When singer-songwriter Lizzo's new single, "Grrrls," sparked a heated online discussion over the weekend about ableist language, Black disabled activist Vilissa Thompson noticed that the conversations were dominated by certain people within the disability community.

White disabled people in the U.S. and the U.K. were calling out the singer for using the word "spaz," which many consider an ableist slur. Buried among these critiques, however, was the perspective of Black disabled people, who raised points about the need for cultural nuance and an intersectional lens to the situation.

"The erasure of Black disabled people, when it comes to a Black entertainer, has been very prominent throughout this whole thing," Thompson, a licensed master social worker, told NPR.

Language has history, and it holds different weight to different communities

The term "spaz" originates from the term "spastic," which has historically been used to describe people with spastic paralysis or cerebral palsy. Often used in a derogatory way to describe people with disabilities, "spaz" or "spaz out" has also been used to refer to someone losing physical control or simply acting "weird" or "uncool."

In online conversations, white disabled people in the U.S. and the U.K were speaking about their experiences with the word. Meanwhile, Black people in the U.S. and the U.K. pointed out how the word, which some say is

a part of African American Vernacular English, is used differently by Black people within their countries. Thompson wished there were an amplification of Black disabled people who understand the nuances of those who use the word and those who are reclaiming it.

She pointed out that language evolves and that if the history of the word is offensive or has been used to oppress a particular group, it's on each person to unlearn it.

"The onus is on us to not just unlearn but also update and improve the way that we communicate with each other, so that our words are intentionally used, so that they don't cause unintentional harm," Thompson said.

Thompson believes that the way people go about critiquing others is very important. In reading the discussions online, she said she noticed they perpetuated anti-Blackness and misogynoir, or misogyny directed at Black women.

She noted that rather than fostering an open dialogue about ableist language and engaging in a conversation with Lizzo about it, the critiques piled on and missed the mark.

"I was shocked but not surprised by the way that white disabled people, especially those who claim to be in solidarity with Black disabled people, engaged in the conversation. You are not in solidarity with us if your behavior during this time in addressing Lizzo can be read as problematic [and] offensive," Thompson said.

Holding people accountable is important but so is recognizing the racial dynamics at play

Criticism is much harsher for Black people with high profiles, particularly if they are not disabled and stumble when it comes to disability and language, Thompson added. For example, when white musicians use ableist language in their songs, they may receive some backlash but not the same visceral reaction that Black people do, Thompson said.

"I'm always particular about how white people and non-Black people of color engage with Black women who look a certain way. [Lizzo is] unintentionally a polarizing figure ... because she has the audacity to be comfortable in her skin as a fat Black woman. If she does something that people don't like, the pile-ons feel exacerbated, and at times unnecessarily, when it comes to her," she said.

Lizzo released a statement on Monday acknowledging the "harmful word" in her song and announcing a rerecorded version of the song without the slur in it. "I never want to promote derogatory language. As a fat black woman in America, I've had many hurtful words used against me so I overstand the power words can have (whether intentionally or in my case, unintentionally)," she wrote in her statement.

Shortly after the post and the song's rerelease, disabled people praised Lizzo for being so receptive and for responding well to the community's feedback.

Thompson noted, however, that she was not surprised that Lizzo responded the way that she did. Having done work in Black progressive spaces, Thompson has seen Black people who are not versed in disability but who actively work to do better. They know the importance of understanding when they've messed up and being inclusive to everybody, she said.


"Grace and room for correction are typically not given [to Black people]. The double standard of inconsistent reactions is profound. They don't trust Black people to do the right thing," she said.


{"type":"doc","content":[{"type":"paragraph","content":[{"text":"","type":"text"}]}]}

Shruti Rajkumar

Lizzo rerecorded a lyric in her new song "Grrrls" after disabled fans called out her use of a word that's considered an ableist slur.


Noam Galai/Getty Images for YouTube

Noam Galai/Getty Images for Youtube

Lizzo rerecords 'Grrrls' following criticism over ableist lyric

On Thursday evening, Syd, lead singer of the ill R&B group The Internet, performed at Varsity Theater as part of her Broken Hearts Club tour. It was my first time at Varsity (don’t judge me), and the fans lined up to see Syd perform hits from her latest album, as well as older bops from The Internet.

Roughly two hours after doors opened, Syd arrived on stage with a giant smile on her face and yelled, “MINNESOTA!!” As she stepped towards the front of the stage she was accompanied by red lights that swiftly turned yellow as she began to sing.

Syd donned a beige graphic tee with baggy white cargo pants, black kicks, glistening necklace, with a black cap on top of her growing afro. The confidence that she oozed whilst barely moving was noticeable, and the crowd erupted in cheers and applause.

As the crowd showered her with love, two bottle women walked across the stage with solo cups and bottles of alcohol, pouring a glass for Syd and her bass and keyboard player.

“Minneapolis, let’s go!!! I want to thank y’all for being here tonight,” she said. “I’ve started this tradition for a while, where I like to start every show with a toast. Toast to you, Minneapolis, it’s good to be back. Happy to see all your faces. I don’t know about you all, I want to have a good time tonight. It’s been a minute, but we made it though. We back outside. This is special affair.”

