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Lay Bankz’s “Tell Ur Girlfriend” sounds as if someone sliced up Ginuwine’s “Pony” and Omarion’s “Ice Box,” tossed them in a blender with a four-to-the-floor kick drum, and served up the results. “It felt like a hit to us,” says Alec Henderson, head of digital at Banks’ label, Artist Partner Group. “But labels never really call the hits.”
In this climate, labels sometimes give up on songs that aren’t immediately greeted rapturously by listeners. But APG stuck with “Tell Ur Girlfriend,” running TikTok campaigns that played on the track’s saucy lyrics: “Should tell my boyfriend what I been doin’/ Been thinkin’ of you every time I screw him.” “We really believed in that song,” Henderson says.
Their faith was rewarded when two creators developed a dance set to the track. On TikTok, where trends bloom and die out rapidly, dance trends are ancient history — they were more common back in the platform’s early days, 2019 and 2020. But the “Tell Ur Girlfriend” dance “just went crazy,” according to Henderson. The song cracked the TikTok Billboard Top 50 chart in April. A week later, “Tell Ur Girlfriend,” debuted at No. 58 on the Billboard Hot 100 (dated April 27), thanks to nearly 9 million official U.S. streams, according to Luminate.
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Lay Bankz’s hit was one of 24 songs that appeared on the TikTok Billboard Top 50 before jumping to the Hot 100 in the first 11-ish months of 2024. (“Tell Ur Girlfriend” ended up spending three weeks at No. 1 on the former chart.) That’s a considerable number, but still ultimately a small percentage of the platform’s biggest 2024 hits: More than 600 songs appeared on the TikTok Billboard Top 50 during this period, showing that even hard-won virality on the massively popular app does not necessarily correlate with widespread listening activity.
Even so, marketers say it remains an essential plank of most campaigns — sometimes the only plank. “All roads lead back to TikTok at this point, in some capacity,” says Amy Hart, who worked at the digital marketing agency Flighthouse and the label 10k Projects before co-founding prairy, a new indie label. This remains true, she continues, even though “the odds of actually starting something from scratch are so small.”
TikTok is usually portrayed as an initiator, the platform that kicks off the chain-reaction that later creates a hit. The potential power of this approach can be seen when looking at the songs that made the leap from the TikTok Billboard Top 50 to the Hot 100 this year: They often climbed to the upper reaches of the chart — their average peak position was No. 18 on the Hot 100 — and they spent a healthy 20 weeks on the chart. (In total, 88 songs appeared on both the TikTok Billboard Top 50 and the Hot 100, including 37 that appeared on the two rankings the same week, and 27 tracks that did a reverse crossover, showing up on the Hot 100 first and then appearing on the TikTok Billboard Top 50.)
Digital marketers who focus on TikTok will face additional challenges in 2025. Most important, the future of TikTok is an open question (again). Federal judges recently upheld a law requiring Bytedance to sell the app by January 19th or face a ban in the U.S., where some 170 million people use TikTok.
The outcome of that fight is outside of marketers’ control. But closer to home, “the biggest thing that I’ve noticed is influencer campaigns just don’t work,” Hart says.
In TikTok’s early days, paying a creator with a following to make a video with an artist’s song was common, relatively cheap, and occasionally effective. While it’s still common, it’s now expensive and often worthless. “I’m starting to put less and less faith in influencer marketing as a vehicle for the distribution of and marketing of music,” says Sam Alavi, who co-manages the artist bbno$. (bbno$’s “It Boy” hit No. 10 on the TikTok Billboard Top 50 this year.)
Some marketers have instead looked to contest platforms, which recruit a pool of creators and offer them cash prizes to make videos with specific songs, awarding the money to the clips that get the most engagement. This ties performance to payment, in contrast to traditional influencer approach — most influencers charge a flat rate, so they get paid the same whether their video gets two views or 2 million.
The contest platforms offer “a much easier way to get a volume of sound uses” compared to reaching out to one influencer at a time, explains Marisa Kurtz, vp of marketing at Fearless Records. “And the contest element does encourage creators to make thoughtful videos in the hopes of getting the most views.”
Other executives haven’t seen as much success with this approach, however. “We’ve actually been working on moving away from contest-style campaigns in the last seven or eight months,” says Rafael Rocha, CEO of the marketing agency NuWave Digital. “Those are, in our view, also becoming inefficient and oversaturated.”
Another strategy that has caught on with marketers is to create and oversee their own artist fan pages, which can shotgun posts onto TikTok at a low cost. These accounts operate as if you had “a media outlet at your disposal at all times,” Laura Spinelli, digital marketing manager for Shopkeeper Management, told Billboard earlier this year. Tim Collins, co-founder of the digital marketing agency Creed Media, noted that fan pages “can tell the story of an artist without the artist having to be the voice.”
One thing is certain: Whatever approach works now is unlikely to work in three to six months. “Tik Tok is always moving and changing,” Hart says. As a result, marketers have to continuously adjust their approach.
“As much as we all like to think that we can sit down at this table and be like, ‘This is the thing that’s going to go viral,’’ Alavi adds, “none of us f–king know.”
Amirah’s story unfolds like a carefully plotted script, peppered with the unexpected moments that distinguish dreams from reality. This 18-year-old emerging artist isn’t just a fresh face in music; she’s a testament to the power of vision, resilience, and a faith grounded in the support of family. From recording her first EP while still in high school to signing with 10 Summers and Interscope, Amirah’s rise reflects an artist who’s balancing authenticity with industry ambitions—and doing it on her own terms.
