La Doña's latest release is a tale of perseverance — its story born from the hard-won successes and significant roadblocks familiar to many independent artists. 

Can't Eat Clout  — a four track, mutli-genre tale of resilience sung and rapped mostly in Spanish — follows a protagonist named Paloma who battles doubt, loss and expectations. While songs like "Paloma No Vuelve Amar" are, on the surface, about love, the EP's central message is the importance of standing in your truth. 

Developed in the aftermath of a "really bad industry breakup," Can't Eat Clout is La Doña’s aural manifesto. The album is framed by a feminist lens, unabashedly pointing allegorical fingers without losing relation to the dancefloor.  

"I was going in a different direction than a lot of people had expected me to do after my first EP," the San Francisco-based singer/songwriter and multi-instrumentalist tells GRAMMY.com. "Can't Eat Clout is a reflection on my issues with the music industry and how it can be really exploitative. It can be really obfuscating of artists' true interests and desires." 

Born Cecilia Peña-Govea, La Doña's truest interests and desires are rooted in her community. The child of activists and musicians, La Doña began playing trumpet with her father's conjunto at age seven. Her love of music and understanding of the way it shapes identity was deepened by the Bay Area's myriad and intersecting sounds. 

Following her 2020 EP Algo Nuevo, which was released just in time for California's COVID-19 lockdown, La Doña was determined to create the sound she loved to hear: something big, representative of her community, and truth-telling. Crucially, Can't Eat Clout was released on an independent record label and La Doña was highly involved in its production.

La Doña's statement of truth has certainly caught on. She recently performed at Outside Lands — one of San Francisco's biggest festivals, a highlight for the Bay Area native. Plus, President Obama included her 2022 single "Penas Con Pan" on his 2023 summer playlist. 

That the former president would appreciate her dembow ode to magic mushrooms might be something of a surprise; that audiences would appreciate her aurally adventurous EP is not. In a short, seductively powerful package, Can't Eat Clout mixes salsa, corrido and hip-hop influences — La Doña even throws in a bit of doo-wop for good measure.  

"This story that's autobiographical for me, it really does have different points. I felt that those would be best captured by having very sonically distinct moments," she notes.

La Doña acts as her own manager and musical director, in addition to being a teaching fellow. On what may be a rare break, she spoke with GRAMMY.com about the intersection of music and identity, and how Can't Eat Clout came to be.

I know that activism is important to you personally, and you explore it through your art. Can you explain the origins of that intersection?

I come from a big family of community organizers. My tía was one of the lead organizers on the UFW. All of the family was involved in the Farm Workers Movement, and later in the Central American Solidarity Movement up here in the Bay.

Music was always heavily intertwined with organizing work and any type of mobilization. In the Farm Workers Union, they would always start their meetings with "De Colores" and close with "De Colores" and have music. My father and the rest of his family was instrumental, no pun intended, in creating that soundtrack and having that musical presence.

He was always on the front line and always part of those demonstrations, and part of those calls to action presenting Chicano music or movement music. My mom's background was more in the folk revival movement, but caring a lot about roots music and the histories and union music too. 

My sister and I were raised to hold that responsibility and that duty in knowing that music is fun for us and for our friends and family, but it's also a tool for connecting people and for bringing love and connectivity to places that are very heavy, and that can be extremely exhausting for participants and for organizers. 

I've always known that to be my role. I feel like it does carry over into my project with La Doña.

Does Can't Eat Clout follow that thread in any way?

[The music industry] can be really manipulative – capitalism is shaping who people are supporting and how they're able to show up for artists, and just the pressures that we face to put out certain messaging or imagery. 

The whole EP is kind of an exploration or a snapshot of the story of me just saying, F—that. I'm going to do what I want to do, and it's going to look this way. If you're with it, you're with it, and if you're not, then that's okay. 

This EP was a community effort of childhood friends, family, and local musicians. Why was having that collaborative process and that big live band so important?

I think what I've just been clawing my way closer and closer to is how I started playing music, which is in a big band and in that live performance setting. We did live sessions to accompany three out of four of the tracks, and that was with a 13-piece band that I arranged and composed for, and directed and led.

I never would have been able to convince a major label to pay for a band like that. I never would've been able to lean on another musical director to put together a band of mostly femme, mostly queer, mostly BIPOC artists and musicians.