She took a sip of the drink in her Solo cup and her bassist started plucking some strings and instantly the crowd lost control as “Special Affair/Curse” by The Internet was about to play. Syd barely had to sing into her microphone as the crowd was already singing to the song, all while gyrating and recording the performance on their phones.

When she finished, Syd shared with us that 

 album was inspired by her actual heartbreak. “It’s based on a true story,” she said. “We can laugh and scream about it now…it was a real relationship that ended in a lot of pain. That’s life, I learned a lot.”

As she said this, someone from the crowd screams out, “F**k them!” To which Syd replied with a smile and a comforting gaze, “It’s okay….I used to feel that way, but I’m a Taurus.” The crowd lost it, and as they do, Syd continued the dialogue with them about horoscopes and heartbreak.

“Make some noise if you’re a Taurus…I don’t know how many of you have had your heart broken before, but like shattered? Oh you’re a Cancer? Well sh*t, you understand. I’m a simp too. But no, the relationship started off great — imma start at the good part.”

As soon as she finished her the sentence, the upbeat tempo of “Tie the Knot” off the new project played and Syd started singing, “I’ve been on the west side, chillin though a menace while the rent's high…”

Syd combed through other singles off the album, such as “Out Loud,” “Cybah” along with fan favorites from her discography, including arguably her and Kaytranada’s biggest hit, “You’re the One,” which has over 115 million streams on Spotify.

Through it all, we learned that Syd truly is a “simp,” or rather, a hopeless romantic that enjoys falling in love, while enjoying the occasional steamy flings, like the one she describes in “Fast Car,” which she also sang.

“I wrote this song thinking about the scenario. I usually start blabbing, but in this case I was listening to an instrumental. I was seeing myself in my hometown, sunny day. It was me and some fine ass sum, and we were in a very fast car,” Syd said.

“We were driving really slow. I’m not a speed racer for real, but we decided to cruise down the coast in this really fast car. It’s probably a Ferrari F40, it’s what I’m going for. I collect trucks, but if we talking fast cars it’s that F40. It was stopping at a red light and we are making out and the light turns green and we don’t see. Next thing we know is people are honking at this Ferrari F40, with these gay b*****s making out.”

Before she played the song, she asked the crowd to put themselves in that scenario and see if the image she drew up matched the audio. I couldn’t quite see it — it might've been too late for me — but I loved that Syd talked about her writing process while making songs.

All in all, my biggest impression from last night is that Syd is a masterful storyteller that is at her best stringing together oldies with newbies, while sharing stories, bonding with the crowd and allowing them to talk back to her. All while, dancing and smiling the night away.

Syd simply oozes cool — always in rhythm, never off-key, always in control of the moment. Like a 5.0 uber driver, as a passenger (audience member), you never feel a ding, tight curve, the switching of gears, when she’s in control. You’re always at ease and right where you need to be.

“In all seriousness, I’m grateful for you all,” Syd said. “It’s been a weird few years. Not all of us artists were able to just pick up and go outside like this. I’m grateful for you guys to allow me to tour and to do this… I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep doing this, but not being able to do this, made me want to do it. I need this. I need you. Thank you, guys.”

This was her cue into “Smile More” off her 2017 album, 

. As her soft voice rang through Varsity Theater, it was at this moment that I noticed the crowd truly becoming prisoners of the moment — curious where Syd would go next with her story and performance.

Beyond being one of the best vocalists in the game — trust me, live she’s even better — Syd is simply a smoother operator and a mac. For almost two hours, she serenaded us with slow jams, ballads and took requests from the crowd. We even had some bangers sprinkled throughout.

And just like her entrance, Syd sent us home with one final song, one The Internet’s classic, “Girl.” She put her all into that song, like a last embrace and once the beat died down, she magically vanished off stage — real R&B hours at Varsity Theater.

A quick sidebar: earlier in the evening we had an opening act from Destin Conrad, a young artist from Tampa Bay, Florida. He was so good. If you haven’t heard of him yet, check out the song “Bill$” and his recent EP, 

Jeffrey Bissoy-Mattis

The singer’s Broken Hearts Club tour stop lifted up an adoring Minneapolis audience.


Darin Kamnetz for MPR

Syd of The Internet oozes cool at Varsity Theater

 named the best of Broadway in the 2021-22 season. And it was a big night for Jennifer Hudson: At Sunday's Tonys, Hudson became just the 17th person to reach the rarified status of the entertainment industry's version of the grand slam.

A Tony Award is the final piece of the puzzle for Hudson, who reached EGOT status — winning an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and now, a Tony.

, which was nominated for best musical. In the words of the show's creator Michael R. Jackson, the show is "a musical about a young Black gay man named Usher who works as an usher at a Broadway show who is writing a musical about a young Black gay man named Usher who works as an usher at a Broadway show... who is caught in a self-referential loop of his own self hatred." 

 a Daytime Emmy for her role as executive producer for 

and her debut self-titled studio album, and an Oscar for best supporting actress in 

A full list of Tony Award winners can be 

Rina Torchinsky

A Tony award was the final piece of the puzzle for Hudson, who reached EGOT status — or winning an Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony.


