In the past, Katie Crutchfield has used music as a "vehicle to heal." From singing musical theater songs alongside her twin sister Allison in their childhood Alabama home to mixing with Philadelphia’s punk and D.I.Y. scene, and emerging as the lo-fi leaning Waxahatchee in 2012, she’s looked to music to resound her truth. With Saint Cloud, her fifth album (out on March 27 via Merge), she’s turned that method on its head.

Written near her childhood home in Kansas City, immediately after her decision to get sober, Saint Cloud isn’t quite the sound of someone healed, but of someone who’s learned to behave more thoroughly and intentionally—independently of music. While Saint Cloud is the most at ease Waxahatchee has ever sounded; it continues her approach of making darkness sound light as it charts the difficult, erring, painful process of learning "to let stillness be."

Waxahatchee has never spouted platitudes and called it truth; finding one’s core self takes scrupulous and determined hard work. In her case, it’s been worth it. Saint Cloud is not only Waxahatchee’s best work yet, but it also comes to the resolutions her music has seemingly been driving towards for years. Ahead of its release, Crutchfield spoke with the Recording Academy about the importance of community, self-care, and her hero, Lucinda Williams.

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A lot of people have already been calling this your best album. Do you share that view of Saint Cloud?

Yeah, definitely. I like to look at all of my albums as a direct representation of exactly where I was at at the time, and I think it makes sense as I age that my music will follow the path that I’m on. It feels a lot like I’ve been chipping away at getting as close as I can to my own truth, which is something I feel I’m getting closer to as I get older. When I hear it, there’s an ease to it, and I think a lot of that is because I’m not fighting with anything, I’m just letting it feel as natural as possible.

Would it be fair to say that this was your first time using self-care as creative fuel rather than self-destruction?

I would say that it’s not really a binary—I haven’t gone from one extreme to the other by any stretch of the imagination. I started taking initiative as far as self-care goes in my life, I feel like I really put that first. I took a lot of steps to take care of myself—physically, mentally, emotionally, all that stuff. I put that before making music, so when I finally sat down to make the record, I was approaching it from a healthier place. I think that’s what really translates.

In the past, I’ve used music as a vehicle to heal, and through doing that, I’ve ended up showing a lot of the cracks. With this album, I think there’s a lot of darkness too, that’s the thing people are having a hard time putting their finger on, because it isn’t this overwhelmingly positive album. There’s a lot of struggle that’s flashed-back to, but it’s being expressed through a calmer, more comfortable, more self-assured person.

"Fire," which is about pulling your car over to watch the sunset over Memphis, has got to be one of Waxahatchee’s hardest songs to sing along to. What made sense for you to sing it, and a lot of the songs on Saint Cloud in such a high register?

I don’t know, I didn’t realize just how high it all is until I began rehearsing with my band. In the past, I've kind of stuck to my comfort zone, but now I really have the danger of losing my voice with these songs. I have this backing singer in my band, Jacki Warren, who reflected back to me, like "this is high." I went back and listened the other day to the first voice memo I made of "Fire," when I first came up with the melody, and that’s just where it hit. I always try things in other keys, just to confirm that they're in the best sounding key, and I think I just liked how my voice sounded up there. It felt right. Slowly, over the past 15 years, I’ve been singing higher and higher. When I first started writing songs as a teenager, they were all way down. I think as I get better, and my range gets bigger, I keep wanting to push it.

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I’m curious to know what your twin sister Allison thought when she first listened to this album?

She loved it. This is the most removed Allison’s ever been from a project, and that’s been a slow thing. With each Waxahatchee record, I feel like Allison’s had less and less to do with it, and this is the first time in years where she will not even be in my band. She used to really be around when I was writing my demos, and she’d often be the first person to hear new songs, but with this one, we lived in separate cities. We talk every day and we’re still close, but she just wasn’t as behind the scenes as she had been previously. So, I was kind of nervous and felt like she maybe wouldn’t connect with it, especially because I’m in the middle of the country, getting sober. I was worried she wouldn’t like it or wouldn’t relate. She came into the studio when I was making it by chance, she just happened to be in Texas where I was making it. She immediately reflected back to me that she thought it was my best record and has continued to say that, so it’s cool. I know as much as she’s rooting for me, she’s sort of unbiased because she hasn’t touched the album at all, so for her to say that, it’s pretty meaningful for me. 