Hearing huge bands and growing up playing in my father's salsa bad, Los Compas, that's always just been the goal. That's always been what I think sounds best, what I think crowds respond to the most. To be able to put such a big group together, it's always been my intention.

The separation from the artist and all the different components of their artistry is really dangerous and really capitalistic, and I don't like it. I think that having a bigger collective experience on stage facilitates just a more cohesive connection to the audience and to the community. 

How did this EP come together sonically? You have a few songs that are really cohesive, and then there's one that's in a very different tradition.

There are so many different cultural elements that are going into what we know as Chicanidad.

Somebody that didn't share any of my cultural background might listen to the EP and be like, She has hip-hop and now she has a flamenco intro and now she has a doo-wop, what is going on? But for those of us who grew up with all of these different musics, it feels just like any Sunday in the hood, you're going to hear all of these different types of music and they all capture different moments in the story that I'm telling.

I'm going to be releasing a libretto that is the narrative of the entire EP, the story of Paloma: how she is interacting with the music industry, how she's interacting with her lover and this heartbreak, how she's returning home, how she's interacting with a burning world in a rapidly gentrifying city. 

This story is autobiographical for me; it really does have different points. I felt that those would be best captured by having very sonically distinct moments.

I'd love to know a bit more about your writing process. The songs on the EP have such beautiful metaphors, and that seems to be a throughline through your work.

My storytelling is really informed by corridos and from the music that I grew up listening to. The corrido is the style of music that's coming out of the borderlands, and out of northern Mexico, in the mid 1800s to late 1800s. It started as a way to tell war stories of the revolution, what was going on, what battle happened, where, who were the heroes. 

I picked up a lot of metaphors and metaphorical language and symbolism from listening to rancheras and corridos, and then also just writers like Rubén Blades telling stories and using different musical inserts to set the stage and to be evocative of different countries and different personajes. Just using that sonic material as well as the rhythmic and instrumental material to build out just a huge story in a three-minute song. 

To back it up a little bit, is there a song on this EP that you're most proud of?

The title track is a song that I wrote when I was in a really bad industry breakup. I had parted ways with management and with my distributor because I was going in a different direction than a lot of people had expected me to do after my first EP. 

It was a moment of reckoning for me because I was like, People think what I'm doing isn't marketable, and so it's going to be difficult for me to find support and do I want to do this? The answer was definitely; I started this because I have a unique message and a unique sound, and because no one else was going to do it. I had this impetus to create what I wanted to create. 

I think that "Can't Eat Clout," really epitomizes that whole journey for me because it started out over a pretty basic reggaeton beat that a friend had sent me and just vocals. I started adding horn lines and I started adding percussion, and then I started adding group coros, and then I started adding some rap.  The only thing that's the same [from my original idea] is the lyrics, the melody and the story that I'm telling. The style now is like salsa dura, it has a montuno, it has a piano, it has a full percussion section. It's completely live. 

Are most of the songs put together in a similar fashion where you would have an idea and then somebody else would bring something in and then you'd work like that, or was it a little bit more of a streamlined process?

Every single song is different. I wrote "Paloma" in the studio in one day with my producer Tano Brock. I had the melody and the story that I already wanted to tell.

There's songs like "Loser Girl," which I was like, I'm pissed about this and I'm going to write this diss track, and it just came out as a doo-wop. I was singing all of the parts. 

Every song calls for different [elements]; they're all different recipes. You're never going to start with the same elements or even at the same process as other recipes. 

Do you have any thoughts on regional Mexican music becoming something a bit bigger and broader, and available to an audience that isn't Latino?

Mexican music has always been super popular. Latinos are one of the biggest demographics in the United States. I think it's mostly about capitalism where people are able to identify that market, whereas before there was a lot of fear around it. It has been selling and it has been supporting entire generations of people who are living outside of their homes or who are living across the border.

I think that regional Mexican music has always been popping. It has always been really widely consumed as I used to work at Pandora Radio as a Latin music analyst, and that was one of the highest spinning radio stations. It doesn't come as a surprise to me, but it is really beautiful to see that more people are having the opportunity to express themselves in that genre.

I'm a teacher, so one of my biggest sources of pride is seeing how these young kids are growing up. They're using gender inclusive languages, they're able to talk about their sexual identities and being bi or being pan, being trans. To see them so brave and so just aware of all of these intricacies of life and of identity, I think it's just where we're going as a people, I feel really proud and excited to follow their example.