Jordan Strauss/Invision/AP

The Tony Awards 2022: Why Jennifer Hudson has just made history

This year, NPR Music is celebrating Black Music Month with an array of brand new Tiny Desk concerts — both from home and from behind our beloved Desk. Together, these artists represent the past, present and future of Black music. This month of carefully curated shows is a celebration of Black artists expressing themselves in ways we've never seen before, and of the Tiny Desk's unique way of showcasing that talent.

To see her is to appreciate a rare portrait. To watch her dance and hear her sing is to fall, entranced, into an uncanny haze. Both snake and its charmer, British Jamaican multidisciplinary artist 

 is a new-age priestess. Surrounded by flames of offering in the hallowed halls of London's St. Matthias Church, the Grammy-nominated artist and her three-piece supporting band deliver a sermon on the perils of devotion. In her three-song Tiny Desk (home) concert — featuring soul-baring ballads like "home with you" and "cellophane" — she honors the strength of vulnerability; her operatic soprano ignites and delivers catharsis. 

After working as a backup dancer with hopes of transitioning to singing, FKA twigs released two EPs before achieving widespread critical acclaim with her debut studio album, 2014's 

, and its lead single, "Two Weeks." A classically trained singer, FKA twigs makes music that blends deceptively demure vocals with otherworldly trip-hop beats. She perfected this signature avant-garde sound on her sophomore album, 2019's 

, establishing herself as a direct musical descendent of iconic innovators like 

. Fresh off the success of her recent mixtape, 

, FKA Twigs blesses viewers with a performance of her latest song, "killer." 

LaTesha Harris

In the hallowed halls of London's St. Matthias Church, the innovative musician performs a cathartic set, including her new song "killer."


FKA twigs

FKA twigs: Tiny Desk (Home) Concert

Tyler Colon played college basketball. He won an MTV reality show. He's tried podcasting, modeling, and acting. But in 2019, he got serious about pursuing music.

"After singing in my car for, like, six months for an hour and a half every single day, I released 'Stuck In The Middle,'" he said.

He put it up on TikTok under his stage name, Tai Verdes. At the time, he was working at a Verizon store.

"I saw other people like me that had no following end up on the radio," he said. "And when you see that happen multiple times because of one app, it's kind of like 'a-duh', you know what I'm saying? Like, why not?"

Before he knew it, he was fielding calls from presidents of record labels during his lunch break. He got a record deal, made a debut album, and is currently on a 22-city tour across America. "Stuck In The Middle" has been streamed well over 100 million times on Spotify.

TikTok has flipped the script on the music industry, and everyone from artists to analysts and even marketing bosses at the top labels are hustling to catch up.

Verdes thinks he would have made it without TikTok, but he also noticed that his fans on the app were especially engaged. They would go from his TikTok to his Spotify page or his YouTube channel.

"You just made this video, you have this song, you have this melody that they really like. They want to go get that. You just gave them something," he said. 

Verdes isn't the only one to notice this trend, and that TikTok users interact with music differently.

"They're not just listening to music in a sort of, like, lean-back, passive way," says music industry analyst Tatiana Cirisano. "They're more likely to do more lean-forward activities, like creating playlists or listening to full albums on streaming or buying merchandise."

Consumer behavior data compiled by Cirisano

 shows TikTok users are more likely to spend money on music, and be more invested in it. 40% of active TikTok users pay a monthly subscription for music, compared to 25% of the general population. And 17% buy artist merchandise monthly, compared to 9% of the general population. 

What's more, TikTok users often respond to music with their own videos, using features built into the app design. They might lip-sync a song, make up a dance, or try to sing it.

"It's changed music listening from being a one-way relationship where a song comes out and you listen to it on your own, to something that you participate in,"  Cirisano said. "I mean, I don't think that any other social media app has done that to this degree. TikTok is peak UGC in that way."

UGC — short for "user-generated content" — is one of the buzzwords currently going around in the music industry. 

Nina Webb is the head of marketing at Atlantic Records and said when she first started out in the industry, it was a bit simpler. 

"It used to be a puzzle for a 3-year-old. You had video and radio," she said. "And you just needed money and leverage and influence as a label. And now I feel like it's the 1,000 piece gray sky where TikTok is the only piece that will individually move the dial the way it does."

Webb knows exactly what she's talking about. Last August, an Atlantic Records artist named Gayle released a song called "ABCDEFU."

They promoted the song on TikTok a lot, but it didn't really take off until months later when the sign language sub-community of TikTok got a hold of it in the middle of  Gayle's tour.

Note: This TikTok post includes profanity in lyrics and sign language that some might find objectionable.

"She saw the difference from playing at the beginning of the tour, when people, like, somewhat kind of heard this or looked it up, to by the end — I mean, it was like the whole place was going crazy," Webb said. "So November was really the tipping point, and it was 100% the sign language community."

That user-generated content made all the difference for Gayle. Her song sat at No. 1 on the Billboard Global 200 chart for 11 weeks.

These days, there's a cottage industry dedicated to marketing a song or artist on TikTok — paying influencers to promote a song, posting short clips to see what people respond to, trying to get a dance challenge going. With 1 billion monthly active users now on TikTok after a surge in downloads over the pandemic, it's not hard to see why.

Webb says she's certainly tried different strategies, but most times when a song takes off on TikTok, it seems to happen organically.

