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In July, Jamaica’s most influential living artist walked out of a Kingston prison after 13 years, drove straight to his mother’s house for a tearful reunion over steamed fish and okra — and dove immediately into preparations for Freedom Street: his first performance since his release, and the biggest concert the country would see in nearly 50 years.
Locked up for the murder of Clive “Lizard” Williams, Vybz Kartel went away as a 35-year-old man at the height of his career with seven children, two of whom would make their own musical debuts in 2014. But even behind bars, he never stopped making music — managing to secretly record and release five projects that would reach the top 10 of Billboard’s Reggae Albums chart.
“Being in prison, you can’t feel sorry for yourself. I didn’t have time to do that. I had kids to feed. I had family to take care of. I had health issues, too,” Kartel tells Billboard in a private room at Downsound Records, the live-entertainment producer behind Freedom Street, in Kingston. “There was no time to be weak. You just fight the case and do the right thing.”
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Now, just days before Freedom Street — his New Year’s Eve show that will draw over 35,000 people to Kingston’s National Stadium — Kartel tells me he’s been holding daily three-hour rehearsals to ensure a “Taylor Swift- or Madonna-style” show while he records a new album at several studios, including one his children built for him while he was away. As I follow the Teacha around Kingston over the course of a sunny December day, fans of all ages stop him to profess their love and grovel for selfies — and if they aren’t trying to get his attention, they keep their eyes glued to him and hum whatever song of his comes to their minds.
It’s no exaggeration to say that Vybz Kartel is the most influential Jamaican recording artist since Bob Marley. But understanding Kartel’s singular career means grasping that his pop stardom and underground dominance have always worked in tandem. For every song of his that became a global mainstay, one of his raw, evocative mixtapes simultaneously ruled the streets of Kingston. Born Adidja Azim Palmer in Portmore, Jamaica — a coastal municipality about 15 miles outside of Kingston — Kartel has racked up 1.58 billion official on-demand U.S. streams, according to Luminate, making him one of dancehall’s commercial giants. But his countless controversies and towering sociopolitical influence have also made him a divisive cult figure.
His ’90s Alliance era cemented him as one of dancehall star Bounty Killer’s protégés and the genre’s fastest-rising star, wielding an impressive songwriting approach that blended his private and public personas through riveting gangster narratives and sexually explicit anthems. In the early to mid-2000s, Black Kartel reigned, with spunky, lewd hits like “It Bend Like Banana” launching his near-absolute rule over Jamaican society, which culminated in a seismic yearslong beef with fellow dancehall star Mavado (born David Brooks). By the dawn of the ’10s, White Kartel — by this point, the skin-bleaching he controversially sung of in 2011’s “Cake Soap” had visibly altered his skin tone (and spawned a new nickname) — had achieved several bona fide global crossover hits despite Jamaica’s banning of “daggering” songs (extremely sexually explicit tracks).
Fittingly, the Kartel I meet today is clearly a changed man. This newest iteration of Kartel is calmer and more collected; he seems firmly in his Unc era — cream Amiri beanie, custom tour T-shirt and a naughty joke always in his back pocket. His excitement for his upcoming show beams through the black sunglasses he never takes off, and the reverent air of gratitude around him is unmistakable. Kartel and his co-accused — Shawn Campbell, Kahira Jones and Andre St. John — have always maintained their innocence, and their second chance at freedom was hard-fought. According to a unanimous Court of Appeal ruling in summer 2024, the trial judge marred the original guilty verdict by allowing the jury to proceed despite knowing that one juror had attempted to bribe the others.
“Towards the end of my incarceration, I started connecting more with God. That’s why I tattooed ‘love God’ on my forehead,” Kartel reveals. “Nobody can tell me that God isn’t real. Ten years ago, I would have been saying something else, but God is real.”
Destinee Condison
Kartel’s return marks the start of a new era for both him and dancehall at large. In a Downsound Records rehearsal room, a poster displays five different Kartels with varying hairstyles, fashions and skin tones, each representative of a different chapter of his illustrious career. But whether he’s sporting a New York fitted or showing off his locs, the 48-year-old man known to his fans as Worl’ Boss has always been a chameleon, unafraid to alter his appearance to deepen his own mythos.
Inspired by dancehall icon Ninjaman and uncles who “used to DJ around the sound system,” Kartel began “writing 10 to 15 songs a day” as a teenager and released his debut single, “Love Fat Woman,” in 1993, which eventually landed him a spot in The Alliance, a group of dancehall DJs. “I’ve been fascinated with writing ever since I found out Babyface wrote [Karyn White’s 1989 hit] ‘Superwoman,’” he recounts. “As a kid, I was like, ‘How does a man write a song for a woman?’”
Two major factors ignited Kartel’s mainstream ascent in 2003: The release of his debut album, Up 2 Di Time, and a contentious clash with Ninjaman at Sting, Jamaica’s longest-running one-night-only reggae/dancehall showcase. At the time, Sean Paul was leading the early 2000s stateside dancehall crossover wave, but Kartel’s gritty “gun tunes” and X-rated “gyal tunes” were a far cry from the sugary-sweet riddims that made their way to top 40 radio. He smartly gilded his edgier lyrics with slick wordplay and head-spinning flows; Kartel could, and still can, dictate Jamaica’s culture with the flip of a single phrase. But some of those lyrics courted levels of controversy that threatened his — and the genre’s — continued crossover: In 2004, the U.K. Music of Black Origin Awards revoked Kartel’s nomination for best reggae act, alongside fellow Jamaican dancehall artist Elephant Man, over homophobic lyrics — a longtime point of tension in the genre as a whole. Twenty years later, speaking to Billboard, Kartel alludes to an evolution in his point of view: “The world has changed, and sometimes, you got to change with the times.”