How does feminism and queer identity play a part within your own music?

It's all about taking up that space and saying like, no, I am doing corridos, I am doing banda, I am doing salsa —  I hold those practices very dear, and I studied the roots of them, and I am deeply interested in how they have existed —  but it's time for a changeover; to be telling stories that are more inclusive and appropriate for queer, brown, femme audiences. Because, at the end of the day, we're the culture keepers and culture creators. 

I think that it's about time that we have art that isn't violent towards us, and that is exciting and inspiring for us to tell our stories in ways that are non co-optive.

As a lover of hip-hop and hyphy music, just so much of music is inherently violent towards women and gay people and queer people, and all of us who are falling outside of this very stiff hetero identity. It's super alienating. We need to push further.

Since you brought up hyphy, how has the Bay influenced your sound? 

I feel blessed to be from the Bay Area because it's just a node of so many different cultural practices. It's the foundation of my interests and of my writing and of my theoretical practice.

I would say that the Bay Area is very diverse and it also kind of breaks away from this monolithic Chicano culture where it's only lowrider oldies or only salsa. In the Bay Area there's such a diversity of Latinos and of all types of people. Growing up with that and studying those musics before I even really understood what my ethnic background was, it lends to my desire and my ability to continue to connect across genres, and to bring all types of people and influences into my music.

I would say that two really big loves of my life are hip-hop music and reggaeton, and those are both music that don't come from Mexico, they don't come from California. They're just musics that I found from being in public school with my compañeros, with the rest of the homies, and I think that that kind of access was life-altering.

This has been a huge summer for you in a multitude of ways. What was it like to play Outside Lands?

It was honestly one of the best days of my life, and I'm not like that. 

I'm my manager, I'm my tour manager, I am my music director. I do everything for the project, so I never really have time to be like, This is fun. Oh my God, cute. I'm busy, busy, busy, but Outside Lands was just such a spectacular experience. To have all of my family, all of my homegirls there who worked on the visuals, my outfits…pretty much everybody that I love had a piece in making the show what it was. 

Usually I play with a track, [so] to present the new music, have a 10 piece band on stage on the main stage, it was just a dream come true.

What's next for you?

One of the highlights of my year is going to be headlining at the Fillmore. I never even would've imagined that that would be in the cards for me. It's a really trippy and beautiful and exciting moment for me playing with Son Rompe Pera. We're existing in completely different worlds, but I feel like we have such similar influences and all of their songs, I'm like, I know this music and I feel like they feel the same way about my music. 

I'm a fellow for the California Arts Commission, so I will be working full-time with students writing, composing, arranging, and recording new music with my kids. May and June we'll be releasing music together and having a couple shows.

It feels really special to be at this point in my life where all of my interests and all of my skills are…[being put] to use for the first time in singular projects. I've always had a million jobs, but now being able to tie everything together and offer all of my gifts back to the kids, back to the community, that's what I was raised to do.

Meet The Gen Z Women Claiming Space In The Regional Mexican Music Movement

This year marks the 15th anniversary of San Francisco's Outside Lands, and while the festival always boasts the Bay Area's best, the 2023 lineup is especially stacked with incredible female and nonbinary talent. From aespa making K-pop history to La Doña's homecoming, the fest's latest iteration is bound to be badass.

Whether you're planning on shimmying to Janelle Monáe, spitting every Megan Thee Stallion verse, or sobbing to Lana Del Rey, Outside Lands will be bursting with energy and seemingly endless options.

As San Francisco transforms Golden Gate Park into a lavish festival ground for three days, check out these 10 performers ready to electrify the city.

Megan Thee Stallion

Time to get lit like a match. Megan Thee Stallion has been hitting stages across the country this year — from LA Pride to her hometown of Houston for the Men's NCAA Final Four — and there's no doubt she'll bring the heat to Golden Gate Park on Sunday. Though the three-time GRAMMY winner is known for her high-hype, feel-good freestyles, her latest album, Traumazine, opens up about anxiety and the importance of self-care. So whether you're having a hot or healing girl summer, her headlining set will be the spot for festgoers to let loose.

Janelle Monáe

On Friday, Janelle Monáe will usher San Francisco into The Age of Pleasure. Sensuality and freedom flood the singer's most recent album, and for Monáe's headlining show, fans can expect bursting psychedelic soul, pop and hip-hop in an evening full of color and love.