Was the writing process quite private, or did you have anyone to offer feedback along the way?

My writing process is always quite private, I don’t usually involve anybody. I wrote a lot of the songs in Kansas City, where I live now with my partner Kevin [Morby], who’s also a songwriter. He would hear things first, and he’s so supportive and so positive. He was also there when I wrote "Fire" because we were driving over the Memphis-Arkansas bridge which goes from Memphis to West Memphis, over the Mississippi River. I was coming up with that song’s melody and lyrics in my head, and while I wasn’t dictating it to him or really involving him, he was present.

Has that been valuable to you, having a songwriter as a partner who you can potentially share ideas with?

Definitely. I mean, I’ve always been surrounded by songwriters as I’ve jumped around from scene to scene. We had a really tight-knit scene in Philadelphia for a long time, with Allison and her band Swearin’, and Sam and his band Radiator Hospital, but in the last three years, I have new songwriters around me, Kevin being one of them, and Lindsey Jordan [of Snail Mail] being another. I think that’s really important, for songwriters to find community with one another, and to have each other to reflect things back and provide a first audience before anyone else hears it.

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I want to talk about Lucinda Williams. How has she affected your songwriting and your life more generally?

I mean, she’s just my favorite songwriter. I had always struggled with my Southern identity, but with Lucinda, and the way she portrays the South, it’s like everything I’ve ever wanted to do. Something about country music—traditional country music, like Loretta Lynn—when I hear that, it feels like family. I feel connected to those types of songwriters because it’s just how I grew up. The stuff they sing about is so culturally significant to me. I discovered punk rock and all this underground music that didn’t really gel with country music at all, it was like a totally different world. I struggled with that because it wasn’t cool to be Southern. But when Lucinda’s records started to come into my life, it changed all of that. It made me feel that I could start being myself wholly and completely, and draw from my experiences because they’re romantic and interesting and fodder for songs I’ve previously shut down. Lucinda’s ticked every single box that I didn’t even know I had. 

Has it been strange taking a year off tour? It must be a long time since you’ve done that.

I’ve never done that. Even then, since 2018, I’ve done eight weeks of touring in two years, which is really not much. It’s crazy but I needed to do it. It once would have been a nightmare to me; the idea of slowing down was really scary, but it really became the only option. I just needed to stop performing because I had never really taken any significant time off from touring between Ivy Tripp (2015) and Out In The Storm (2017). By the time Out In The Storm came out, I was really tired because I hadn’t stopped. When that cycle was starting to wind down after a year, I felt really spent and addicted to the restlessness. And also, from not taking any breaks, I hadn’t really been able to put any work into what my live band was going to be, or what the performance was going to look like. Not that I slapped it all together or anything, my band was amazing, but there was a lot of compromise. There was a lot of imperfection, in my mind, just because we had to go, go, go. I had started to get a clear vision but had no time to see it through. 

Did your relationship with music grow stale because of that relentlessness?

Yeah, I think that’s what I’m trying to say. It got stale because of the repetition and because I didn’t have time to make it exciting for myself, so that’s something I’ve really learned. If you put yourself on stage with the same people for long enough, your favorite songs will become your least favorite songs, that’s just what happens. Even going forward with the Saint Cloud touring, I’ll know when to stop and when to change it up. We learn from mistakes.

Are you worried that COVID-19 will affect the tour? [Editor's Note: Crutchfield announced on March 16 that a few spring tour dates had been postponed.]

I mean, I have no idea what’s gonna happen, no one does. Anyone who tells you that they do is lying. It is truly crazy, and it’s just a wait-and-see kind of thing. I just have to go with what people tell me to do. I don’t wanna put anyone at risk, and also, more than that, I don’t wanna panic and do something prematurely. I’m just praying every day and hoping for the best, that it won’t affect anything. I’ll be one of the people that if it’s possible and safe to play, I will play. I’m not a panicker, I’m not a hypochondriac. I’m gonna do my best to pull it off if we can. 