By 2006, Kartel’s highly publicized split with The Alliance culminated in him joining the Portmore Empire — a collective of artists hailing from the neighborhood and signed to his Adidjahiem Records, which he’d established three years prior — leading to a feud with The Alliance’s Mavado, who took it upon himself to reply to Kartel’s disses. From 2006 to 2009, Kartel and Mavado lobbed searing disses at one another over the hottest riddims; Kartel even once carried a coffin with Mavado’s name on it onstage. Jamaica’s youth divided themselves between the camps — Kartel’s Palestine-referencing Gaza crew and Mavado’s hood-repping Gully clan — and, in certain cases, committed street violence in their names. On Dec. 7, 2009, in an effort to end that strife and unite the country’s youth, the two officially ended their feud with a joint performance; the next day, both met with Jamaican Prime Minister Bruce Golding.
Like any good dancehall clash, the Gaza-Gully feud only boosted Kartel’s popularity. Buoyed by its irresistible interpolation of Ne-Yo’s “Miss Independent,” Kartel and Spice’s intensely carnal “Ramping Shop” duet reached No. 76 on Billboard’s Hot R&B/Hip-Hop Songs chart in 2009, marking both artists’ charts debut. His crossover continued with 2010’s “Straight Jeans & Fitted” and “Clarks,” the latter a team-up with Popcaan, Kartel’s most successful protégé — a testament to his influence on late-’10s dancehall crossover artists. But as Kartel finally started to snag true crossover smashes, he continued oscillating between being dancehall’s global face and an underground provocateur: In 2011, he became the first musician to receive an artist-specific ban from Guyanese radio.
Kartel calls Lil Wayne his “favorite rapper,” and his life outside the studio mirrored that of the hip-hop legend in 2011. Charged with two separate murder counts, Kartel was found not guilty of murdering Jamaican businessman Barrington Burton by one jury, while a different jury found him guilty of the murder of Clive “Lizard” Williams. On April 3, 2014, Kartel was sentenced to life in prison after a 65-day trial, one of the longest in Jamaica’s history.
While incarcerated, Kartel clandestinely recorded — with the help of an iPad and his producer, Linton “TJ” White — a litany of projects, including 2016’s King of the Dancehall, which spawned “Fever,” arguably the biggest dancehall crossover hit of the latter 2010s. “Fever” entered two Billboard airplay charts and has earned over 104 million official on-demand U.S. streams — a win for Jamaica in a year when non-Jamaican artists such as Drake and Justin Bieber had propelled dancehall back onto top 40 radio. But between his incarceration and dancehall’s nonstandardized approach to music distribution (compilations of years-old singles tend to lord over regular studio album cycles), Kartel’s impressive consumption numbers don’t paint the full portrait of his cultural impact.
“Freedom Street [will] bring dancehall back as a serious contender in the international market,” says Downsound Records owner and CEO Joe Bogdanovich, who also notes that 700 police officers and private security workers were enlisted for the event. “[Kartel] is more conscious of good over evil and he’s doing something really positive for the youth and himself. That kind of positivity is going to make Jamaica uplift fans around the world.”
Destinee Condison
The concert — which featured explosive appearances by Spice, Popcaan, Busta Rhymes and more dancehall heavyweights — set the stage for Kartel’s incredibly busy 2025. A deluxe version of his 2015 Viking (Vybz Is King) album is due later in January, while a proper comeback album is currently in the works. “Kartel won’t say nothing. Then, tomorrow, he drops a banger that he recorded last night or the day before,” producer Cordell “Skatta” Burrell jokes. “So there’s not much I can say!”
Outside of the studio, Kartel can finally focus on the kinds of major life activities he couldn’t address in prison — like treating his Graves’ disease and wedding planning (he got engaged in November). The evolved, post-incarceration Kartel is ready to reclaim his throne — but don’t expect a run for Parliament. “Everybody loves me on both sides — I want to keep it that way!” he quips.
“Freedom Street is about Vybz Kartel’s journey for the past 13 years,” Worl’ Boss explains. “The concept is me coming out of prison, the road to that freedom and celebrating with the fans as I go into the new year a free man. We were planning this concert before I even got released. I’ve been prepping for this concert since birth.”
What was your first time back in the studio like after you were released?
The first song I recorded when I came out was at my house. When I got arrested, my kids were [so small]. Now, I’m out and recording in a studio that my children built.
How exactly did you record while incarcerated?
Initially, I figured out how to record using an iPad but a lot of times, the sound was metallic because the cell didn’t have padding like a recording studio. The sound bounced all over the place. Then, I figured out that I could use my mattress as a sponge over my head.
Me and Linton “TJ” White produced the riddim for “Fever.” At the time — don’t come for me! — I used to love watching Gossip Girl and Vampire Diaries. Every time this show ended, a voice would say, “XOXO, Gossip Girl,” so that’s where I got the concept from to start “Fever” with “XOXO, my love is very special.” I recorded the song line by line, looking outside to see if anyone was coming. One line, look outside; two lines, look outside. It was necessary at the time to do what I love most. I would send the iPad out to TJ and then he got it mixed by Dunw3ll and the rest is history.
The entire process probably took a half hour. If I was in a studio, it would take maybe five or six minutes.
Did you ever get caught?
Never. I had people in other cells. If someone was coming, they would knock on the grill. [The guards] found a recording device lots of times, but they never caught me in the act of recording.
Were you aware of just how big “Fever” was even while you were away?
Not initially, but when we released the video and the numbers started going up, I [understood]. I wanted to shoot a video for “Colouring This Life,” but TJ thought how I was flowing on “Fever” was tough. I was like, “Alright, do whatever, man,” and he shot the “Fever” video. Bro, in a few months… Jesus Christ! I was like, “Good choice!” (Laughs.)
Being in prison, you can’t feel sorry for yourself. I didn’t have time to do that. I had kids to feed. I had family to take care of. I had health issues, too. There was no time to be weak; you just fight the case and do the right thing. It was crazy seeing the impact the song had, especially when it [got certified] gold [by the RIAA].
How far into your sentence were you when you started recording new material?
In 2013, we started running out of prerecorded material, so we started recording new songs. I dabbled in it one time in 2012 with “Back to Life,” but the quality [wasn’t the best]. Young people were in the comment sections of the new songs like, “No way Kartel can see the future!” (Laughs.) They knew what was up.