Emphasizing intersectionality and identity (Monáe identifies as nonbinary), her wide-ranging performance will traverse her trailblazing concept albums like GRAMMY-nominated Dirty Computer and The ArchAndroid. Having conquered both the big screen and the stage as a multihyphenate, Monáe's set will be nothing short of a spectacle.

beabadoobee

Hot off supporting Taylor Swift's Eras Tour, beabadoobee is headed to Golden Gate Park on Sunday afternoon. The Filipino-English singer/songwriter has carved out a space for herself between indie rock and bedroom pop, first becoming known for her sweet, spacey falsetto and her sleeper hit "Coffee" in 2020. The indie star has since expanded her worldbuilding abilities rapidly, spinning intricate scenes from her debut Fake It Flowers into her scenic second album Beatopia — similarly, beabadoobee's Outside Lands set will likely flaunt the vitality of her imagination.

Raveena

Raveena is the definition of grace, and her Friday Outside Lands set is sure to swell with serenity. Mindfulness is the objective of the singer's soulful music as she grounds herself through tranquil mixes of R&B and pop. From her 2019 debut Lucid to 2022's Asha's Awakening, her voice epitomizes comfort whether it floats through delicate strings or stony drums. At Golden Gate Park, Raveena will bring momentary, blissful peace to the festival's chaotic fun.

Ethel Cain

Ethel Cain is ready to take concertgoers to church — even on a Friday. The experimental breakout star is known for dissecting dark, Southern Gothic themes in her music, establishing herself as a rising leader in the modern alternative genre (and also in the LGBTQIA+ community, as she is a trans woman). Her debut album Preacher's Daughter only came out last year, but the critically acclaimed album swiftly earned the musician a cult following. After bewitching Coachella audiences back in April, Cain's upcoming Outside Lands set is sure to be compelling.

NIKI

More than 10 years after she wrote her first original song, NIKI is ready to storm the Twin Peaks stage. Her deeply sincere indie pop drifts with bittersweetness, and it's powerful to witness how well the Indonesian singer's intimacy translates to massive crowds.

Signed to label 88rising in 2017, NIKI soon found herself playing concerts for a growing global fan base that resonated with her heart-to-heart songwriting. Ranging from the dramatic depths of her debut album, MOONCHILD, to 2022's earnest self-titled Nicole, NIKI's Outside Lands set will be perfect for listeners who want to escape with their head in the clouds.

Lana Del Rey

Lana Del Rey is the reigning queen of summertime sadness, and she'll be doin' time at Golden Gate Park as one of Saturday's headliners. Known for spinning tales of tragic romance, the GRAMMY-nominated singer/songwriter plans to enchant audiences at Twin Peaks stage following her release of Did You Know There's a Tunnel Under Ocean Boulevard. Her discography haunts and aches, filled with everything from folky gospel to trap pop; if one thing's for sure, Del Rey's highly anticipated performance is bound to be a spiritual journey.

La Doña

Born and raised in San Francisco, La Doña is making her city proud by performing at the Bay's biggest annual music festival. Taking the Lands End stage with her 11-piece band on Friday, the Chicana musician has come a long way since picking up the trumpet at age 7.

Centering around personal identity and community, her music beautifully merges traditional Latin folk with modern cumbia, reggaeton, and hip-hop. La Doña's progressive sound just earned her a spot on Barack Obama's annual summer playlist, and less than a month later, her hometown will get to see what all of the hype is about.

aespa

When aespa takes to Twin Peaks stage Friday, they'll make history as the first K-pop act to ever perform at Outside Lands. Exploding onto the music scene in 2020, the innovative South Korean girl group gives K-pop a fresh edge, distinctively inspired by hyperpop and hip-hop. The group's name combines the words "avatar," "experience," and "aspect," representing their futuristic style that's often embellished by a metaverse aesthetic. Their mind-blowing Coachella and Governors Ball debuts hinted that aespa is ready to pull out all the stops for their Outside Lands crowd.

Maggie Rogers

Maggie Rogers knows how to break free. The 2020 Best New Artist GRAMMY nominee will get the crowd hyped for Saturday headliners Foo Fighters with an enthralling set. Although her debut album Heard It in a Past Life pulses with steady revelations, her alternative follow-up Surrender leans into sweat and desire. As she's proven at many festivals past, Rogers' show will be infused with bright energy, from the slow emotional burn of "Light On" to the exhilarating "Want Want" as the sun goes down.