Do you have material for another album?

Yes! I have material and ideas I’m working on. It’s funny, I’m so excited about Saint Cloud, I love the record so much and I love the songs so much, that I’m weirdly not quite ready to move forward yet, but I’m collecting ideas like little pieces of treasure that I’m just tucking away, and when I’m ready to look forward, I’ll have them there.

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It’s a special feeling, knowing you’re still getting better, 20 years into doing whatever it is you’re good at. “I identify my career as a bit of a slow burn,” says Katie Crutchfield, chatting from her home in Kansas City, Missouri. 

Tigers Blood, Waxahatchee’s sixth LP, arrives March 22 on Anti- Records. It sounds earthy and time-tested, hugging the border of alt-country and indie-folk. Pedal steel and banjos are just as welcome as electric guitar. Lucinda Williams, Townes van Zandt, and Gillian Welch are its musical north stars. Lyrics evoke late-night banter with old, trusted friends, the small handful of people in this world you could say anything to. 

Crutchfield has been writing songs for 20 years and, even as a teen, was perhaps the most respected voice in her Alabama punk scene. By the early 2010s, the same could be said of her place in DIY-minded rock, nationwide. Released March 27, 2020, Waxahatchee’s Saint Cloud, will be remembered as her breakthrough, though it certainly did not feel that way initially. For Crutchfield, the album still brings to mind bushels of COVID masks and days upon days spent indoors.

"There were phases of grief," Crutchfield says. "I was grieving the [canceled] tour, the normal experience of putting out a record. My therapist suggested I have a funeral for it." She says all this with a chuckle — one that comes easier after the success Saint Cloud eventually earned: a No. 1 on Billboard’s Heatseekers albums chart, significant radio play for the first time in her career, a spot at Newport Folk Festival once pandemic restrictions eased. “In hindsight, I know that record provided solace for a lot of people.”

Like Saint Cloud, Tigers Blood was produced by Brad Cook, an alt-rock standby whose production and co-writing work with Bon Iver earned him nominations for Album Of The Year and Record Of The Year at the 2020 GRAMMYs. "[Brad and I] developed this language and life philosophy as collaborators that I am not finished with," Crutchfield says.

Tigers Blood separates itself with one new, notable collaborator: singer/songwriter MJ Lenderman. Through his storytelling solo albums and cathartic guitarwork in the North Carolina band Wednesday, Lenderman, 25, is already a Gen Z indie rock icon. His contributions to Tigers Blood are subtle, but affecting: hazy backing vocals on the title track and "Right Back to It," artistry on his six-string that left Crutchfield in awe: "There are so many moments on [Tigers Blood] where I’m like, That’s the hookiest guitar part or solo. I never would have put it there without him."

Speaking with GRAMMY.com, Crutchfield looked back on how she arrived at Tigers Blood and the many stops along the way: showcasing her high school band for the guy who signed Nirvana, learning to re-embrace her Southern-ness, staying the course when you know, deep down, it’s the right thing to do. 

For artists today, I feel there’s this pressure to be constantly reinventing yourself. Is this something you’ve noticed?

Contemporarily – maybe this is a thing in pop – there’s a real pressure to reinvent yourself on every record as you move through your career. I’ve certainly done that. And I’ve certainly felt that. Brad [Cook] and I had a conversation about this very thing: What is the next thing going to be? Should we pivot to a new style?

It really brought us to my heroes. None of them ever reinvented themselves. A lot of them worked with the same people. Tom Petty, for example, played with a lot of the same musicians for his entire career. 

The confident choice is to retain some self-awareness about why people liked the last record, and to hang onto that. Then, to depend solely on the songs. Do whatever we can to elevate the songs. 

How did Tigers Blood come together, compared to the last LP?

It came together quickly and a lot of it was on tour. I had a lot of writer’s block working on Saint Cloud. The narrative of that record was that I had just gotten sober. I was experiencing a lot of anxiety. A friend told me, “When you get sober, you’re not gonna recognize yourself.” That was really true. I was like a raw nerve. I kind of had to take a long time off from touring, to catch my breath and figure out what my life was going to look like. Throughout that 18-month period of time off, I slowly wrote [Saint Cloud]. 