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Amirah’s journey has been propelled forward by her dedication and the encouragement of platforms like Honda Stage, which shares her mission of uncovering stories that embody resilience, passion, and authenticity. Honda Stage champions emerging artists and brings audiences closer to the often-hidden journeys that fuel the music industry. Much like Amirah, the platform celebrates individuals who are redefining music through unique perspectives, unwavering commitment, and unfiltered creativity.
Raised in Virginia Beach, Amirah grew up in a family that knew how to cultivate dreams. “I was always about music—I needed it,” she says, remembering the countless times she would talk to her mother about wanting to be a singer. Her grandparents championed her budding passion, capturing every recital and piano performance, and her mother taught her about the power of faith and self-belief. “My mom would always say, ‘Speak it into existence,’” Amirah shares, her voice carrying a quiet confidence that hints at a wisdom beyond her years. And speak she did—writing down her dreams, rehearsing the vision in her head, and setting her sights on making them real.
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It was during the lockdowns of 2020, and like many artists, Amirah was channeling her energy into creating and refining her sound, writing songs, and imagining what it would take to break into the industry. She’d been a devoted fan of Mustard’s work for years, studying his production style and envisioning what it would be like to work with him. But the idea of actually connecting with him seemed like a far-off fantasy, something her mom used to say to encourage her: “You never know; one day, Mustard might come knocking!”
By 2021, Amirah was writing down all her goals, detailing her dreams, and practicing a manifestation ritual. She recalls that she’d just written a note in her journal that year, setting an intention to be signed to a major label by the time she was 16. She was 15 when the unthinkable happened—her phone pinged with an Instagram DM notification from none other than Mustard himself. In a message that was straightforward but powerful, he expressed his admiration for her work and wanted to talk more after seeing one of her covers online.
“I just remember staring at it, thinking, ‘This has to be a joke, right?’” she laughs now. “But it was real. And the best part? He didn’t just see the potential—I felt like he already knew the vision I wanted for myself.” They connected almost instantly, with Mustard helping her navigate the next steps, leading to her signing with Ten Summers and Interscope.
That DM wasn’t just a message; it was the manifestation of everything she’d been working toward.
By 2021, she was signed with 10 Summers and Interscope, making her one of the latest young artists to be mentored by the celebrated producer. “It felt like a fever dream,” she admits, still in awe of the trajectory that took her from a Virginia high school to recording studios in L.A. “I remember asking, ‘So, does this mean I can release music now?’ I didn’t know the process, but my team walked me through every step.”
That team—especially her managers and Mustard—has become an extension of her family, helping her navigate the industry’s highs and lows while supporting her growth as an artist. The creative back-and-forth with Mustard, she says, has been an anchor for her, one that’s reinforced her dedication to the work. “Sometimes I feel like my songs are corny, but he’ll listen and say, ‘No, you have to hear this through.’” With Ten Summers, she’s found a team willing to help her experiment while keeping her grounded, ensuring her artistic vision isn’t compromised.
Amirah isn’t an artist who’s chasing the flash and glamour often associated with success; she’s a self-described “earth girl” who takes comfort in simplicity. “I don’t need flashy stuff,” she says. “Knowing where I came from keeps me grounded and helps me hold onto my artistic vision.” Her home in Virginia Beach, with its coastal, laid-back vibe, serves as a touchstone that keeps her focused on authenticity rather than trends.
For Amirah, staying true to herself and finding balance in an industry driven by image and expectations isn’t a battle—it’s a principle. “I don’t feel pressure; I feel like we’re all just here to make dope stuff,” she explains. “It’s important to maintain who I am.” That ethos is reflected in her music, where each song offers a piece of her story, her evolution, and her soul. “My upcoming project is vibes, vibes, vibes,” she says, eager to share the songs she’s been recording since she was 16. “I hope people just have fun and feel connected. I want it to be a vision that everyone can understand.”
Beyond her music, Amirah is setting long-term goals that extend into acting and animated series, hoping to show her versatility as an artist with a personality that jumps off the screen. Her short-term plans, however, are all about staying in the studio, writing, and crafting music that resonates with audiences everywhere. “I want to write music that’s played in clubs but also tells the story of who I am,” she says, already visualizing the next stage of her career.
There’s a boldness to Amirah’s vision, but it’s grounded in faith—a faith she says is both personal and unshakeable. Her approach to setbacks is to turn to God, her family, and sometimes, a cathartic cry. “When I doubt, I pray,” she reveals, a simple phrase that carries the weight of her journey thus far. She’s learned that the road to success isn’t always easy, but she’s not one to give up. Each step she’s taken has reinforced her belief that with hard work, resilience, and a team who sees her potential, anything is possible.
Today, Amirah’s poised to make a name for herself in an industry that’s often more focused on profits than passions. But with her first EP out, a loyal team at her side, and a vision for what she wants to accomplish, Amirah’s on track to defy those odds. In her own words: “I hope everyone loves it, and I hope they can feel my heart in every song.” Amirah’s journey is one to watch—not just because of her talent, but because of the unwavering authenticity she brings to every note, lyric, and performance.
It’s peculiar to hear Jacob Slater talk so effusively about “the quiet life” when he is renowned for one of the most intense, rib-shakingly loud live sets on the indie circuit. He’s the sort of artist, it seems, who is striving to find meaning in life’s simpler moments.
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“I haven’t had a break in a long while,” he says, eyes narrowing as he lights a cigarette. The smoke plumes drift towards a large Bob Dylan poster spread across the ceiling. “The sea is cold and there’s been waves here the past few days, so it’s been good to get back out there. I’m a little bit rusty, though, as I now spend so much time out of the water.”