10 Moments From Outside Lands 2022: Kim Petras Covers Kate Bush, Larry June Gets Healthy & An Illegal Afterparty

When Code Orange's Jami Morgan came to work with Steve Albini, he knew that he and the band had to be prepared. They knew what they wanted to do, in which order, and "it went as good as any process we've ever had — probably the best," he glowed.

And a big part of that was that Albini —  a legendary musician and creator of now-iconic indie, punk and alternative records —  didn't consider himself any sort of impresario. 

"The man wears a garbage man suit to work every day," Morgan previously told GRAMMY.com while promoting Code Orange's The Above. "It reminds him he's doing a trade… I f—ing loved him. I thought he was the greatest guy."

The masterful The Above was released in 2023, decades into Albini's astonishing legacy both onstage and in the studio. The twisted mastermind behind Big Black and Shellac, and man behind the board for innumerable off-center classics, Steve Albini passed away on the evening of May 7 following a heart attack suffered at his Chicago recording studio, the hallowed Electrical Audio. He was 61. The first Shellac album since 2014, To All Trains, is due May 17.

Albini stuck to his stubborn principles (especially in regard to the music industry), inimitable aesthetics and workaday self-perception until the end. Tributes highlighting his ethos, attitude and vision have been flowing in from all corners of the indie community. The revered label Secretly Canadian called Albini "a wizard who would hate being called a wizard, but who surely made magic."

David Grubbs of Gastr Del Sol called him "a brilliant, infinitely generous person, absolutely one-of-a-kind, and so inspiring to see him change over time and own up to things he outgrew" — meaning old, provocative statements and lyrics.

And mononymous bassist Stin of the bludgeoning noise rock band Chat Pile declared, "No singular artist's body of work has had an impact on me more than that of Steve Albini."

To wade through Albini's entire legacy, and discography, would take a lifetime — and happy hunting, as so much great indie, noise rock, punk, and so much more passed across his desk. Here are five of those albums.

Pixies - Surfer Rosa (1988)

Your mileage may vary on who lit the match for the alternative boom, but Pixies — and their debut Surfer Rosa — deserve a place in that debate. This quicksilver classic introduced us to a lot of Steve Albini's touchstones: capacious miking techniques; unadulterated, audio verite takes; serrated noise.

PJ Harvey - Rid of Me (1993)

Some of Albini's finest hours have resulted from carefully arranging the room, hitting record, and letting an artist stalk the studio like a caged animal.

It happened on Scout Niblett's This Fool Can Die Now; it happened on Laura Jane Grace's Stay Alive; and it most certainly happened on PJ Harvey's Rid of Me, which can be seen as a precedent for both. Let tunes like "Man-Size" take a shot at you; that scar won't heal anytime soon.

Nirvana - In Utero (1993)

Nirvana's unintended swan song in the studio was meant to burn the polished Nevermind in effigy.

And while Kurt Cobain was too much of a pop beautician to fully do that, In Utero is still one of the most bracing and unvarnished mainstream rock albums ever made. Dave Grohl's drum sound on "Scentless Apprentice" alone is a shot to your solar plexus.

"The thing that I was really charmed most by in the whole process was just hearing how good a job the band had done the first time around," Albini told GRAMMY.com upon In Utero's 20th anniversary remix and remastering. "What struck me the most about the [remastering and reissue] process was the fact that everybody was willing to go the full nine yards for quality."

Songs: Ohia - The Magnolia Electric Co. (2003)

When almost a dozen musicians packed into Electrical Audio to make The Magnolia Electric Co., the vibe was, well, electric — prolific singer/songwriter Jason Molina was on the verge of something earth-shaking.

It's up for debate as to whether the album they made was the final Songs: Ohia record, or the first by his following project, Magnolia Electric Co. — is a tempestuous, majestic, symbolism-heavy, Crazy Horse-scaled ride through Molina's troubled psyche.

Code Orange - The Above (2023)

A health issue kept Code Orange from touring behind The Above, which is a shame for many reasons. One is that they're a world-class live band. The other is that The Above consists of their most detailed and accomplished material to date.

The band's frontman Morgan and keyboardist Eric "Shade" Balderose produced The Above, which combines hardcore, metalcore and industrial rock with concision and vision. And by capturing their onstage fire like never before on record, Albini helped glue it all together.