What went through your head when you learned your sentence was overturned?
We had been fighting for so many years, so the feeling was overwhelming. The other guys I was charged with started getting ready and putting their clothes on, but then the judge said, “The case is overturned, but we are sending it back to Jamaica [from the United Kingdom] to let them decide if they’re going to retry the case or throw it out.” I was just listening because, as a ghetto yute, I’m used to disappointment. I don’t get excited too quickly. It’s never over till the fat lady sings, right? I was sitting with my legs crossed in my cell, listening to the radio and talking to my lawyer on my cell in my cell — get it? (Laughs.) He was like, “Yo, I think this is it,” and I said, “I’m going to put my clothes on.”
Immediately as I hung up, it was like an earthquake. [The decision] came over the radio and everyone in the prison was listening. Imagine 2,000 people shaking the bars and rumbling and celebrating — that’s when I knew, “Yeah. This is it.” I put my clothes on, jumped up, they came for me, I packed and left. I didn’t even bring anything with me; I gave my sneakers and TVs and stuff to the guys still in there.
What was the first meal you had after your release?
Steamed fish with okra. My mom made it for me. I went to her house first before I went anywhere else. It was a tear-jerking moment; tears of joy, and, in a sense, tears of sadness to know that I missed out on so much with my mother and my kids. [Kartel has five sons and two daughters.] My mom didn’t say anything to me when I went away because I never made her come visit me. It’s not her fault that I was in there. Why would I want her to see me in that place? I only saw her once during my incarceration; I was so sick that they had to take me to the hospital. I said to the superintendent, “Can you grant me a special visit, so I can see her?” And she and my dad came to the hospital.
How does present-day Kartel compare to the man that went away 13 years ago?
The Vybz Kartel of now is more chill and more mature. He’s more laid-back. The one that went in was a beast. I’m still a beast musically, but Iooking back at my personal evolution, I like who I am now. The Vybz Kartel of old gave me musical fame and fortune, so I don’t have any regrets about him. But I don’t want to go back to that Kartel. I’m good right here. That evolution was something I never knew I needed, but I did — especially having faith in God and believing and seeing him work.
I was born in the ’70s, so of course I grew up going to church. I started going around 11 years old, and, like most Jamaicans, when you reach a certain age, you start to fuss about going. I haven’t been to church yet since I’ve come home; every day my mom is asking me, but I’m going soon, mom!
Destinee Condison
How has Kingston changed from when you first went away?
The roads look different. The other day, my fiancée [Sidem Öztürk] had to tell me where to drive, and I’m like, “You’re from England!” But she’s been here for two years while I was locked down, so she got to know the place. Even on the highway going to the country, she had to drive me. It’s like relearning your own country. It’s fun, though! The other day, I literally got lost. I couldn’t believe it. I eventually figured it out, but so much has changed.
In hip-hop, there have been a few instances where prosecutors tried to use artists’ lyrics against them, which has sparked interesting debates about music censorship. Do you have any thoughts?
I don’t think art should be censored for the artist. It should be censored for the consumer. For example, “Vybz Kartel does adult songs, don’t let your kids listen.” But you can’t tell me that, because your children have ears, I can’t sing what I want to sing. That’s rubbish. The same shop that sells sweets also sells alcohol. If you catch your 10-year-old son drinking a beer, you’re not going to run to the beer-maker like, “What the hell are you doing?” So, if you catch your child listening to Kartel, don’t come to me. That’s a “you” problem.
Drake has called you one of his “biggest inspirations.” How do you think he handled his feud with Kendrick Lamar last year?
I’m not a fan of Kendrick. I don’t even listen to Kendrick, so I wouldn’t know. What does he rap? I saw it on the internet, but no disrespect to the dude, I hear him, but I don’t listen to him. Drake is more in tune with Jamaica and the culture. Drake is a better and bigger artist.
When did you and Mavado last speak?
When I came out! But we spoke a lot of times while I was inside. His son is also in the same prison that I was in. His appeal is coming up next year. Our sons grew up together, were in the same class at school and went to each other’s houses for birthdays. They’re still friends to this day. Me and David cool.
Since you went away, Afrobeats has exploded in global popularity. How in tune with that world are you?
Shatta Wale, Wizkid and Burna Boy are my three favorite Afrobeats artists. I like Tems too. Afrobeats is nice, you can just vibe to it. I think Buju Banton was saying something [controversial] about it [during an interview last year], but I understand where he’s coming from. Buju is a dancehall/reggae artist, so he’s going to be singing more conscious stuff about society. But there is a space for happy, fun music.
Destinee Condison
How can dancehall score another crossover moment?
What they do now is called trap dancehall, so it’s going to take a minute for the big markets to get used to it. It’s the kids’ time now. I like Kraff Gad and Pablo YG. Once the sound catches on in mainstream markets — London, New York, Toronto — I think they will have success.
There was a big thing a few years ago — I was even a part of it — with older artists saying, “This music is not going to go anywhere!” The music that runs the place is dictated by the kids at all times. That doesn’t mean the legends can be removed, but don’t fight the kids. Let them do what they’re doing.
I think the lyrics could [also] be a bit more tolerant and less X-rated. Says Kartel! (Laughs.) Afrobeats made such a big global impact because it can be played anywhere and for all ages. The lyrics need to be more commercialized and more tolerant, and sky’s the limit. Jamaica gave the world five genres: reggae, rocksteady, ska, mento and dancehall. We had hands in creating hip-hop and reggaetón. We’re not short of talent.
You’re nominated for your first Grammy, for best reggae album for Party With Me. How does it feel to finally earn that recognition?
If I wasn’t incarcerated, I would have been nominated already. But I understand, why would they want to nominate a dude in prison? I know if I wasn’t arrested, based on the trajectory that my career was on, I would have definitely won. But I’m very, very grateful.
[The 2024 Party With Me EP] was done in prison. I was under a vibe and got some beats from [producer] Din Din. It was getting closer to crunch time because the case was now in England. I was writing to keep my mind occupied, ended up with these songs and said, “Let me just put them on a little EP.” Bam, Grammy.