I started writing the melodies for Tigers Blood right after we made Saint Cloud, and continued to for several years, as I worked on other projects like the [2022] Plains record [in collaboration with singer-songwriter Jess Williamson]. In the peak pandemic months I was stowing away melodies, like, I’ll come back to this. I finished all the Tigers Blood songs in about a six-month period, a lot of which was on the road. When I say I finished a song, it means I wrote all the lyrics.  

*Releasing an album like Saint Cloud, I imagine you might be worried it would just be labeled as “the sober record.” Looking back at how well it was received, it feels like much more than that.*

I hope this doesn’t land wrong on music writers, but in a way it’s sort of easier for me when there’s a narrative. I think it’s sort of easier for everyone. Tigers Blood doesn’t have a clean-cut, neat little narrative. There’s a lot of things going on. 

I was writing about a lot of different things on Saint Cloud, too, but [sobriety] was the headline, and it made life easier to have a headline. I always knew there was more going on than just sobriety. I don’t write lyrics in a way that’s very on-the-nose. Someone could maybe listen to that album and have no idea it’s about sobriety. There’s a couple love songs on that record: “The Eye” and “Can’t Do Much.” And “Lilacs” is about being in a bad mood. It’s not really about being sober. 

If you don’t mind me asking, what made you want to get sober?

Everybody’s story is different. Mine isn’t particularly salacious. Over a decade, I had noticed that, for me, drinking had a weight to it that it didn’t have for everyone I knew…

I got sober when I was 29. I was getting a little bit older and my physical health was starting to catch up to me, and certainly my mental health [as well]. Some alarm bells were going off: I actually think the biggest issue in my life is drinking and if I cut that out, I’m curious if everything will balance out. And it really did. 

In June, it’ll be six years since I quit. I definitely feel like a way different person now, but I don’t even remember how I felt six years ago. I can’t really remember myself as a drinker. A lot has changed in my life. I live in a different city. I have a lot of different people around me. 

You’ve lived all over and it’s so intertwined with your music. Could you give me the whole story? 

I grew up in Birmingham. When I was 19 or 20, I moved to Tuscaloosa, Alabama – my sister Allison was going to college there and our band P.S. Eliot existed there for a short time. Then she moved to Chattanooga, Tennessee and I moved back to Birmingham for a few years. Then we both moved to New York when we were 22. I’d made the first Waxahatchee record right before that and she had just started her band, Swearin’. 

I tell you her story, too, because they’re so intertwined. We lived in New York for about 18 months. At the time, [Allison], her boyfriend, and my boyfriend were all in Swearin’. They [decided to] move to Philadelphia and I was kind of sad — I really wanted to stay in New York — but that was my family, so I was like, “I guess I’ll go with you guys, because I’d be alone here.” So I was in Philly for a few years, then I made my [2015] record Ivy Tripp while I was on Long Island for about a year. Then I moved back to Philly for three years, moved back to Birmingham briefly, and then to Kansas City, where I’ve been ever since. 

You started playing in bands with your sister Allison when you were teenagers, 20 years ago. How has that shaped your relationship with her? 

When she was in my band, it was tricky. Because we’re siblings, it’s crazy how boundaryless that relationship can be in a working setting. It was a little chaotic at times. But ultimately, really great. I’ve always kind of made my songs for myself, and Allison. That’s always been my prime audience: if we really like it, I usually trust the rest of the world might like it, too. 

Now she’s such an important part of the people around me, guiding me. We’re in the best place we’ve ever been, even though she’s not in the room when I’m making the records.

From the outside, the trajectory of your career – to bigger stages, bigger record labels, etc. — seems like it’s gone at a nice, measured pace. Does it feel that way to you? 

Yeah. I’m really grateful for the pace my career has gone at. I’ve seen things blow up overnight for some of my peers. As exciting as I’m sure that can be, I think it would be pretty disorienting. There have been moments in my life where if that had happened, I think I would have been completely swallowed up by it. I’m happy at this point in my life. For the most part, every door that opens up in my career, I’m ready to walk though it.