"I mean, there's a million examples of a lot of very expensive campaigns that had no return," she said. "Like, we can't do it. It has to come from fans or the artist because you're talking to Gen Z. They smell everything out."

Sometimes those fans work in unexpected ways. Celine Dion's "It's All Coming Back To Me Now" came out 25 years ago but earlier this year set one-day streaming records on Spotify and YouTube after lip-syncing the most dramatic part of the song became a viral TikTok trend.

Or take the song "Snowman" by Sia. That came out in 2017, but the TikTok challenge came in 2020, where people posted videos of themselves trying to sing the entire chorus in one breath.

Analyst Tatiana Cirisano says the music industry used to hunt for unknown talent and develop it. But the rise of TikTok has helped to flip that formula.

"I think that we are increasingly in an era where audiences are choosing what they want to hear, and record labels and the rest of the music industry are sort of listening to that," she said.

There are downsides to this too, though. TikTok might create opportunities for musicians, but some artists feel that they have to constantly be "on". Creator burnout is real.

"There's kind of this fear, I think, for people that have built huge followings on TikTok that if they stop at any point, people will just stop following them or they'll forget or they'll move on," Cirisano said.

"At times, people's attention spans are shorter and just the content trend doesn't stop."

Damoyee is a 21-year-old an independent music artist/content creator from Dallas, Texas. She is a composer, producer, singer, songwriter, and she plays a lot of instruments.

She posts a lot of covers and remixes of other songs, usually trending ones. And it's a lot of work. A minute-long TikTok usually takes around six hours to create.

"I know starting out, it took me a little less than a week to get 100 followers," she said. "And I remember, like, seeing one-zero-zero, I freaked out. I thought, hey, I'm famous, you know? I was grateful," Damoyee says with a laugh.

Sometimes a video flops, and sometimes it takes off. But Damoyee says that she generally feels TikTok helps boost musicians like her. That doesn't make it easy.

Damoyee is learning to balance her school work, personal life and the social following she's trying to build.

"It's definitely been a bit of a challenge and it has taken a toll, you know, especially on my mental health," she says. "I've gone, at the latest ... a month without posting because I just needed to breathe."

"I will say for now, the goal is to thrive as an independent artist without looking at any labels at the moment and to still build a platform to the point where I would feel comfortable releasing music alone," she said.


In other words, she hopes to find that perfect balance between cultivating her online following and making music. And when she does, she's hoping she won't have to ask the traditional powers in the industry for recognition. They may call her first.


Mia Venkat

TikTok has flipped the script on the music industry, and everyone from artists to analysts and even marketing bosses at the top labels are trying to catch up.


Listen to the Story

 Paul Taylor/Getty Images; Zayrha Rodriguez/NPR

Austin Cieszko

Acacia Evans

Mel Gonzalez

TikTok has changed music — and the industry is hustling to catch up

I first met Mati in 17th Avenue Residence Hall on the campus of the University of Minnesota. Although he was a high school senior at the time, he gallivanted through the halls with the confidence and charisma of a star athlete. That night, and many other nights we've spent together, I laughed harder than I ever had before. Mati has natural charisma and a talent for eliciting emotions and reactions out of people. These days, he's combining that talent with his new pursuit of making music.

Mati's music video for "Back to the Basics" shows him cruising confidently through the streets of his hometown: Minneapolis. He shares the story of finding himself with a sense of zeal that might have you thinking he's a veteran, but at 21 years old, Mati says that he's a newcomer to the music scene. "I started about eight months ago as a hobby, almost like therapy," Mati confessed. "I was going through things just like everybody else and I was trying to find a way to cope with it."

"Back To The Basics" - Mati (OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO)

Mati cites rappers like Rod Wave and Lil Durk as influences on his melodic, emotional music; music that he believes people will see themselves in and serve as help through the hardships of life. It took time for Mati to find himself musically, but today he says he's all in. "I started really taking this seriously four months ago," Mati said. "When I say seriously, I mean that I'm not really worried about where this is gonna take me. I realized the happiness it was bringing me to make music. It just became like an addiction almost, wanting to get in the studio all the time."

One of the greatest barriers young artists face is finding a decent recording space that is consistently available. Countless nascent careers have been prematurely terminated due to poor sound quality. How many demo tapes have been thrown away because of staticky, unclear sound that obscures the artist's intention? The "lo-fi" label can only take you so far. A clean, cohesive, professional sound that people want to hear is only possible in the right environment and with the right people. Lucky for Mati, he has that and more in Water Wave.

Water Wave is a local collective that seems to have their hands in everything: a buzzing thrift shop and recording studio in Minneapolis's Como neighborhood, gaming, 

, podcasts, and most significantly, music journalism. Founded in 2018 by Eric Geisthardt, Jr., Kelvin Kuria, and Reese Leraux, Water Wave was always meant to be a platform for new and upcoming Minnesota hip-hop artists.

"The idea behind it was mainly to start with our guys and just have a platform where we're doing videos of them making music, interviews, and party life," Geisthardt said. "Basically, just trying to paint the picture of these artists so that they have an actual image. Then we started reaching out to other artists and interviewing them to get their stories out there and help their brand grow."