How’s the process of organizing your catalog been going?
Slowly but surely. I’m going to shoot videos for a lot of those songs I released while in prison. I’m in talks right now with a few American companies that want to give me a distribution platform so I can sign artists and get Jamaican dancehall music released in a more standardized way. We’re also working on a new album.
Destinee Condison
When will you be back in the United States?
We put the documents in. It would be a good look for all of us who are nominated to be at the Grammys. I’m headlining Wireless Festival in England this year. I’m already booked for some German shows in July. My No. 1 market was always America, but, over the last two years, my biggest streaming market is now the U.K. My fiancée is from the U.K. too. [The couple met during his incarceration in 2015 after she found him by “stalking his babymother’s Instagram”; he moved her to Jamaica in 2022.] I think that has a lot to do with the love, like, “Oh, wow. He’s dating one of us.”
When’s the wedding?
We wanted to do it in January on my birthday, but we’re going to wait because of unforeseen circumstances. Maybe Valentine’s Day. I’m such a romantic, right?
How did you prepare for Freedom Street?
We did roughly three hours of rehearsal each day, but the first one was four hours and eight minutes — and we still didn’t DJ half of the songs. We sacrificed around 1,000 songs and ended up down to three hours. And that’s just like my performance. Everybody and their mom wanted to come. And I have no problem with that anyway, because it’s New Year’s! Let’s ring it in in a star-studded manner.
Where are you most excited to perform?
The entire Caribbean and New York — that’s Jamaica outside of Jamaica.
Speaking of New York, would you ever hop on a song with Cardi B? She recently jumped to your defense when people criticized your post-release appearance.
I love Cardi! We got a song coming out next year. We are actually in the process of writing it. Even if I have to walk, I’m performing that song in New York!
K-pop has been a growing force on the Billboard 200 since June 2018, when BTS’ Love Yourself: Tear dislodged Post Malone’s Beerbongs & Bentleys to become the first K-pop album or EP to reach No. 1 on the all-genre chart. This week, Stray Kids’ HOP becomes the 19th album or EP to achieve that feat. […]
With a career spanning over four decades, Abdul Majeed Abdullah has become a cornerstone of Arabic music, and his influence shows no signs of fading. Revered as “The Prince of Tarab,” Abdullah continues to captivate audiences with his unparalleled artistry, bridging generations and defining the sound of Khaleeji music while shaping the broader Arabic music landscape.
For Abdullah, 2024 was yet another landmark year, as the inaugural Billboard Arabia Music Awards in Riyadh, Saudia Arabia, honored the iconic artist with multiple awards. At this groundbreaking event — a milestone for the region that took place at King Fahad Cultural Center on Dec. 11 — he received artist of the year in the Khaleeji dialect genre and top male artist in the Khaleeji dialect, alongside a prestigious lifetime achievement award, which recognized his profound and lasting impact on the Arab music world and on Khaleeji music in particular.
The ceremony celebrated the rich diversity of Arabic music, showcasing a wide array of subgenres, including the winners from Billboard Arabia’s various dialect charts: Khaleeji, Egyptian, Moroccan and Levantine. The awards also highlighted distinctive local cultural genres such as Mahraganat, a progressive and energetic contemporary iteration of Egyptian shaabi (popular folk) music, and Shelat, an evolving genre that has transformed from a poetic tribal chant to drive a new wave of Khaleeji music. In addition, the event spotlighted the dynamic rise of Arabic hip-hop and Arabic indie sounds, where global musical influences merge seamlessly with Arabic lyricism, creating a vibrant fusion of styles that reflects the evolving regional landscape. Sherine Abdel Wahab, recognized as a Global Force honoree at Billboard’s Women in Music event in March, was named artist of the year at the Billboard Arabia Music Awards.
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Since the launch of the Billboard Arabia charts in December 2023, Abdullah has consistently appeared on both the Billboard Arabia Hot 100 and Billboard Arabia Artist 100 charts. His track “Ya Ibn Al Awadam” from the 2021 album Aam Mouazy marked his debut on the charts, where it remained for nine weeks. Later in the year, he returned to the charts with songs from his latest album, including “Haki Wajid” and “Ya Meniti,” and with his pre-album single, “Lak Saqni Al Rab.” Throughout 2024, his presence on the Artist 100 chart was particularly remarkable: He only missed one week on the list, underscoring his enduring popularity and influence, and cementing him as the artist for Billboard Arabia to spotlight for this year’s Global No. 1s series.
With the launch of Billboard Arabia’s subgenre charts in August, which featured various musical genres and dialects, Abdullah quickly emerged as the dominant force in the Khaleeji category. He made an impressive debut, securing 11 songs on the Top 50 Khaleeji dialect chart in its first week. His record peaked at 12 songs in a single week, and throughout the year, the number of his songs on the list never dropped below seven — remarkable consistency and dominance that earned him the artist of the year - Khaleeji dialect award in 2024.
It’s noteworthy that Abdullah’s songs featured on Billboard Arabia’s Top 50 Khaleeji chart span four different decades. His track “Sahit Jamra,” from the 1990s, made an appearance, as well as “Insan Akthar” from the early 2000s. Additionally, his song “Ruh Al-Ruh” from the 2010s, along with multiple tracks from his album A Parallel World and his latest release, reflect his continued relevance and influence in the current decade. Meanwhile, Abdullah’s recognition with the inaugural lifetime achievement award honored his extraordinary career and lasting impact on the Khaleeji and Arabic music landscape. Over the past four decades, he has remained influential, continuously releasing music and performing to sold-out audiences. His most recent album, Abdul Majeed Abdullah 2024, further cemented his legacy, achieving widespread popularity and showcasing his ability to innovate within his genre. The honor celebrated Abdullah not only for his artistic excellence but also for his profound and enduring influence on the cultural consciousness of the Arab world.