Are there any doors you’ve chosen not to go through over the years? 

When I was in high school, my band performed at this showcase for Gary Gersh, who [famously signed Nirvana], this big time music biz guy. It was us and this other band in Birmingham, who were the two most popular younger indie rock bands in town. I don’t know if they got his attention, but we didn’t. 

I look back on that, and that’s probably for the best. If I had gotten this hotshot L.A. manager when I was 16, my life could look really different. I could have maybe signed on for things that wouldn’t be reflective of the values I’ve developed. My songwriting voice had not really developed yet. It’s probably good I took the slow route. 

If you’d been offered that management deal, what do you think you would have said? 

We were pretty punk rock already. I can see us saying, “We don’t really want to do this.” Allison and I had pretty developed tastes for 16-year olds. 

Collaborating with MJ Lenderman on this album – how did that come up?

I heard his music at South By Southwest. [My partner] Kevin [Morby] was playing South By, he was busy, and I was killing time. My sister Allison does A&R at Anti- [Records] now and my producer Brad Cook, they both texted me at the same time: “We’re gonna go see this guy, MJ Lenderman from North Carolina. Come meet us, you’re gonna love this.” I heard his voice outside the venue [and thought] “This is exactly what I like.” There were 12 people onstage, they had a pedal steel player. Everything I love. 

Then, Brad and I were trying to figure out what we could do [for my next album] that would be different from Saint Cloud. So I threw it out to Brad: “Maybe we could get [MJ] in the mix.”… Brad invited him to the first session. The three of us had a blast. [MJ] played drums for a lot of it, and obviously guitar. When we tracked “Right Back to It,” that was a big turning point. Brad and I were like, “This is a great anchor for what this record should be.” And when [MJ] sang backup on it, it was all over. We had to have him be a big part of the record. 

What grabs you about MJ Lenderman’s playing? 

[MJ] is really into a lot of music I love, but wasn’t engaging with much at the time. Specifically Southern alternative rock from the ‘80s and ‘90s: Drive-By Truckers, Sparklehorse. Jason Molina is a big influence on him. And it really invigorated my love of R.E.M. It knocked out the cobwebs for me. 

I knew he was a great guitar player, but I didn’t totally understand just how special and creative a guitar player he was until we were in a room together.

And MJ’s band, Wednesday – their 2023 album Rat Saw God already feels like a classic. What do you think of that album? 

I spent a lot of time with it. It was one of my favorite records of last year. 

I try not to go too hard with this to [Wednesday], but my sister Allison and I connect with what they’re doing because it reminds us so much of ourselves 10 years ago. Wednesday and MJ, they’re these intertwining creative forces. They’re young, they’re Southern. I think both Wednesday and MJ are making some pretty classic records that teenagers are gonna find for years to come. 

Do you think there’s something unique about indie rock musicians who grew up in the South, around country music? 

I grew up in the South and I’ve been on a journey with it. When I was younger, I lived in the Northeast and that was a big part of my identity — I really rejected country music. I did not think it was cool. Once I was able to come back around on that, not even wholeheartedly embracing being Southern, but accepting it as a part of my story, [the South] lent itself as a great backdrop for my songs. 

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Updated Friday Oct. 13, 2023 to include info about Kendrick Lamar's most recent GRAMMY wins, as of the 2023 GRAMMYs.

A GRAMMY veteran these days, Kendrick Lamar has won 17 GRAMMYs and has received 47 GRAMMY nominations overall. A sizable chunk of his trophies came from the 58th annual GRAMMY Awards in 2016, when he walked away with five — including his first-ever win in the Best Rap Album category.

This installment of GRAMMY Rewind turns back the clock to 2016, revisiting Lamar's acceptance speech upon winning Best Rap Album for To Pimp A Butterfly. Though Lamar was alone on stage, he made it clear that he wouldn't be at the top of his game without the help of a broad support system. 

"First off, all glory to God, that's for sure," he said, kicking off a speech that went on to thank his parents, who he described as his "those who gave me the responsibility of knowing, of accepting the good with the bad."