The Wunderhorse frontman has been readjusting to the natural rhythms of life in his adopted locale of Newquay, Cornwall. It’s here where the 27-year-old trained as a surf instructor a few years ago, a solo venture that helped to relight his creative fire after burning bright and crashing out in the much-hyped but short-lived London punk band Dead Pretties. Recently, he has spent his time sleeping in, listening to records, and catching up with friends over coffee. Best of all, Slater says in a blissed-out tone, there is little to no mobile phone signal. The temptation to go off-grid clearly looms large.
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Returning to the coast has become an outlet for Slater’s newfound sense of lightness. Rarely at home, he’s spent much of 2024 insulated inside a touring bubble, playing shows across Europe with Fontaines D.C. and racking up huge British festival appearances at the likes of Reading & Leeds and TRNSMT. In August, Wunderhorse’s second LP, Midas (Communion Records), hit No.6 on the Official U.K. Charts upon release; a major feat, given that 2022 debut Cub failed to crack the Top 40.
On his birthday, Slater got a call from his manager saying they had booked a gig at London’s 10,000-capacity Alexandra Palace next spring. In November, the group supported Fontaines D.C. throughout Europe, and now, through December, the band are opening for Sam Fender at arenas across the U.K. and Ireland, capping off an extraordinary year.
Though often mired in themes of self-destruction and volatility, the music of Wunderhorse is uplifting, cathartic, and compassionate. The four-piece are cult stars at the threshold of mainstream crossover, a reality that they are now encountering on the road. Each night, they come eye-to -eye with a predominantly young fanbase that has recently ballooned in size as a result of “unexpected” TikTok popularity. “Not to sound like an old man, but I really don’t know how that whole ‘online thing’ works. Yet it seems to be a real beast,” says Slater, speaking over video call.
It was after a headline show at Glasgow’s Barrowlands venue last month that Slater realized the band’s profile was changing. Combating a disrupted sleep schedule that had left him feeling like “a nocturnal creature,” he ventured out, alone, to walk off all the adrenaline he had worked up on stage. What he found was a city gradually revealing itself through characterful people, foggy images of bars shuttering up for the night, and the distant expanse of the M8 motorway.
Only an hour earlier, with sweat beads lining his forehead, he had been growling into the mic, stomping as each song reached its soaring climax. Video footage of the performance circulated on social media the following day, with clips of gig-goers crying and barking doing the rounds. Wunderhorse may have already inspired fan tattoos and custom trainers, but this felt like a new level of visibility altogether.
“Recently, the audience has solidified a bit more in its demographic,” Slater explains. “At first, I didn’t quite know how to take it when people were telling us that we had young fans. But I remember when I was younger, music meant so much to me. It still does, of course, but music has a particular potency when you’re a teenager. If people are connecting with us at that age, then that’s amazing.”
Initially a one-man endeavour, the first seismic shift in Wunderhorse’s trajectory took place when Slater decided to expand the project to a full band in the early days of creating Midas. He brought Harry Tristan Fowler (guitar), Peter Woodin (bass) and Jamie Staples (drums) into the fold, having met each of them at gigs in London and their native Hertfordshire. Slater figured out early that the best way to approach music was to build his own world and invite people in; he and his bandmates soon honed their bluesy, expansive, emotionally-weathered sound after bonding over seminal records from Neil Young and Joni Mitchell.
The release of Cub, meanwhile, had left Slater feeling as though he was treading water as a lyricist. Much of the album’s writing resonated because of its unvarnished frankness about a dark personal history, traversing selfishness (“Purple”), nihilism, and traumatic teenage experiences (“Butterflies,” “Teal”). For its author, however – who was in recovery from addiction issues at the time – having to accept the circumstances of his previous life for what they were became too much of a mental burden to bear.
“This is probably not the stuff you’re meant to say in interviews, but I think every artist has songs they wrote when they were younger and now struggle with,” Slater says, grinning beneath a big, raggedy scarf. “You start to realize that, whatever you write, you’re going to have to live with it for a long time. If people are singing songs back to you and you don’t like the words that you’ve written, then you end up standing on stage feeling like you’ve deceived yourself.”
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Slater notes how his record contract stated that Cub was meant to see him “deliver 18 songs at a minimum.” Only 11 tracks made the final cut, and he put “any leftovers that didn’t fit into the Wunderhorse world” onto 2023 solo LP Pinky, I Love You. Curiously, eagle-eyed fans noticed that, a few weeks back, the earliest Wunderhorse music videos had been removed from YouTube; they responded by creating a Google Drive folder with all the newly missing clips. Today, Slater admits this was his doing: “If I had it my way, there would be no promo, there’d be no videos. I find it all really difficult because it’s not the way that my brain works.”
Releasing Midas didn’t banish Slater’s feelings of alienation towards the music industry entirely, but it did explore a more peaceful coexistence within it. It seems as though the search for salvation he sings of on “Silver” is starting to bear fruit. Despite it all, Slater thinks that aspects of his life today would astound his younger self: he is thoughtful yet steadfast in describing how publications describing Wunderhorse as “generational,” only two albums in, can be disorienting for a musician still coming to terms with his changing stature.
“Worrying whether you’re going to become this ‘grand thing’ that people are saying you are will only cause you to get in the way of yourself. Nobody even knows what such titles mean,” he says. “Any songwriter who has stood the test of time has managed to stay true to who they are. Like, did Bob Dylan wake up one day and go, ‘I’m gonna be generational?’ No.”
It’s clear that Slater sees a gap between his intentions and the public’s reaction to his musical output. He’ll later mention how Midas’ “Superman” was “completely misunderstood” by listeners, but he’s also trying to let go of these things which are out of his control. “Nobody’s ever going to feel what you felt when you wrote the song as everyone is at the center of their own universe,” he says. “And that’s part of the magic.” True self-acceptance: Slater is steadily getting there, inch-by-inch, wave-by-wave, song-by-song.