When he was about 12, Giorgi Gigashvili discovered the Argentine pianist Martha Argerich. A young pianist himself, Gigashvili had recently realized he wanted classical music “to be a part of my life,” and when he came across a YouTube video of Argerich performing Prokofiev’s Piano Concerto No. 3, “I fell in love with both the piece and Martha Argerich,” he says.
Argerich became an idol for the aspiring Georgian musician — and, just a few years later, they crossed paths under auspicious circumstances. In 2019, the then-18-year-old Gigashvili won a piano competition in Spain, and he got to meet the head of the jury: Argerich. “That was the moment I truly believed that what I was doing was the right choice,” he says.
Such is the life of one of the global classical music community’s most lauded emerging talents. Now 24, Gigashvili has already amassed a long list of achievements: performing to a sold-out Carnegie Hall in New York, being among the 2023 winners of the world-famous Arthur Rubinstein International Piano Master Competition in Israel, earning the distinction of resident artist at the 2024 Beethovenfest in Germany and much more.
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But notably, Gigashvili hasn’t limited himself to the genre where he first made his name. Instead, he’s incorporated pop, electronic and experimental music, because he believes that each musical genre has a unique charm — and that none of them should be underestimated.
Ninutsa Kakabadze
Gigashvili’s eclectic taste dates back to his childhood. Long before he was playing to sold-out concert halls and amassing accolades, Gigashvili’s mother and aunt nurtured his love of classical music. “Classical music was always playing in our home, on vinyl or the radio,” he recalls. “The sound of this genre and the works of great composers became part of my memory. We had an old piano at home, and since childhood, I was drawn to touch its keys. I loved its sound.” At age 6, he started taking lessons. “For many children, learning classical music can feel like a stressful process,” he says, “but for me, it was a source of great joy.”
But, concurrently, he was developing an interest in other types of music — and the 2006 musical film Dreamgirls was a major catalyst. An older friend gave him a copy of the film, which he says he watched “several times a day.”
“The music in it was very different from classical music, but it made a huge impression on me,” he says. “This is where the period begins when my love for music and my interest in it were no longer defined by genre. The idea that classical music is isolated and its love excludes the love for other genres is a snobbish approach and has nothing to do with understanding the phenomenon of music. I think it’s wrong to believe that there is no serious genre other than classical music. I don’t divide music into serious and nonserious genres. Every genre, for me, is serious and unique.”
Ninutsa Kakabadze
In turn, despite his recognition in the classical world, Gigashvili has ventured into other genres. He’s drawn on pop, electronic and other modern styles in his repeated collaborations with the young Georgian artist Nini Nutsubidze, which have included modern interpretations of Georgian retro songs — nostalgic for older generations and an engaging way to introduce younger audiences to their culture’s musical heritage. Listeners of all ages have gravitated to the recordings.
At Beethovenfest, Gigashvili performed with Nutsubidze, where they delivered a unique amalgam of classical, folk, electronic, pop, hip-hop and Georgian retro music. “The fact that I, as a classical music performer and pianist, am involved in creative, modern experimental projects makes it even more interesting to Western audiences,” he says. “The global audience today is more curious and interested in experimental approaches.”
Gigashvili says that the creative process differs with each genre — but that these differences are what make his work interesting and diverse. “When you play classical music, the opportunities for interpretation are more limited,” he says, explaining that because classical performers “can’t subtract or add notes,” the genre relies on more subtle differences in aspects like technique and emotion. “I enjoy this limitation because it makes me think more about what I can break and where I can push boundaries. When it comes to performing contemporary music and I am at the keyboard, I am completely free. There’s no need to add my personal signature to specific pieces because I am already the author. These two experiences together create Giorgi Gigashvili.”
Ninutsa Kakabadze
Meanwhile, as Gigashvili’s platform has grown, he has used it to advance causes beyond music. Gigashvili is one of those artists who stands out for his active civic position. With Georgia’s relationship with the European Union at a crossroad, Gigashvili has spoken out supporting the country’s European future and protesting injustice.
“When I express an opinion on social issues, first and foremost, I am a citizen, not an artist,” he says. “This is my primary status. Even on the day I stop performing, I will still speak up and I will still express my position. Today, when Georgia’s European future is at risk, I believe it is every citizen’s duty to clearly express their civic position. This is especially their responsibility if they have a large audience and the right platform. If someone doesn’t have a correct civic position, for me, their art, including music, loses value.”
As Gigashvili anticipates a busy 2025 — he embarks on a tour of America, Asia and Europe in January, and he’ll soon begin recording his second album, which will feature Prokofiev’s Piano Sonatas Nos. 6, 7 and 8 — it is music’s utility as an inspirational tool that continues to motivate him.
“Once, after a concert, an audience member came up to me and said, ‘It seemed like I had forgotten I had emotions, but today, this music made me remember that I am human,’ ” he recalls. “I will never forget this comment. If a performance can make you cry, laugh, feel sad, make you happy or even angry, it means it is real. For me, that is the purpose of music.”
“Loser Monologue,” by Sign Crushes Motorist, is 2:56 of uncut, unrequited longing. “If you knew how I felt, I wouldn’t even be writing this s–t,” the singer-songwriter says at one point, pivoting towards self-disgust as a haze of sustained notes swells around him. “I wouldn’t be so lonely.” There is no percussion and little change to the melody, just Sign Crushes Motorist discussing romantic fantasies that he knows “will never happen.”
A drumless dispatch from the perspective of a despondent loner — not usually what people imagine as pop music. Yet “Loser Monologue” has more than 55 million plays on Spotify alone. “People are just drawn to that kind of stuff once in a while,” says Liam McCay, the 19-year-old behind Sign Crushes Motorist. His theory is that, while listening, “you can pretend like you’re not as mature as you are.”
In addition to Sign Crushes Motorist, McCay records under more than a dozen other names, including Take Care, Sweet Boy, Birth Day and more. Across these monikers, his most popular tracks often share some characteristics: leisurely tempos, short lengths, simple guitar melodies but often little else in the way of instrumentation, and vocals that are hushed to the point they can be hard to make out.