"It was a match made in heaven," Morgan said. And Albini made ferocity, ugliness and transgression seem heavenly all the same.

11 Reasons Why 1993 Was Nirvana's Big Year

What is about the Beatles' Let it Be sessions that continues to bedevil diehards?

Even after their aperture was tremendously widened with Get Back — Peter Jackson's three-part, almost eight hour, 2021 doc — something's always been missing. Because it was meant as a corrective to a film that, well, most of us haven't seen in a long time — if at all.

That's Let it Be, the original 1970 documentary on those contested, pivotal, hot-and-cold sessions, directed by Michael Lindsay-Hogg. Much of the calcified lore around the Beatles' last stand comes not from the film itself, but what we think is in the film.

Let it Be does contain a couple of emotionally charged moments between maturing Beatles. The most famous one: George Harrison getting snippy with Paul McCartney over a guitar part, which might just be the most blown-out-of-proportion squabble in rock history.

But superfans smelled blood in the water: the film had to be a locus for the Beatles' untimely demise. To which the film's director, Michael Lindsay-Hogg, might say: did we see the same movie?

"Looking back from history's vantage point, it seems like everybody drank the bad batch of Kool-Aid," he tells GRAMMY.com. Lindsay-Hogg had just appeared at an NYC screening, and seemed as surprised by it as the fans: "Because the opinion that was first formed about the movie, you could not form on the actual movie we saw the other night."

He's correct. If you saw Get Back, Lindsay-Hogg is the babyfaced, cigar-puffing auteur seen throughout; today, at 84, his original vision has been reclaimed. On May 8, Disney+ unveiled a restored and refreshed version of the Let it Be film — a historical counterweight to Get Back. Temperamentally, though, it's right on the same wavelength, which is bound to surprise some Fabs disciples.

With the benefit of Peter Jackson's sound-polishing magic and Giles Martin's inspired remixes of performances, Let it Be offers a quieter, more muted, more atmospheric take on these sessions. (Think fewer goofy antics, and more tight, lingering shots of four of rock's most evocative faces.)

As you absorb the long-on-ice Let it Be, here are some lesser-known facts about this film, and the era of the Beatles it captures — with a little help from Lindsay-Hogg himself.

The Beatles Were Happy With The Let It Be Film

After Lindsay-Hogg showed the Beatles the final rough cut, he says they all went out to a jovial meal and drinks: "Nice food, collegial, pleasant, witty conversation, nice wine."

Afterward, they went downstairs to a discotheque for nightcaps. "Paul said he thought Let it Be was good. We'd all done a good job," Lindsay-Hogg remembers. "And Ringo and [wife] Maureen were jiving to the music until two in the morning."

"They had a really, really good time," he adds. "And you can see like [in the film], on their faces, their interactions — it was like it always was."

About "That" Fight: Neither Paul Nor George Made A Big Deal

At this point, Beatles fanatics can recite this Harrison-in-a-snit quote to McCartney: "I'll play, you know, whatever you want me to play, or I won't play at all if you don't want me to play. Whatever it is that will please you… I'll do it." (Yes, that's widely viewed among fans as a tremendous deal.)

If this was such a fissure, why did McCartney and Harrison allow it in the film? After all, they had say in the final cut, like the other Beatles.

"Nothing was going to be in the picture that they didn't want," Lindsay-Hogg asserts. "They never commented on that. They took that exchange as like many other exchanges they'd had over the years… but, of course, since they'd broken up a month before [the film's release], everyone was looking for little bits of sharp metal on the sand to think why they'd broken up."

About Ringo's "Not A Lot Of Joy" Comment…

Recently, Ringo Starr opined that there was "not a lot of joy" in the Let it Be film; Lindsay-Hogg says Starr framed it to him as "no joy."

Of course, that's Starr's prerogative. But it's not quite borne out by what we see — especially that merry scene where he and Harrison work out an early draft of Abbey Road's "Octopus's Garden."

"And Ringo's a combination of so pleased to be working on the song, pleased to be working with his friend, glad for the input," Lindsay-Hogg says. "He's a wonderful guy. I mean, he can think what he wants and I will always have greater affection for him.

"Let's see if he changes his mind by the time he's 100," he added mirthfully.