As we build toward the 2024 Billboard Music Awards on Dec. 12 and Billboard’s Year-End Charts reveal on Dec. 13, check out our editorial list of staff picks for the best K-pop songs of the year.
As more and more K-pop artists break the genre and cultural barriers that can divide listeners, the Korean music industry grew its visibility and expanded its experimental nature this past year, resulting in greater opportunities for the scene at large while gifting global audiences some undeniably special singles.
In line with trends since the start of the decade, girl groups continued to dominate the singles space as (G)I-DLE, fromis_9, aespa, NewJeans and ILLIT delivered inescapable hits, alongside beloved troupes like Red Velvet, ITZY, Dreamcatcher and Kep1er, who delivered some of the best songs of their career.
K-divas BIBI, Lee Young Ji and K-pop’s standout rookie boy band TWS delivered singles that became mainstays on the charts and across social media. Elsewhere, Lim Young Woong, PENTAGON’s Hui, ATEEZ, Loossemble and ARTMS all stepped up to new moments of musical greatness with creative curveballs that defied expectations but delighted all kinds of audiences.
From the nostalgic reunion of BIGBANG’s leader G-Dragon enlisting his bandmates Taeyang and Daesung for “Home Sweet Home” to the rookie girl group that made Billboard Hot 100 history this year, not to mention a track that samples Afrika Bambaataa and the Afrobeat-infused flair of KISS OF LIFE’s “Sticky,” this year’s best K-pop songs boast some of the most eclectic, exciting tunes in recent history.
While the Korean music industry continues to expand its global reach, with many of its artists releasing English singles or tracks explicitly aimed at the Western pop market, this list focuses on the songs released with Korean lyrics or with core K-pop audiences in mind (as much as we loved bops from the likes of Jimin, AleXa, BABYMONSTER, the BLACKPINK members and many, many more).
With some of the best boy bands, greatest girl groups, specially selected soloists, plus one dynamic duo, dive into the complete list to experience the finest K-pop songs of 2024. And check out our list of the 25 Best K-Pop Albums of 2024, too.
Kep1er, “Shooting Star”
Idols, rookies and global stars all made our list.
Through the Honda Stage platform, which is dedicated to uncovering the stories of determined and resilient artists, Mustard’s journey shines as a prime example of both grit and boundless talent. Honda Stage celebrates the individuals who shape music through a blend of vision and hard work, bringing fans closer to the heart of what drives an artist’s unique sound and journey. With a deft hand that melds infectious grooves with nuanced melodies, Mustard—formerly known as DJ Mustard—has cemented his status as a vital force in shaping the soundscape of hip-hop, R&B, and pop. Behind the shimmering façade of chart-topping hits lies a rich tapestry woven with experiences, inspirations, and an unyielding love for the art of sound.
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Born Dijon McFarlane in Los Angeles, Mustard discovered his musical calling at the tender age of 11—a time when many kids are still figuring out how to ride a bike or choose their favorite cartoon. “My uncle was a DJ,” he reminisces, his eyes lighting up with nostalgia. “I always wanted to be like him.” His epiphany struck at a party where his uncle left him to spin the tracks, igniting a lifelong romance with rhythm and sound. “Since I can remember, I’ve loved music,” he declares, underscoring the deep-rooted connection he has with it.
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Mustard’s rise to prominence is not merely a story of beats and bass; it is a journey that encompasses cultural influences, personal struggles, and a relentless pursuit of artistic integrity. His distinctive sound—a blend of West Coast hip-hop infused with elements of R&B and electronic music—has become synonymous with a new era of music. “I don’t think it was a specific genre that sparked my love for music,” he explains. “It’s about the feeling any song gives me.” This philosophical approach to music allows Mustard to traverse genres, drawing inspiration from a wide array of influences, from classic funk to contemporary trap.
His breakthrough came with the 2012 hit “Rack City,” a collaboration with Tyga that catapulted both artists into the limelight. This track was not just a chart-topping sensation; it was a cultural phenomenon, marking Mustard’s arrival as a powerhouse producer. The infectious rhythm and catchy hook defined an era, paving the way for Mustard’s subsequent collaborations with a plethora of artists, including YG, Ty Dolla $ign, and Nipsey Hussle. His production credits read like a who’s who of contemporary music, illustrating his ability to craft hits that resonate across demographics.
But Mustard’s success isn’t limited to individual tracks. His albums, such as Perfect Ten, have been lauded for their cohesive sound and innovative approach. The album not only solidified his position in the industry but also showcased his versatility, blending genres and exploring new sonic territories.
In 2013, Mustard took a significant leap by establishing his own label, 10 Summers. This move was not merely a career advancement; it was a commitment to nurturing emerging talent and creating a platform where artists could thrive. “I want to create a space where artists can flourish and be authentic,” he asserts, embodying a philosophy that prioritizes artistic integrity over commercial success.
The label has been instrumental in launching the careers of several budding artists, including Ella Mai. Her hit “Boo’d Up” became a global sensation, showcasing Mustard’s keen ear for talent and sound. He describes Ella as “an artist who brings a fresh perspective,” and their collaboration is a testament to his ability to recognize and cultivate talent that resonates with audiences.
More recently, Mustard has turned his attention to Amirah, an emerging artist whose potential captivated him from the start. “When I first came across her, I was drawn to her voice,” he recalls, excitement evident in his tone. “But then I saw her personality and thought, ‘Wow, this girl is special.’” Mustard’s instinct to reach out was immediate, fueled by a desire to collaborate and create something magical together. “I just knew if I could teach her things, we could really create something unique.” His commitment to fostering emerging talent is not just a business strategy; it is a reflection of his deep-rooted belief in the power of collaboration.