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When they’re discernible, though, the lyrics often conjure what McCay describes as “a sense of longing for some kind of a connection.” “You weren’t supposed to leave, and now you’re gone,” he sighs on Sweet Boy’s “I Still Think About You.” Take Care’s “Everything Reminds Me of You” echoes a desperate wish from “Loser Monologue” — “All I want is to hold you” — while “Nothing Happened At All” is so self-effacing that it borders on self-erasing: “I’d do anything for you, I will be anything for you.”
“I was an angsty teenager — I’m starting to grow up a wee bit,” McCay says sheepishly. “I never seemed to have much luck with the women and all that.” Plus, Ireland can be “a depressing place” at times, especially in winter.
All that angst is resonating with a growing audience; McCay recently pulled in 16 million streams a week across his catalog, according to Luminate. “His ability to craft full albums that soundtrack specific moments in your life, even at such a young age, stands out,” says Conor Ambrose, whose company Listen to the Kids serves as McCay’s publisher.
Despite the melancholy and futility that courses through the singer’s most popular tracks — McCay named a Take Care album Agony — he is quick to crack jokes, especially at his own expense. Before touring the U.S. earlier this year, he had to revisit some of the songs he had recorded and released in a frenzied spurt of activity. “I had to actually listen to them again, like, ‘This guy’s just going on about nothing,’” McCay quips.
When performing his records, he continues, “sometimes it’s a wee bit embarrassing having to sing the lyrics.” And in a YouTube interview earlier this year, he cheerfully announced a plan to “lock the doors” and “make some stuff that no one’s really gonna like.”
McCay grew up in Donegal, a pint-sized town in northwest Ireland, and his first foray into music was playing traditional tunes on the fiddle. When he pivoted to guitar and started to try to write songs, “obviously it sounded like s–t” at first. But during COVID-induced lockdown, he began to improve.
In 2021, he concocted a “big two-year plan”: He would put out a pair of EPs followed by a science fiction concept album. “That’s always sometimes been a fault of mine, big ideas,” he cracks. But after working extensively on the first EP, McCay was unsatisfied with the result.
He took a break, temporarily writing other songs “to express something different,” and the resulting music sounded way better. “After that, everything became a side project,” McCay explains. In the summer of 2022, when he released Boyhood (as Birth Day) and i’ll be ok (the first Sign Crushes Motorist album) within two months of each other, some of those side projects started to gain a following.
Major labels have made overtures, but he has rebuffed them. McCay is not completely on an island; he has a manager, plus Ambrose to help with the famously complicated world of publishing.
Ambrose believes McCay “embodies the essence of a modern independent artist,” and the singer seems content to continue operating in this fashion. “Every musician’s goal is to be able to live off their music, and I’m able to do that,” he says. “So I think I’m going to keep going the way I’m going.” (An independent solo artist consistently earning more than 15 million streams a week is making a robust six-figure annual income.) Plus, it’s likely that a major label would interfere with his way of working — spraying out music rapid-fire across a dozen different artist projects — and want him to focus on making a single moniker as big as possible.
Even as McCay stays the course, there is one difference: He has moved to Los Angeles, a world away from Ireland’s cold, dark winters. “I feel a whole lot better now coming out to the sun,” he says. And that means “I just haven’t been really as interested in making sad music as of recently.”
That’s not to say he’s lacking inspiration. His recent tour — 17 dates across U.S. cities, mostly in 500-cap clubs — introduced him to flesh-and-blood fans who had once seemed like a distant mirage. “Numbers on the screen are all well and good,” McCay says. “But to actually meet somebody and hear them talking to you about the music feels really nice.”
He might launch yet another side project, this one named Flesh World, after a magazine he spotted in Twin Peaks. And he also wants to put out a “midwest emo album” that he made a few years ago.
“I think I’m going to make two more albums and try to have four albums out in January,” he says. “Why not?”
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When Cai Xukun — the 26-year-old Chinese singer-songwriter better known as KUN — began working on his smash single “Afterglow,” he wanted to capture fleeting moments of change by connecting time and space with art and fashion. “I pondered for a long time about what kind of word could represent this imagery and mood,” he says. “Finally, the word ‘afterglow’ came to mind. We often see this scenery during various travel moments — including while driving; it represents our feelings in that instant. I chose this theme and combined it with some of the images in my mind: models on the runway, flashing lights, shifting time and space and changing people.”
“Afterglow” immediately connected with audiences. On its release day in early June, the song achieved a score of over 95 on the Tencent Music Uni Chart, which aggregates data from nine major platforms and over 100 radio stations. The song remained on the chart for 10 weeks and became the fastest song to receive gold certification on the Tencent chart; it also made the June edition of the Tencent Music Wave Chart, which is voted on by over 200 Chinese music industry professionals. That success has informed his selection as China’s representative for Billboard’s Global No. 1s, as chosen jointly by Tencent Music Chart and Billboard China.
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KUN created “Afterglow” with soul and rock sounds, and his integration of modern and classic production influences helped to give the song a timeless feel. And the song’s success marks the beginning of a new musical phase for KUN. “In my upcoming works, I will include some classic or modern elements,” he says. “I hope everyone can gradually sense a recognizable style in my music.”
In fact, several new singles KUN released in 2024 represent his fresh musical explorations. For instance, “Remedy” features clean piano sounds paired with a vintage vocal style, revealing his more minimalist side. It also reflects his listening habits: “I often enjoy classic songs, especially in quiet moments alone, listening to music and savoring that dialogue with myself,” he says.
While his previous works were warmer, KUN’s 2024 release “RIDE OR DIE” introduces a sound that’s new for him. “This song serves as a signal I’m conveying, heralding a transformation in my future musical style,” he says. “I believe it is essential to present something distinct to my audience, which has always been my aspiration. Consequently, the production process for ‘RIDE OR DIE’ extended over a considerable period and traversed numerous iterations, aiming to express the ‘stormy night’ concept that has long resided in my heart.”
KUN photographed for the Billboard China Global No. 1s Issue.
