voice. It’s an odd system, but for now it’s working.
The rapper doesn’t only want to rely on the favor of sample-based producers; he is also hard at work on his own album, tentatively titled Phonk Nation. “Every day I’m in the studio,” Mc Gw says. “Thank God the phonk appeared — the work is being rewarded.”