One of the first few artists that Water Wave interviewed in 2018 was Weegie, a close friend of Mati's. Mati came with Weegie to his interview and got to know Eric and Kelvin, bonding more throughout the summer at a show at UW River Falls and even more when Eric and Kelvin moved to Minneapolis. Mati credits Water Wave with helping him get his start in music.

"I got to see a lot of music behind the scenes," Mati explained. "I would play around with music every now and then because I had somewhere to record available to me. But it was mainly just for fun...I wasn't very good at the time, but I just kept going. I was there from pretty early on to see these guys grow. They've helped me out a lot in my journey."

The relationship between Water Wave and Mati is symbiotic, with co-founder Kelvin Kuria speaking praise upon Mati's role in the collective. "Mati adds a lot," Kuria affirmed. "Away from the music side, he's been a very strong networking connection. He's still a student at the U and a lot of the people that he's made friends with and done classes with have ended up learning about Water Wave and becoming part of our everyday mission to make things better out here."

A lot of things come to mind when thinking of Minneapolis: lakes, a gigantic spoon holding a cherry that has water spraying out of it for some reason, passive-aggressive behaviors, etc. Hip-hop, however, has not been one of the things closely associated with the city in recent years. The "everyday mission" that Kuria referred to is establish Minneapolis as one of the foremost cities in hip-hop today and to serve as a beacon and resource for Minnesota hip-hop artists.

"We want to put that spotlight on Minneapolis that we don't have," Kuria said. "There's places like Chicago, Atlanta, L.A., New York... Those are all huge staples; places in the music scene that everyone knows... But there are also these places like Tennessee and Detroit, whose rap scenes are going crazy right now. Minneapolis can be that next spotlight. That next new rap scene that everyone really likes. I just feel like there's not really a center, a place that is putting that spotlight right on Minnesota. I feel like we can be that with Water Wave."

Geisthardt further explained the intentions behind Water Wave. "We want to be the hub that people can go to and find other Minneapolis rappers," he said. "They can go to this channel and know we've been interviewing Minnesota rappers for years and have it be a domino effect. This guy goes big and then their next recommended video is this rapper's music video or concert recap. As long as people start doing better, it trickles down and everyone grows together."

Mati and the Water Wave collective are doing the work to create a community for hip-hop artists in Minnesota and a platform that can springboard local artists. Without Water Wave, Mati is sure that he wouldn't have begun his music career. "I don't think I would have started making music if I if I wasn't involved with Water Wave," Mati said. "It's kind of like a family vibe, you know? I just don't see anybody else as far as our generation doing what Water Wave is doing. There are obviously other more established things, like The Current and a couple others that I'm probably forgetting, but as far as the youth, I don't see anybody else doing what Water Wave is doing. I'm definitely proud to be a part of it."

With his melodic and emotional tracks, Mati hopes to connect with people through music and create a memorable experience that connects him to his audience. His most recent release, "Good Riddance," does just that. Pensive chords, reflective lyrics, and a killer sample of "Heaven is a Place on Earth" by Belinda Carlisle make it easy to see where he's coming from.

"Good Riddance" - Mati (OFFICIAL MUSIC VIDEO)

"I was just talking about pain I went through at a certain time," Mati said. "I was able to put it into words on the track." The struggle in creating music for music's sake while also releasing it commercially is finding a balance in expectations of how the song performs. Mati feels that pain, but for him it's about more than views.

"I feel like the song is a little slept-on right now," Mati said. "It's not about the views or anything like that. But sometimes as an artist when you put out something that's emotional like that you really want people to hear it.  Because you understand that it could help them through something."

Creating anything opens the possibility of facing a creative block: a rut where nothing feels good, and a change is needed. Mati has been there, too. "I have over 150 songs unreleased. Only four songs are up on streaming. As an artist, most of the songs you make are not going to be good songs. I don't care who you are, that's just how life is. That's just how music is. Whether it's writer's block or just your voice, you might just be in a slump where you're not satisfied, and you can make a good song."

The feeling is discouraging for Mati, but he presses on and uses his love for music as a North Star to guide himself through the rough patches. "I love music so much and I respect music so much to the point where I'm gonna give it my all," Mati said. "Some weeks are not going to be good. I need to go to and have real life experiences to make music. Otherwise, I'm just going to be talking about the same things. I don't really like to make music if I have nothing to talk about."

Although I've known Mati personally for some time now, I've gotten to know a new side of him through his music. A more emotional and introspective version of him that deepens my appreciation for all the other facets of his personality. Toward the end of our conversation, I asked Mati what was important to him in life, to which he replied, "Family." Beyond blood family, he noted close friends and partners as those important to him.

"I want everybody to be good and I want to be able to provide for everybody," Mati said firmly. "I'm very protective of the ones I love and who's in my circle. I don't like people steering off in the wrong direction and stuff like that. I'm really quick to put myself in somebody's business because I love them." Mati counts Water Wave in this family as well but knows he won't have to look out for them going in the wrong direction. "Honestly, I don't know anybody more motivated than those guys. And that's helped me become even more motivated."

Julian Green built and manages the music library for Carbon Sound and oversees content creation.  


Julian Green

The Water Wave collective aims to serve as a beacon and resource for Minnesota hip-hop artists - like Mati, a rising Minneapolis rapper who's still a student at the University of Minnesota.


Mati, seen in silhouette against blue-lit background.