Collaboration is the lifeblood of Mustard’s creative universe. “Music is collaborative,” he asserts, living by this philosophy. “When you put two great minds together, you come out with something great every time.” This is not just a platitude for him; it is a guiding principle. Each collaboration is an experiment, a blending of ideas and perspectives that often leads to unexpected brilliance.
Yet, building that synergy requires a leap of faith. “I trust me; I don’t think I trust anybody besides myself,” he admits candidly. “But I have to stand on whatever I put out.” This self-trust fuels his willingness to explore new territories, ensuring he remains open to the unexpected. “I’m always looking to try something new,” he insists, embodying the spirit of a true innovator. His willingness to embrace risk is a hallmark of his career, allowing him to evolve continuously while maintaining his signature sound.
Reflecting on his journey, Mustard offers invaluable advice to aspiring artists: “Go for whatever you believe in and don’t be scared of the craziness of the industry.” His journey has taught him the importance of patience and the value of allowing others to shine. “Sometimes it’s okay to let other people do their thing, and you help them without trying to take all the credit,” he emphasizes, embodying a generous spirit that is often rare in the industry.
As Mustard stands at the intersection of artistry and entrepreneurship, his legacy is still being written. He has transformed the music landscape, not just through his own creations but by lifting others as he climbs. His journey is a vibrant reminder that passion, authenticity, and collaboration can create a symphony of success.
Mustard’s influence extends beyond the studio; it permeates the very fabric of modern music culture. As he continues to innovate, pushing boundaries and defying expectations, one thing is clear: Mustard’s love for music is not just a career—it’s an exhilarating journey, an ongoing dance of creativity that invites us all to join in. Whether through chart-topping hits, nurturing new talent, or redefining the art of collaboration, Mustard remains a beacon of creativity in an ever-evolving musical landscape, proving that true artistry knows no bounds.
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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 October 2021, when Primary Wave first acquired a stake in Bing Crosby’s estate, the members of the new guard sat down together and came up with two objectives.
“One is: we want to make Bing the king of Christmas and holidays, every season, every year,” senior marketing manager Jack LeVine recalls to Billboard of the late pop icon, who delivered the definitive 20th century renditions of “White Christmas” and other seasonal staples. “And two is: just exciting, educating and engaging global and young audiences around Bing and his catalog.”
Nearly 7,000 miles away, the person who would turn out to be key to both goals was in the midst of an era-defining career explosion as part of South Korean boy band BTS, which brought renewed global attention to K-pop in 2021 with a breathtaking run of sunny dance singles – most prominently the 10-week Billboard Hot 100 chart-topper “Butter” — dazzling audiences with sleek visuals and snappy group choreography and enjoying the support of an ever-expanding, relentlessly passionate fanbase dubbed ARMY. But while the performer known as V was, to the world, one of seven young men at the helm of the year’s most polished, cutting-edge wave of contemporary pop dominance, the artist who grew up Kim Tae-hyung was, in his personal life, a reverent fan of a much different genre: jazz.
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And his favorite performer? Bing Crosby.
You could call it kismet, then, that three years later, V can now consider his hero a duet partner, their voices coming together over generations and lifetimes on a revamped version of “White Christmas” — fashioned out of an extremely rare recording found in Crosby’s extensive personal archives, voice-isolating technology and redone instrumentals — that dropped Friday (Dec. 6). But the project is actually the result of years of Primary Wave brainstorming, coordinating and consulting with Crosby’s daughter Mary and son Harry on how to not just preserve the iconic star’s legacy, but push it forward in a way that changes with the times.
There are many, scattered moments in the story of how the new “White Christmas” came together that could be considered the starting point, from V’s numerous posts about loving Bing over the years to Primary Wave’s discovery of the recording, a necessarily intimate 1950s radio performance that had only been released on limited physical products in the past — and could be perfect for recreating the magic of Crosby and David Bowie’s 1977 era-bridging “Little Drummer Boy” duet, with the help of a new modern star. But it’s the moment that those two worlds came together that proved to be the most fateful: when Primary Wave’s Sarah Nekich, digital and audience engagement, was scrolling X in her free time and came across a vlog posted by V in July 2022 in which he sang Crosby’s “It’s Been a Long, Long Time” in his car. At that point, months had gone by since the estate had considered the duet idea, stalled without a clear choice as to who was fit to join the late legend on the track. But now?
“It was just too perfect,” Nekich remembers of seeing V’s video. “He just had a beautiful jazz-like voice that sounds very similar to a young Bing Crosby. It was a no-brainer: These two are meant to be on a song together.”
The rest of the team – including Harry and Mary Crosby – were similarly impressed, and Primary Wave quickly reached out to V’s camp at HYBE x Geffen, who “were really receptive,” says Levine. The estate went to work on fleshing out a proper sketch of what the duet would actually sound like with V in the mix, tapping experienced jazz and classic pop producer Gregg Field to oversee the music, while Nekich — having already reposted V’s cover of “It’s Been a Long, Long Time” on Bing’s channels, and getting rocked by a tidal wave of ARMY engagement in response – continued interacting with BTS fans on social media to maintain momentum.
“The fact that V was such a huge fan was so heartening to us,” recalls Mary Crosby. “Until he came along, there wasn’t the right person. Because of V, Dad is going to be reaching an entirely different audience.”
The pieces were coming together, but making them connect would take more time than anticipated — especially as other projects repeatedly pushed the duet lower and lower on the to-do list. “The challenge with Christmas is no one is thinking about it in January or February,” Levine explains, laughing.
In late 2022, however, something lit a fire under the enterprise. “The BTS solo members announced that they were enlisting [in the South Korean military],” the executive continues. “There was a new sense of urgency. We were racing against a deadline that we had no visibility into.”