Tianyao Wang/Billboard China
Looking ahead, KUN plans to continue to expand his online live concept Art Lab, chronicling his growth and reflecting his changes from year to year — while strengthening his connections with audiences. “I can feel their enthusiasm, and they can feel my energy,” he says of his live performances. As time progresses, KUN is learning to “enjoy the process,” he adds. “Whether you genuinely enjoy the experience or merely fulfill a task can yield entirely different results. I believe that embracing this journey is paramount.”
Now, KUN is relishing a journey of “accumulation.” He’s preparing for a long journey ahead and accumulating new musical energy that he plans to direct toward producing more great songs. “This year, through the process of production and performance, I have engaged in numerous discussions and collaborations with various artists, which have profoundly influenced my personal perspectives and aesthetics,” he says. “Next year is likely to be a year where I unveil the fruits of my introspection.”
As Chinese artists increasingly gain international acclaim, KUN believes that the intersection of music across diverse cultures transcends language and geography, fostering cultural exchange. “I aspire for more individuals globally to experience music that is authentically ours as Chinese,” he says. “This has consistently been my ambition.”
This year was largely defined by pop stars who rewrote the rules, genre outlaws who succeeded in new territory and a rap beef that gave us a unifying anthem. But throughout the year, a handful of artists were enjoying their own major milestones — ones that not only defined their year, but their career.
From award recognition to chart firsts to major synchs and more, artists including Victoria Monét, Gracie Abrams, Natasha Bedingfield, A. G. Cook, Carín León, and Tems reflect on their defining moments of the year.
Gracie Abrams
Gracie Abrams
Abby Waisler
Last year, every single time I watched The Eras Tour — which was every time I opened — never once did it feel like there was going to be an end. When we were asked to come back, knowing that it would be to close it out, I immediately felt so nostalgic for the experience. Over the past few challenging, strange, scary years, Taylor has been a source of light for people who desperately needed it, and for developing artists, the tour has been an unimaginably significant springboard. For my career, it’s been undeniable. It’s hard to make sense of streaming numbers on your phone — I’m not someone who’s ever really been super tapped into that data — so to track the difference in audience reception quite literally in front of my eyes on The Eras Tour has been mind-blowing. I thought I was hallucinating when I first heard [Swifties] singing my lyrics back.
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What was most exciting about my own headlining tour was that I had made [2024 second album] The Secret of Us with my live show in mind. I’ve had the most fun performing “us.” in particular because on the days I’m not singing it with Taylor, it becomes this duet between all of us onstage and everybody in the crowd. And it was nominated for a Grammy! The whole reason Taylor and I wrote it in the first place was we’d just come off a dinner where she’d very sweetly said we needed to celebrate my first Grammy nomination [for best new artist in 2023]. The full circle of it all is hard for me to wrap my head around.
The Secret of Us has had the most traction out of any of the projects I’ve put out before, and there are milestones that are fun to acknowledge. When “I Love You, I’m Sorry” ended up being the song that took off the most, I felt like it was — not that we needed it — permission to allow acoustic guitar to remain the driving force behind “That’s So True,” which came from the feeling of living with a burning, fiery rage of jealousy. Seeing the life that song is having right now is psychotic to me. The audience’s engagement has only felt stronger as these rooms have continued to, by some miracle, expand. But what I clock as my metric for success is how it feels to create a thing and then sing it with a group of people who resonate with it. I just can’t believe any of it is real.
Natasha Bedingfield
Natasha Bedingfield
Cameron Jordan
Last year, my publisher reached out and I recognized the name [in his pitch]. I was like, “Ah, [filmmaker] Will Gluck! I remember him.” My song “Pocketful of Sunshine” was a big part of his [2010] movie, Easy A. He seems to use my songs in things and they resonate. So when I wrote back [about using “Unwritten” in his new film], I said, “A hundred percent yes.”
I went to the premiere [of Anyone but You], and the actors were like, “They just kept making us sing your song!” I think he made them sing it in every scene. I remember my publisher being like, “They’re really using it a lot.” And they even came back after they edited the movie and said, “We actually want to give you a bit more money because we ended up using the song even more.” We were really blown away by how it was used and how funny it was. There’s a moment where Sydney [Sweeney] is looking up at [Glen Powell’s] butt, singing, “Reaching for something in the distance.” I mean, that’s the kind of humor that I love.
People watched the movie and they left singing the song, and then they filmed themselves singing it and put that up on TikTok. And I got a call from Will saying, “Because the song is trending on TikTok, it’s making more people go see the movie.” So it was this really amazing thing that kind of served each other.
It feels like “Unwritten” has been one of the songs of the year. I feel really touched by this, and I couldn’t have anticipated it. Last year, I was thinking, “We need to do something for the [20th] anniversary! Let’s celebrate. Let’s put music out.” And then this happened without me. It was outside of my control, and it’s just been wilder than I could have imagined.
I think it’s everyone’s song, but nobody knew that until Anyone but You. What’s so poetic about this is that “Unwritten” itself is a song that’s changing and growing, and the story about it is evolving. When I was writing it, we imagined the arenas and the stadiums and the crowd singing it. And when we were producing it, I remember being like, “How do we pick sounds that aren’t going to be dated?” “Unwritten” is like my baby, and I hope it keeps shape-shifting.
A. G. Cook
A.G. Cook
Henry Redcliffe
Charli and I were talking about doing remixes almost from the beginning. I was really pushing this notion that I have about music in general in the post-streaming era. I like that music doesn’t have to completely end at the album release; the masters that get uploaded to streaming aren’t necessarily the final version.
What’s been so nice about brat is that even the way it was rolled out, the Boiler Room set happening early on and so forth, it’s holistically been about there being different versions. We’d sometimes even talk about remixes while working on the tracks themselves. There was always this notion that at some point, there would be a high-effort extension of the album. Thematically, brat is so interesting in how it is pure Charli, not using features. But obviously there’s all that energy building up for actual collaborations to happen. We knew while making it that if we wanted to collaborate, that would go on the remix album, but we’d also give collaborators agency to make songs even more in their image.