Beau Brooks, courtesy the artist

With the Water Wave collective behind him, Mati rises as a vibrant new voice in Minneapolis hip-hop

 is a talented rapper and singer. She has quickly become one of the rising bright stars in the local space with songs like “Immortal” (ft. 

One of the greatest joys of reporting on Twin Cities hip-hop is taking the time to connect with artists — truly taking the time to know them and understand their commitment and love of their craft.

It’s with this love that I sat down with Monique before the release of her debut EP 

, out today. We chopped it about her origins, how she gets camera-ready, her experience as a Black woman from the Midwest, and why she doesn’t quite feel that she’s arrived.

When did your musical journey begin? And when did you start giving it your all?

It began when I was a kid, with my dad. He used to make beats and he would be like, "Let's go bar for bar." Like, "Finish my bar, and rap with me” and be silly in that way. And then I started writing as a kid, but I never shared it or really wanted to show anybody. Honestly, 2020 was when I decided to take my music serious. I tried to push out more, put some sort of intention behind the meaning of my music, and saved up for visuals.

What was happening in your life or things that you were observing that motivated you to say, "You know what, I'm gonna do this right now?"

2018 was the year I graduated from college. I went to school for elementary school teaching. I decided to stop teaching school. And so that year into 2019, I was just working odd jobs. I just wasn't really rocking with the school system. I originally thought I would be able to make a bigger change in education. And I realized I wasn't happy, so I decided to full-force work to find my art and start creating more music. In 2019 I was going to sessions, hanging out, turning up, but I wasn't really taking that time. When the pandemic hit, I was like, "What am I doing with my life?" The pandemic gave me time to think about what I wanted to do and gave me space to explore new music and tap into my own artistry a little more.

How much have the Twin Cities influenced you as an artist, especially when you started to take it more seriously these past few years? And what does the Minneapolis sound and Ricki Monique sound like?

I'm from St. Paul. I was born, like, right down the street from Jimmy Lee. My grandpa built a house on Iglehart. He originally had a house in the Rondo neighborhood, and they got paid to move so that they could build I-94. My grandparents are from Mississippi. But my parents are teachers who always worked in North Minneapolis, so I was always there. And then we moved to Brooklyn Park, but I still was in North Minneapolis all the time. And then going to high school in Robbinsdale. It was just a lot of culture shock for me. I always went to schools in North Minneapolis. So being in all-Black schools having all Black teachers to then going to Robbinsdale where I'm the minority. And the Black kids there are very vocal about their self hatred, very vocal about Black being bad, and vocal about Black women being ugly or wrong played a really big role and hurt me in a lot of ways.

My music is really just me expressing that idea that I came from these Mississippi grandparents who built their own home, moved around the city, have experienced so many different parts of the city, picked up so many different relationships and friendships, and trauma in some ways, but been able to kind of move and heal through it. And I'd say the sound is a mixture of me also growing up listening to Erykah Badu and D'Angelo. Like, 

 was big in our household. My parents are older, so they loved Marvin Gaye and Stevie Wonder. I heard all of those instruments in a household where that was prevalent, but I wanted to rap and be able to, like, fuse all of that together, and really talk about my experience. As a Black girl from the Midwest, my story is very different than somebody would hear coming from Atlanta or somebody you would hear coming from LA.

I hear your music as almost like an act of defiance in many ways. Like a subtle, yet not-so-subtle act of defiance.

It definitely is, especially when it comes to hip-hop. So many people act like female rap is different. Oh, there's more female rappers nowadays than there were before or you'll listen to a Nicki [Minaj] interview and they always asked her, “How do you feel about there being more female rappers now?” It's not that there's more of us now, it's that more of us are able to get into the spotlight. And so it's definitely an act of defiance, like, I want Black women's voices and stories to be heard, period. And I really want to inspire Black women to tell their story in whatever way they want.

Speaking about the spotlight, you have more than 8,000 Instagram followers, and your songs and videos have been going crazy. How do you build that momentum, step into the spotlight, and galvanize listeners?

The biggest fight has been knowing that I deserve it, or knowing that it's mine. Even after "Immortal" came out, I wasn't expecting that big of a response. But I knew it was something when SZA shared it. I was like, "Not SZA?!"  She did it on her Instagram story, and my whole team and I literally flipped out. I think after dropping that song, I even had this bout of depression, where I was like, "Do I even deserve this? Like, is this even right?” My biggest battle has been telling myself that I deserve this: concepting the music video, saving up the money for it, being in that space performing. Literally, my fight was believing that that was mine, and that I deserved it. The other fight has been believing in my city. Like, I really do believe in Minneapolis, I really do believe in the art scene here. And I believe in our ability to push each other. I'm literally here because people in Minnesota and Minneapolis love me and have shared my music. I hear so many artists and the people in Minneapolis say, "They don't care about us. They don't want to see us win, etc., etc." I had to really believe in my city. I just have to show them that I deserve to win. 

When I think about “Immortal,” the first thing that comes to mind is that you and the camera have an incredible relationship. And what really came through was your storytelling. How do you create that look, and tell these incredible stories?