If Field had been able to take his time constructing the song before, he definitely couldn’t anymore. The producer – who’s previously worked with John Williams and Herbie Hancock – assembled the track using all-new instrumental arrangements by Rob Mounsey, recording rhythm section backings in Los Angeles and the orchestra and choir parts in Europe. Doing everything fresh was essential to making the finished product palatable to “2024 ears,” Field says, as was the process of separating Crosby’s vocal from the radio recording through iZotope’s Music Rebalance technology, revitalizing it to sound “like it was recorded yesterday” — sort of the musical equivalent to restoring aged paintings or worn-down buildings.
“That’s a perfect analogy,” Field tells Billboard of the process. “It’s getting all of the years of crud away from it and exposing what’s there.”
The last piece of the puzzle was V’s contribution, which he recorded remotely just before shipping off in December 2023 for 18 months to complete his mandatory service. His raw talent blew Field away. Says the producer, “The musical decisions [V] made – he understood who he was singing with.”
When the mix was finally complete early this year, all Primary Wave had to do was keep the collaboration a secret until finally announcing it in November, to the absolute delight of V’s biggest champions. Nekich reports that Crosby’s accounts have been absolutely flooded with heartfelt messages from ARMY ever since, with the late crooner’s following on X doubling “almost overnight” and his engagements skyrocketing by 300,000% within two weeks of the reveal.
Many of their comments, Nekich says, express genuine pride and happiness for V, who shared in a statement at the time of the announcement, “I feel incredibly fortunate and honored to have sung along … with the voice of someone I consider an idol.”
For Mary, the project represents everything that was important to her father in his lifetime. “If you look at what Dad did in terms of technology, bringing voice on tape … he was always ahead of the game and always incredibly interested in musical experiments,” she reflects. “This collaboration with V is kind of a continuation of that. Many people [from Bing’s era] would’ve not been able to wrap their head around this, but I think Dad would have.”
As for whether her father, who died in 1977, would’ve chosen to do the duet with V if he were alive today, Mary says, “Dad would’ve jumped at the chance.”
“He tried everything and sang with everybody,” the actress adds. “That sparked him. There are so many popular singers that list Bing Crosby as an influence, but Dad was always 100% ready to be musically influenced by someone else.”
With the track finally out in the world after three years of build-up, Primary Wave has officially made good on the goals they set at the beginning of their relationship with Crosby’s estate. But, galvanized by the breathtaking support of ARMY and the realization that, through technology, more doors are open to them than previously imagined, the team is ready to think even bigger. Nekich hopes the duet becomes a “new Christmas classic” — one that’ll serve as the jumping-off point, not the end of, Crosby’s relationship with V. And, she’d “love to see it go to the top of the Billboard charts this Christmas — we’re shooting for the stars.”
On that note, Levine is also adding an unofficial third objective to the bulletin board. “Respect to the queen,” he tells Billboard, “But I hope we outperform Mariah [Carey] this year.”
Listen to Bing Crosby’s brand-new version of “White Christmas” featuring V of BTS above.
From controversial awards show performances to community-affirming song releases, the last 25 years saw LGBTQ+ music move from the fringes to the forefront of pop culture.
A little over halfway through her newest project, RuPaul’s Drag Race superstar Alaska Thunderfuck nurses a glass of whiskey while bemoaning the circumstances she finds herself in. “Could you imagine?” she shouts. “A musical about drag queens. Who would be dumb enough to buy a ticket to see that?”
If the audience at Manhattan’s New World Stages on a chilly Monday night in November is any indication, quite a few people. Drag: The Musical, which debuted its off-Broadway run back in late October, takes the well-trodden subject matter at its center and aims to create something new — and, refreshingly, something radically honest.
This latest iteration of the show — which she stars in and co-wrote with Tomas Costanza and Ashley Gordon — has been an adjustment for the Drag Race winner. “Doing eight shows a week is kind of unhinged, and it’s much more work than I am used to doing,” Alaska tells Billboard. “But I’m also grateful that, if I’m going to do eight shows a week, it’s this show and it’s these people.”
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On its surface, the two-hour rock musical tells the story of two competing drag bars — The Fish Tank and The Cat House — as they struggle to stay open amid financial pressures. But underneath that familiar exterior is a love letter to the art of drag, and a timely coming-of-age story about self-expression and authenticity in the face of societal rejection.
Along with a number of positive reviews, the show has received one very important co-sign from venerated queer idol Liza Minnelli. The legendary performer serves as a producer of the show, and introduces the audience to the story through a surprise voiceover at the very start of the performance. “I mean, that is an actual ICON, in all-capital letters. We couldn’t be more lucky and grateful to have her fairy dust sprinkled upon us,” Alaska says. “It doesn’t get old — every night I’m back stage and I’m in a furious quick change, but I am loudly saying the words along with her. I still cannot believe it.”
The show exists within an established tradition of musicals examining drag as an art form. Over the last few decades, shows like La Cage Aux Folles and Kinky Boots aimed to present drag to an audience that may have otherwise never seen it. Nick Adams, who stars in Drag as the Fish Tank’s glamorous proprietor Alexis Gillmore, originated the role of Felicia Jollygoodfellow in the 2011 Broadway production of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert — and yet he says Drag: The Musical stands out amongst its prior counterparts as a particularly honest look at the lives of drag queens.
“This show is very representative of drag in 2024, which means it’s not specific to one idea,” he explains. “It’s not just female illusion, it’s a lot more than that, and we really capture the essence of that in a way that [musicals] didn’t before. I think it challenges people to look at what the art form of drag is outside of those parameters.”