Lindsay-Hogg Thought It'd Never Be Released Again

"I went through many years of thinking, It's not going to come out," Lindsay-Hogg says. In this regard, he characterizes 25 or 30 years of his life as "solitary confinement," although he was "pushing for it, and educating for it."

"Then, suddenly, the sun comes out" — which may be thanks to Peter Jackson, and renewed interest via Get Back. "And someone opens the cell door, and Let it Be walks out."

Nobody Asked Him What The Sessions Were Like

All four Beatles, and many of their associates, have spoken their piece on Let it Be sessions — and journalists, authors, documentarians, and fans all have their own slant on them.

But what was this time like from Lindsay-Hogg's perspective? Incredibly, nobody ever thought to check. "You asked the one question which no one has asked," he says. "No one."

So, give us the vibe check. Were the Let it Be sessions ever remotely as tense as they've been described, since man landed on the moon? And to that, Lindsay-Hogg's response is a chuckle, and a resounding, "No, no, no."

The Beatles' Final Song: Giles Martin On The Second Life Of "Now And Then" & How The Fab Four Are "Still Breaking New Ground"

Yaya Bey possesses a dizzying talent: The ability to draw everything from reggae to house music into her sonic worldview without it ever feeling anything but inventive.

On her innovative upcoming record Ten Fold, the Brooklyn-based artist tethers her R&B sound to pangs of hip-hop, pop, and soul. She's also attuned to the sound and vibration of her city, a reference point shown as early as her 2016 debut, The Many Alter-Egos of Trill’eta Brown.

Whether on record or in conversation, Bey carries that classic native New Yorker duality: She’s well aware that the city’s constantly evolving energy means that no one perspective could possibly speak for it, but she also knows when it needs her to speak up. 

"People who are born and raised here are like unicorns," the experimental R&B/pop artist says — herself having grown up in Queens, the daughter of Grand Daddy I.U., a member of the legendary hip-hop collective the Juice Crew. So when mayor Eric Adams was at an event while raging Canadian wildfires dyed the city orange and covered it in smoke, she put her thoughts to record with the track, "eric adams in the club." 

That fiery critique is only one of the powerful emotions that fueled Ten Fold; the passing of her father (rapper Grand Daddy I.U.) adds a tragic shade, and her new marriage brings a flash of joy, among other prismatics. While 2022’s grand Remember Your North Star were built on thematic cohesion, Ten Fold’s 16 tracks are cathartic  in their ability to bound between extremes and find life’s most powerful moments. "I was experiencing success and grief at the same time, and that set the tone," Bey says of creating the new album.

While she’s continued experimenting as a visual artist and poet, Bey's work as an activist — including time as a street medic at protests — demonstrates the real-world ties to all of that expressive work. "It made me really focus on my responsibility to my neighbor and how I exist in the world, loving and caring not just about myself, but about the collective struggle," she says.

Bey spoke with GRAMMY.com about finding the creative energy to manage all of those practices, weaving her father’s voice into Ten Fold, and the state of music played at New York cookouts.

I need to thank you for "Sir Princess Bad Bitch" because it will never stop repeating in my head! It’s such an incredible track. Did you know you'd hit it out of the park when you were in the studio?

Well, Corey Fonville, who's the drummer in [jazz quintet] Butcher Brown, produced the track and he sent it to me. And I was like, "Wow, I'm about to do a house record?" 

I'd done dance records before, but this one felt different. The words and the melody, it came so easily that it felt right. That's usually how I gauge if something is the right song for me, if the melody and the words come quick. I have that kind of chemistry with Corey. 

If the lyrics and the melody meet in the way this album does, pushing inclusive, all-encompassing empowerment, that must feel so encouraging as an artist. 

You know, when I was making this album, my dad passed away in December of ‘22. And that happened, like, right as I put out another album called North Star. 

That album sort of shifted me into a space where [I was] making a living off of my art, and people are interested in me, and I got a publishing deal, and I went to Europe to play some gigs for the first time in about November. I stayed for a month and I came home and my dad died. 

Right when that happened, I was presented with the option to renew my record deal and put another album out. So I started working on it almost immediately after he died. I went through 2023 making the album and I had to find light. So I put in a lot of songs just trying to encourage myself.  

I’m so sorry. My heart breaks for you. I lost my dad in 2021, right before I started a massive project, and it shifted my process completely. Is that why the album starts with "crying through my teeth."? You’re expressing your grief before anything else.