I swear it's having a team. I tried to make my own music video in 2019, and crashed and burned, because I tried to do everything. I did the costume design, I created and directed it, I did the choreography, and, as you can see, the video's not out. I will say that it will never see the light of day. But that lesson taught me to build a team. 

 and Justin Blake really wanted to tell a story just like mine, and that's why I went to them. I said I really need this to be a story. From there, in regards to looking flawless, having my makeup folks Gabby Clark and Diamond Stower, and then Vintage Garden literally designed every costume. Maddie Rebecca is her name – the jewelry she designed and styled all my looks. I know it sounds corny like I'm plugging people, but I really would not have been able to do this without them. 

I'm extremely uncomfortable in front of the camera. That might be hard to believe, but you should see the test shots that we have. So I made sure to ask Vie Boheme, who is a performer, actress, and singer to be my director of performance. And she literally trained me two months in advance for this. So I just had to say I needed a team, ask God for it. And it literally just came to me. I literally feel like that's my secret. But in regards to knowing that I want to tell a story or the ability to tell a story, I feel like that comes from my childhood of growing up with Black teachers. And having them expose me to griots, expose me to African storytelling, expose me to the power of sharing history orally. And that's really what my whole mission and vision is.

How involved was your team in the way that you style your hair? In each scene, you had a different style. What does Black hair mean to you and what does it represent your music videos?

I actually did my own hair for the music video. That's the one thing I did. Someone else braided my hair, her name is Deja, but I put the beads in and did the styling and everything. I did my own twists. The person who I have as my stylist now seems like she's going to be doing my hair for everything. If she wants me to lean more towards quick weaves or straight hair or like wavy hair, and I was thinking I'm like, my aesthetic is more braids, more twists, more bantu knots, like, more natural stuff. I've always had a very interesting relationship with my hair. I do feel very naked and uncomfortable when my natural hair is out. And that's something healing and growing through. But when I do wear protective styles, like braids, and twists, I feel beautiful. I feel together. And that's something I need to work on. But at the same time, I'm like, “Sh*t is working for me.” I gotta a lot of sh*t right now to worry about, I don't need to be worried about my hair.

Charles was like, "Listen, I know you like to come to work crazy with your hair. Please do that for this video." He was like, "We need to see it." We actually did the shots at the park when I had the braids like a month after everything else. So, I was kind of like, "You know, bro, I'm just gonna wear these braids." And he was like, "You better do something different than just braids, you better add some sh*t." He really pushed me to style my hair. I'm happy he pushed me in that way, because I got to have more fun with my hair.

How long did it take to complete the entire video for “Immortal”?

It took a while. So me and yourbeautifulruin made the song, "Immortal," fall of 2020. And when we had made a few others we were just like, "We can't just like drop this sh*t. We need something to go with it." So in November, I met with Charle and Justin. So it was 2020. And then we actually shot in June 2021. And then as you can see, it came out in 2022. It was a pretty long process. And part of it was I had applied for a grant to see if I'd be able to pay. I didn't get the grant. So I had to literally save my own money for it. But it came very fast. The universe was like, "You said it's happening, so it's gonna happen." So it took a very long time, but it was worth the wait.

Something else I loved from the “Immortal” video is that you turned Minneapolis into a movie. It will be a legitimate artifact that we're gonna have to cherish for a very long time. I don't think I've ever seen Minneapolis depicted like that. How important is it to show where you come from?

It was a very intentional decision. After the uprising and everything, I was just like, "I don't want to focus on trauma, I don't want to focus on sadness. I want to focus on my journey." So originally, the concept was this juxtaposition of an artist who doesn't go after what they know they should and this artist that does, to show the difference in their trajectory and where they go. And I think that's something I was battling for so long. And so my intention will always be to tell my truth and actually share my story.

Who are some artists that inspire or motivate you?

I'm very inspired by NoName. I'm very inspired by Saba, like those artists who tell their story and don't give a f*ck if people understand what they're talking about or not. I don't think my city needs me to sit here and talk about death or Black death. My play will always be "Let's talk about how we can create this soft space for ourselves." How can we curate this beautiful world of our own? 

I also have to ask you about your unique relationship with other Twin Cities artists like 

.  What is it like to have another dope Black woman in your circle also pushing the music scene?

XINA is somebody who I organically connected with. She wanted me to be in her music video back in 2020. So I went with her to a cabin, and that was my first time hanging out with her. And we stayed there and shot her video. And from there, we hit it off. And so people like her, people like Essjay the Afrocentric Ratchet. My dream is to do a joint interview with all of the amazing women, who I'm friends with, who made it out of this city. And for people to say, "How did all of y'all end up making it?" And I want it to come out that the way that we made it was by sticking together and having that support. 

XINA supports me in so many different ways. She's somebody that I can call and talk to about what I'm going through, and she will immediately understand what I'm saying. I'm saying with Essjay, like, our experience as as femme artists in the city, we're the same in a lot of ways. Sometimes it's hard to work with no producers, sometimes it's hard to break out and for people to actually understand what you're doing. We understand each other in that way. And so yeah, the relationship I have with XINA is a very sacred one that I am so grateful that I have because she's my reflection. She literally inspires me when she drops something and it blows up and I'm like, "We can do that." But you know, it's very much a “we win” sort of thing. And same for me when I dropped “Immortal.” That was her win, too.