Alaska agrees, adding that the original intension behind the story was to take the tropes of past drag musicals and flip them on their head. “I did not want the main story to be about the straight people learning about drag culture, I want it to be about the drag queens and their lives,” she explains. “You’re on the drag queens’ turf, and it’s their world, and the straight guy is the one who is constantly confused and saying ‘what the f–k is going on here.’ It’s an inversion of that formula.”
Drag: The Musical has been in the works for nearly a decade — after beginning to write the show in 2016, Alaska, Costanza and Gordon brought their vision for this story to life with a 2022 concept album, featuring stars from the world of musical theater, stand-up comedy and drag itself. The trio fleshed out the show’s script and put on a limited run of the live show at The Bourbon Room in Los Angeles, before transferring the show to its current off-Broadway home.
As Alaska recalls, the evolution of the musical has been nothing short of transformational. “The only constant has been change. Every time we put the show up, we learned more about the structure, how to make it funnier and better,” she explains. “We were changing this right up to the debut, because you just want to fine-tune everything and get it to its peak form.”
Adams, who has been involved with the project since the 2022 album, remembers early performances at The Bourbon Room, and how the bar atmosphere provided its own set of pros and cons for the show. “There was a scene in the Bourbon Room show where I was laying over top of a bar and my character is at his lowest point,” he says. “And I look down, and this woman in the audience is just chowing down on some chicken wings and drinking her beer. It was just so unique.”
That sort of interaction underlined part of the show’s charm. Where other portrayals of drag focus on the glitz and glamour of the art form, Drag: The Musical leans heavily into the fact that drag, at its core, is messy. The show’s queens (portrayed by bonafide drag stars Jujubee, Jan Sport, Luxx Noir London and others) often find themselves cramped into closets that act as dressing rooms, while early showstopper “Drag Is Expensive” breaks down the financial reality of performing in custom-made costumes night after night.
“I always felt like in movies and in musicals that deal with drag, it’s always ‘look at how fabulous everything is,’” Alaska says. “We wanted you to be able to smell the f–king bar that these queens are working in. The floor is sticky, it’s all kind of a mess. That is the drag that I come from, where you’re in the kitchen and your mirror is propped up on the walk-in refrigerator.”
Yet despite the show’s many lighthearted moments, Drag: The Musical goes out of its way to touch on real issues facing the community it celebrates. Fish Tank queen Dixie Coxworth (played by Liisi LaFontaine) spends an entire song explaining the often-complicated politics of being an AFAB drag queen (“One of the Boys”). A particularly arch portrayal of real estate investor Rita LaRitz (J. Elaine Marcos) highlights the real-life urban gentrification of queer spaces. A secondary plot involving Alexis’ brother Tom (New Kids on the Block’s Joey McIntyre) lays out the pitfalls of straight privilege through multiple musical numbers.
“That’s a tricky thing with theater — sometimes, plotting can feel so on the nose like you’re trying to check every box, that it becomes a question of ‘what story are we actually telling now?’” Adams says. “But I think we do a delicate dance between being muppets and then all of a sudden being serious performers going, ‘This is a real problem.’”
Even with a multitude of issues touched on throughout the show, Drag never falls into the trap of feeling preachy or oversimplified, a fact Alaska credits to her work with Costanza and Gordon. “I’m a drag queen, Tomas is straight guy, and Ash is a straight woman who does drag and writes music for drag queens,” she explains. “We all brought our own perspective, we trusted each other immensely.”
Perhaps the show’s most impactful plotline comes in the form of 10-year-old Brendan (played by Yair Keydar and Remi Tuckman), who is utterly fascinated by drag, but doesn’t have the unequivocal support of his family to explore why that is. In the tear-jerking ballad “I’m Just Brendan,” the young man doesn’t come out or express dissatisfaction with his gender identity — he just likes what he likes and doesn’t understand why others have a problem with a boy playing dress up.
The song was written long before the conversation of children’s involvement at drag shows became a political cudgel for right-wing lawmakers, and Alaska says that the show hasn’t changed its Brendan plotline to reflect that reality. “When I’m loving drag the most is when I’m seeing it from a childlike place of expression. So, we wanted to touch on that and connect to that part of drag, because it’s often the best part of it,” she says. “This is just a young person who wants to express himself in a way that he’s not currently allowed to. That speaks to literally everybody who’s a human person.”
Even though the show doesn’t delve directly into the current political reality for drag performers, Adams can’t help but notice that something shifted after Donald Trump won the election in early November. “I felt the shift that Wednesday after Election Day,” he says. “The crowd was electric that night. People in the audience were placing more importance on the show than they did the Monday before. Queer art is even more important than it was a few weeks ago, and we’re now almost charged with more power.”
The production, meanwhile, shows very few signs of slowing down — tickets are currently still available through March, and a number of upcoming casting substitutions promise a longevity that often alludes other off-Broadway productions.
When it comes to the musical’s Broadway aspirations, Alaska simply shrugs. “I don’t know how all of that works, it’s not my world — I don’t understand what circumstances have to happen for a transfer to happen. But of course we’d love to make it to Broadway,” she says with a smirk. “Who has a Broadway theater we can borrow? I’m ready, I’m flexible, let’s do it.”
What is yacht rock? In the new HBO movie, Yacht Rock: A Dockumentary, no one can agree on a definition.
For the comedian Fred Armisen, yacht rock is “a very relaxing feeling.” But for the writer Rob Tannenbaum, yacht rock is a space where singers “could declare not just your sensitivity but your torment at how sensitive you are, your sense of being ravaged by having feelings.” He calls this “fairly unique to yacht rock,” which would be true if soul music did not exist.
How about another, more specific, definition: “One way to know if you’re listening to yacht rock is [if you hear] the sound of Michael McDonald’s voice,” according to Alex Pappademas, author of Quantum Criminals: Ramblers, Wild Gamblers, and Other Sole Survivors From the Songs of Steely Dan. Then again, David Pack, lead singer of the band Ambrosia, calls McDonald’s style “progressive R&B pop,” while Questlove describes yacht rock as “utility more than it is music.”