Yeah. I usually start my other projects with a little rap. But I knew that this project was different and I needed to start it out setting the tone. We're starting out in a dark place and then we try to journey out of it.

 And then you incorporated your father's voice in the intro to some of the songs, like on "east coast mami." How did it come to you to bring his memory into the album? 

To be honest, especially during this process, I’ve just been trying to keep whatever I can from him. One day, I was trying to find voice notes from him. My phone had deleted all of our text messages and thank God I had some screenshots of it. I was looking for what I had left, and I had these voice notes.

It’s difficult enough to determine what message you want to convey with any album, but then having this grief, this audible connection to your dad, must have been a lot to consider.

Yeah. The album is also about more than the grief. My albums are more thematic; this album isn't thematic as much as it was just my life turned upside down. My dad was my best friend. And at the same time, my dad was also a musician and I followed in his footsteps. But in the blink of an eye, I was living a completely different life.

My life changed overnight when I made North Star. I was three months behind on my rent, and in the blink of an eye I had money to pay my rent for the year if I wanted. I had got all these things that I thought I was going to share with my dad. I got married. My whole life just shifted. And so the album is like, documenting that. I had no control. I just had to go with the ebbs and flows of life and make songs as I went along.

Both the good and bad, how do you think all that change affected your actual music? Even just in your quality of life, being exposed to different things. 

I think it gave me more perspective, for sure. I've seen more of the world, I've experienced new things. I can write from a place of joy, too. I made [North Star] in despair, and I'm not in despair anymore. You have more things to write about when you’re not three months behind on rent, not in a relationship with some guy that's driving you crazy. 

Between your music, poetry, visual art, mutual aid work, you're outputting so much creative and connected energy into the world. Were you ever wary of not being able to tackle those things, especially while going through multiple different shifts in your life? 

To be honest, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to make an album again. I did have those thoughts. But I find that if I just show up, like, I'm going to just tell what's true for me, I'll probably be fine. And it's still working out in that way.

It's still cathartic. It’s still just trying to feel something, express something, even with the dance records, just trying to tap into something that feels good. 

Speaking of those dance records, were there any particular artists you were channeling when developing your take on that sound? 

Phyllis Hyman and Frankie Beverly are really big inspirations for me. Growing up in New York, when you go to cookouts, Black people, they play Frankie Beverly, they play Alicia Myers, they play Phyllis Hyman. It's a certain sound that you're gonna hear at a cookout. I just grew up with the sound. Phyllis Hyman is iconic.

I think that dance music has a long history in that debate about art produced in troubled times. Speaking of, we’ve got to talk about "eric adams in the club", which is a phrase I never thought I'd get to say in an interview. Did you go into the writing process wanting to write about Eric Adams to a dance beat, or was that more serendipitous in the studio? 

Last June there was a wildfire in Canada, and it impacted the air quality in New York. He was in the club with Robert De Niro. And I remember thinking to myself, like, Yo, this is insane. Being a New Yorker, seeing how much people's rent raised when they decided it wasn't a pandemic anymore, in a matter of months — it sent the city into a housing crisis, and he refused to address it. And then that wildfire thing happened, and I was like, Oh, yeah, I'm gonna write a song about this guy, but I want it to be a club record because he's in the club. 

New York is an interesting city. It doesn't care about its natives, in a way that is unique. Gentrification happens everywhere, but the way that it happens in a city like New York is that people who are born and raised here are like unicorns. And there are a lot of things that happen that we don't have a voice on. 

I've also been grieving the city that I grew up in, that it doesn't even exist anymore because of people like Eric Adams. The city is more than just the restaurants and things like that. It's the people and the people that create the culture. And if that's pushed out, it's not even what it was anymore, it's something new. 

Obviously there's so many things that need to change, but by being a musician and being an artist, how do you feel like you can shift some mindsets? 

I think I can have the conversations or make the music that starts conversations. I was listening to a lot of Frankie Beverly and Maze when the pandemic was at its height, and [that was] focused on unity a lot. If you listen to, like, "We Are One," "Happy Feelin’s," their message is love, their message is unity. And it got me through the pandemic. I couldn't stop listening to it. 

It made me really focus on my responsibility to my neighbor and how I exist in the world, loving and caring not just about myself, but about the collective struggle. And they did it in such a beautiful way that I kept coming back to listen to the music again and again and again.

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