The original tracks were operating in real time, so it was no surprise that the remix album just continued that experience [by reflecting on] those months [after brat’s release]. The confessional nature of brat also provoked a lot of the remix collaborators to match that. Especially the [“Girl, so confusing” remix with Lorde], because it was conceived right as the album came out. That set the tone for the remixes to be actual conversations.
For [the “Mean girls” remix with Julian Casablancas], we wanted to make sure he could really make it his own, that it wasn’t just “Julian’s going to jump on for a verse.” That would have felt wrong for everyone. Charli and I wanted to demonstrate, like, “We’re not precious. We’re fine to dismantle it.” There are some remixes that didn’t happen simply because we sent it to people and they didn’t know where to start or were uncomfortable making a completely different genre. But the “Mean girls” remix is a good example of making sure it didn’t just feel like a feature, but an amalgamation that would then challenge Charli and I to also put ourselves on it.
The original songs are as clubby as DJs want to make them, or not. There’s so much ammo in brat, so many intriguing moments that could be looped, taken apart. I’ve already heard people do so many of their own remixes. There are funny ones where Charli is interviewed and is like, “Yeah, I love dance music, but I don’t really like drum’n’bass.” Then there’ll be like 10 drum’n’bass remixes, almost as like a “f–k you.” I think that’s the most fun part.
Carín León
Carin León
Carlos Ruiz
Being at the Grand Ole Opry was culturally very significant. As a Latino, as a Mexican, as a fan of country music, to go to the capital of country and play inside the temple of country music meant a lot to me. I think we made our mark.
I’ve always been close to country music, listening to Johnny Cash, George Strait and the newer generation of artists who are so good and are breaking parameters and doing things differently, just as we are with Mexican music. I love what artists like Luke Combs and Post Malone are doing, but if I had to choose a single country act, it would be the great Chris Stapleton. He’s given us a lot of love.
In fact, the last time we performed in the South, we sang “Tennessee Whiskey,” and I said, “Respectfully, for me, the best country singer, technically and artistically speaking, is Chris Stapleton.” Then we realized his wife was there, and she got up and came to the stage to see us. It made me realize music really has no borders. We have a country project set for next year, mostly in English, with a lot of collaborations.
We’ve been making other inroads with country music this year, and one day my manager, Jorge Juárez, and I were on a flight and he said, “We’ve just been confirmed for the Grand Ole Opry.” As if this was normal. My first words were “You’re kidding me!” Because I know how hard it is to play there. Many American artists never get to do it. It felt like confirming the biggest stadium ever.
It was the culmination of all those dreams I had as a kid of playing in a mythical and legendary space. Playing there allowed me to be me and to be that person that since childhood has loved country music, especially because our Mexican music is so influenced by country. I think it’s the only place where I’ve cried onstage. It’s something money can’t buy — and a memory I’ll take with me till the day I die.
Victoria Monét
Victoria Monét
Dalvin Adams
I really liked the process of getting into the Grammys. I was doing a lot of prep physically, like watching my food intake, lots of workouts. A really special moment happened where I took [my daughter] Hazel with me to a fitting with Versace. It was my daughter’s first time on a red carpet, and she [was going to] be matching with me. Versace allowed us to pick a specific brown and bring that theme of [my album] Jaguar to life.
[Winning the best new artist Grammy] was one of the biggest goals that I had for the year. You know how much it takes to get recognition in this industry or bring a vision to life and what kind of marketing it took to get there, what kind of focus and dedication and sacrifice. [But I have this] yin-yang mentality like, although this means the world to me and I appreciate it, I can’t make it my be-all and end-all to determine whether or not I’m good — because the other [nominees] were also amazing and they didn’t get it, and they’re going on with their lives and doing amazing, incredible things.
I have [my Grammys] on a banister upstairs; it’s kind of become an awards banister. There are a few plaques there and a framed tweet about the Grammys that I tweeted in 2015, almost like a manifestation. It puts a pep in your step to know that you did the right thing, but also you have so much more work to do, so just keep going and remain grounded and know that all of these things are a blessing.
You want to continue to do what you love even if the accolades don’t ever come again. There were many years where I thought I was great and I didn’t have those awards on my banister. It was just knowing, because of my work ethic, greatness comes that way. And when the recognition and attention come, you want to make sure that doesn’t become your driving force. Those are extras, but it does feel really nice.
Tems
Tems
Adrienne Raquel
Once I have a vision, I’m always trying to do everything to put my vision in place. But that can also sometimes turn into perfectionism, which I learned to let go of while [making my debut album, Born in the Wild]. You [have to] be as authentic as possible and allow yourself to flow in the music — letting go of anything that you think you’re supposed to do, be or show.
I’m not thinking too much about genres or rules: “Oh, you have to make Afrobeats.” My “why” is different. My “why” is to release my thoughts. It’s an honor to be able to make music that you want to make and for people to be able to connect to it — and for someone to recognize that is also really great.
[At Coachella], Wizkid was around and we asked him if he’d come out [to perform “Essence”], and he was really down. Justin [Bieber] happened to also be around. He hit me up that morning and said he’s down to come out if I needed him. And I was like, “Yes!” It was amazing. Everybody was going crazy. The crowd was screaming, the floor was shaking. It was a vibe, like a huge party.
[In November], we had just arrived at midnight in Melbourne, Australia, so I wasn’t thinking too much about the Grammys. I was extremely tired, so I went to bed hoping to get a little bit of rest before my show the next day. Around 5 a.m., my phone started vibrating on my bed. It’s calls and people shouting, “Oh, my God. Congrats!” I’m like, “Bro, what’s going on?” They’re like, “Bro, three Grammy nominations!” It was worth being woken up for, especially for the people that have worked on this album — not just me, but my friend and my producer [GuiltyBeatz], [and] Spax, [who] also engineered it.
There are so many people that worked sleepless nights and really did their best to help me out, and it’s beautiful to see them have the recognition. All it takes is a Grammy-nominated project that you were a part of for your life to change. That’s what I really care about the most.
This story appears in the Dec. 14, 2024, issue of Billboard.