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This all begs the question: If yacht rock is such a vague label, what makes it worth using?
J.D. Ryznar and Steve Huey helped coin this imprecise term in their 2005 mockumentary series Yacht Rock, long after the music it attempted to brand was out of style. Each episode traced the activities of goofy, fictionalized versions of McDonald, his contemporaries, and his collaborators — Hall & Oates love to dunk on “smooth music,” while Kenny Loggins’ character says pompous things like, “when a friend is drowning in a sea of sadness, you don’t just toss them a life vest, you swim one over to them.”
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As the yacht rock label caught on, it gave a set of younger listeners a way to explore and maybe embrace — even if ironically — music that had become a kind of cultural shorthand for uncool, the target of mainstream jibes in Family Guy and The 40-Year-Old Virgin. “For a long time, I thought Steely Dan, man, that’s just music for dorks and weirdos,” the critic Amanda Petrusich says in A Dockumentary. “You come to it jokingly,” Pappademas adds, discussing yacht rock. “But then you suddenly find yourself appreciating it sincerely.”
As yacht rock DJ nights and streaming playlists proliferated, this elevated the artists most closely associated with the style, helping to extend their careers. “I fully expected to be totally forgotten by the end of the 1980s,” McDonald says in A Dockumentary. Instead, the film shows him and Loggins collaborating with the bass virtuoso Thundercat in 2017 and performing at Coachella — one of the world’s most prominent stages.
That said: While the yacht rock label gave some artists a boost, it actually masks the lineage of the music it purports to describe. It serves as camouflage, rather than providing clarity.
Most notably, the term obscures the sizable debt that these records owe to contemporaneous Black music. Many of the tracks associated with the style are steeped in the language of 1970s R&B, conversant with Marvin Gaye‘s intricate, tortured funk, immaculate Quincy Jones productions, and the airy, wrenching ballads Earth, Wind & Fire and the Isley Brothers scattered like birdseed across the second half of the Seventies.
The dialog was facilitated by session musicians who moved easily between worlds. Chuck Rainey played bass with Steely Dan but also appeared on Gaye’s I Want You and Cheryl Lynn’s Cheryl Lynn. Greg Phillinganes handled keyboards for McDonald and Leo Sayer as well as Michael Jackson and Stevie Wonder. Horn player and arranger Jerry Hey hopped from Boz Scaggs and Michael Franks to Teena Marie and Janet Jackson.
A Dockumentary nods to yacht rock’s lineage. “Yacht rock is associated with white groups and white songwriters and producers, but I know more Black yacht rock than I do traditional yacht rock,” Questlove says, pointing to Al Jarreau, the Pointer Sisters’ “Slow Hand,” and George Benson’s “Turn Your Love Around.” That music doesn’t get much play in the typical yacht rock conversation, though — or in A Dockumentary.
What does it mean that one of the strands of white music that was most in touch with the Black music of the 1970s was reclaimed largely as a joke, even if it’s an affectionate one? Armisen believes that “there’s nothing greater, in a way, for any genre to be joked about, because it means that it’s relevant.”
This may be a sensible perspective for a comedian. It’s not surprising, though, that the subjects of the wisecracks don’t always feel the same way. “At first, I felt a little insulted, like we were being made fun of,” says Loggins. “But I began to see that it was also a kind of ass-backwards way to honor us.”
Unlike Loggins, Steely Dan’s Donald Fagen hasn’t reached this stage of acceptance. When the documentary’s director asked him about yacht rock, Fagen cursed at him and hung up the phone, an exchange that was recorded and included in the film. Steely Dan’s longtime producer Gary Katz expressed a similar disinterest in the yacht rock label — albeit using less-colorful language — this summer during an interview with the music manager Scott Barkham in Brooklyn Bridge Park.
It’s not unusual for artists to express hostility towards genre terms. In fact, they are constantly saying they don’t want to be “pigeonholed” or “put in a box.” When the critic Kelefa Sanneh published Major Labels, a book-length defense of musical genre, in 2021, he wrote that artists “hate being labeled. And they think more about the rules they break than about the ones they follow.”
There is certainly a case to be made against the whole idea of summing up a large body of art in a word or two. The result is, all too often, genre descriptors that are either all-encompassingly vague or simply inaccurate. Some labels, however, are at least fairly neutral — “post-punk,” “house music.” Some, on the other hand, have negative connotations, if they’re not downright sneering at the songs they claim to describe: Take “bro country” or “PBR&B.”
As A Dockumentary makes clear, “yacht rock” still reliably elicits chuckles. But even if that humor helped these musicians gain younger followers, it often runs contrary to the tone and themes of their songs. “The term emerged from what was essentially a comedy show,” which had “a really big impact on the way that the music is now ironically appreciated,” Petrusich points out. However, “the records that [these artists] were making were entirely sincere.”
Can those records — and the artists behind them — ever be taken seriously if they’re still being laughed at? Loggins is a surprisingly versatile songwriter with a sinuous delivery and a knack for unpredictable funk. McDonald’s voice stood out even during a time when commanding voices were ubiquitous; songs like “You Belong to Me” and “I Keep Forgettin’ (Every Time You’re Near)” are essential contributions to the soul canon. But when these acts are lumped into yacht rock, they are relegated to the minor leagues, stuck as purveyors of slick chill-out music for the aging and affluent.
“I’ve made peace with ‘yacht rock,’ but for the first few years, I just hated it,” Pack says in A Dockumentary. “I’m like, ‘Why did they pick our generation to make all of our music into a big joke?’”