Earlier you mentioned more and more female artists coming up. It's not that they weren't there, obviously, it's just that now they're recognizing their power, and they're just doing their thing. What do you think has been the catalyst for the wave of more female emcees in recent years?

I'm feeling like the platforms are opening up. Like after the callouts [of summer 2020, where women in the Twin Cities publicly shared the names of male sexual abusers] and after people in the city were kind of like, "Nah, we're not going for this. We're not going for that these people are dangerous, or the way that these publications are moving is racist." We finally have this space where these platforms are opening up to us as Black women, when before those doors were closed so hard. So I think we're putting each other on. We will share with each other if this producer is safe to work with. So come work with him, you know. We know that this platform is a good one for us. So, "Hey, come perform the song that we have together with me here." And then people see that person and say like, "Oh sh*t, would you be interested in doing a show here next time?" I think it's really just, we're kind of in that space where we're feeling safer. We're in that space where more doors are opening up for us, and we're inspiring each other and we're pushing in and pulling each other up in that way.

I feel like right now we're going through a golden age like no other right now in Twin Cities hip-hop. Just this year I feel that I've featured 20-plus new artists in my columns. What's your hope for Twin Cities hip-hop in the future?

Honestly, my hope would be for there to be multiple genres of hip-hop celebrated and pulled up in the same space. And I think it's already happening, but you have a lot of alternative hip-hop here as well. Love me some Juice [Lord], love me some Destiny [Roberts], but they're in a very specific pocket of hip-hop. I feel like I'm another pocket of hip-hop. Darko is a completely different pocket of hip-hop, you know. So just seeing those different pockets thrive and for the people who are coming after us not have to do any of the work that we had to do, we just put them there. So that they can start with that information. Rather than people having to learn these lessons all over again, I don't want that. I really want it to be where we can put people on, and we don't have to leave. So my hope for the Twin Cities is that people can make it here, and that we can really build some sort of club for ourselves here.

What role do fans, local media, upstart media, traditional media in the cities play in making sure that you can continue doing the dope stuff that you're doing? How can we be better?

I feel like there's a couple things like one big one is not being complacent. Like, I think a big issue with Minneapolis is that people are fine with being “Minneapolis famous.” But it's, like, our publications could be national. Because we have something different here, our artists here are different than you will find anywhere else. You know, our stories here are different. So if our publications and if our platforms were thinking on that national level, they would be able to take the artists here and put them somewhere else. And we would all be making more money, every one of us. So I think a big thing would be stepping out of that complacent mindset and getting more into that wanting more and ready to hustle and ready to be gritty and not just wanting to be “Minnesota famous.” And of course, I'm always going to say more Black writers  like you and more Black people in higher-up positions. Or even just that incubation concept of helping some young person who wants to start their own platform, learn from the big dogs who have been there. For example, what if 

The Current were to incubate Radio Vanguard

? Like, just that concept of helping people, who are newer to the game, get to a higher level.

Do you feel as if you've arrived, like you've made it? And if no, what's missing?

I don't feel like I've arrived. I feel like I've arrived to 

. I had my friend send me a reel yesterday. It was like, when you're in your house, and then you realize this is what you've prayed for. I had that moment like, "Oh sh*t, I've prayed to be where I'm at right now." I'm constantly thinking about the next step. I forget that all the time. But, I think what's missing is the tour, you know, I want to live somewhere else for a while, and just experience that. I want to meet more artists to collaborate with. I have so many producers, so many artists who I know I'm going to collaborate with soon. And financially, I'm not doing the best. It looks like I am, but I'm figuring that out. What does it look like to be able to sustain your life monetarily as an artist? To full-time be able to do music, that will be amazing. What does that look like for me? And how can that happen without me selling myself? There's a lot of things that I feel are missing, but I wouldn't necessarily say they're missing. I feel like at this moment, they're not here yet. But it's coming. I can feel it coming.

Lastly, where does Ricki Monique see herself in a few years?

That question! My friend's mom asked me, “So what do you want to do with this music stuff?” And I was like, "What do you mean?” She was like, "What do you what do you see yourself doing in the long term?" And I literally said, "You know, just making the music." She's like, "Okay, but what is that going to do?" Basically, I went home and I took a nap. I was like, "You just stressed me out, I'm sleeping."

In the next three years, I have a vision wall in my room. So I'm referring to that right now. God willing, God willing, I will have my own apartment space, you know, somewhere warm, where I don't have to experience the winters here. Be able to help my mom out. Be able to create, really expand on what I'm already doing. I can't wait to grow as a writer. I can't wait to grow in my ear as a musician, and grow with yourbeautifulruin and make more amazing work. He and I are just starting. We're at our baby stage. I can't wait to be kids with him. I can't wait to be teenagers with him. In three years, I hope to have grown in my craft and to be somewhere where I'm confident as an emcee, because I'm still still gaining it. It's not here fully yet. And I hope to also be in a place where my onstage performance can reflect what you said about the storytelling piece. I would love to bring that theater and that storytelling to the stage as a part of my sets as well. So dreaming about what that looks like for me is something that I'm excited about in the next few years to see what that turns into for me.

. Stream it wherever you listen to music!

The Twin Cities rapper and singer opens up about her Midwest experience on her debut EP, ‘Good Seeds.’


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