Looking for more GRAMMYs news? The 2024 GRAMMY nominations are here!

He also extended his love and gratitude to his fiancée, Whitney Alford, and shouted out his Top Dawg Entertainment labelmates. Lamar specifically praised Top Dawg's CEO, Anthony Tiffith, for finding and developing raw talent that might not otherwise get the chance to pursue their musical dreams.

"We'd never forget that: Taking these kids out of the projects, out of Compton, and putting them right here on this stage, to be the best that they can be," Lamar — a Compton native himself — continued, leading into an impassioned conclusion spotlighting some of the cornerstone rap albums that came before To Pimp a Butterfly.

"Hip-hop. Ice Cube. This is for hip-hop," he said. "This is for Snoop Dogg, Doggystyle. This is for Illmatic, this is for Nas. We will live forever. Believe that."

To Pimp a Butterfly singles "Alright" and "These Walls" earned Lamar three more GRAMMYs that night, the former winning Best Rap Performance and Best Rap Song and the latter taking Best Rap/Sung Collaboration (the song features Bilal, Anna Wise and Thundercat). He also won Best Music Video for the remix of Taylor Swift's "Bad Blood." 

Lamar has since won Best Rap Album two more times, taking home the golden gramophone in 2018 for his blockbuster LP DAMN., and in 2023 for his bold fifth album, Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers.

Watch Lamar's full acceptance speech above, and check back at GRAMMY.com every Friday for more GRAMMY Rewind episodes. 

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It's rare that a genre can be traced back to a single artist or group, but for funk, that was James Brown. The Godfather of Soul coined the phrase and style of playing known as "on the one," where the first downbeat is emphasized, instead of the typical second and fourth beats in pop, soul and other styles. As David Cheal eloquently explains, playing on the one "left space for phrases and riffs, often syncopated around the beat, creating an intricate, interlocking grid which could go on and on." You know a funky bassline when you hear it; its fat chords beg your body to get up and groove.

Brown's 1965 classic, "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag," became one of the first funk hits, and has been endlessly sampled and covered over the years, along with his other groovy tracks. Of course, many other funk acts followed in the '60s, and the genre thrived in the '70s and '80s as the disco craze came and went, and the originators of hip-hop and house music created new music from funk and disco's strong, flexible bones built for dancing.

Legendary funk bassist Bootsy Collins learned the power of the one from playing in Brown's band, and brought it to George Clinton, who created P-funk, an expansive, Afrofuturistic, psychedelic exploration of funk with his various bands and projects, including Parliament-Funkadelic. Both Collins and Clinton remain active and funkin', and have offered their timeless grooves to collabs with younger artists, including Kali Uchis, Silk Sonic, and Omar Apollo; and Kendrick Lamar, Flying Lotus, and Thundercat, respectively.

In the 1980s, electro-funk was born when artists like Afrika Bambaataa, Man Parrish, and Egyptian Lover began making futuristic beats with the Roland TR-808 drum machine — often with robotic vocals distorted through a talk box. A key distinguishing factor of electro-funk is a de-emphasis on vocals, with more phrases than choruses and verses. The sound influenced contemporaneous hip-hop, funk and electronica, along with acts around the globe, while current acts like Chromeo, DJ Stingray, and even Egyptian Lover himself keep electro-funk alive and well.

Today, funk lives in many places, with its heavy bass and syncopated grooves finding way into many nooks and crannies of music. There's nu-disco and boogie funk, nodding back to disco bands with soaring vocals and dance floor-designed instrumentation. G-funk continues to influence Los Angeles hip-hop, with innovative artists like Dam-Funk and Channel Tres bringing the funk and G-funk, into electro territory. Funk and disco-centered '70s revival is definitely having a moment, with acts like Ghost Funk Orchestra and Parcels, while its sparkly sprinklings can be heard in pop from Dua Lipa, Doja Cat, and, in full "Soul Train" character, Silk Sonic. There are also acts making dreamy, atmospheric music with a solid dose of funk, such as Khruangbin’s global sonic collage.

There are many bands that play heavily with funk, creating lush grooves designed to get you moving. Read on for a taste of five current modern funk and nu-disco artists making band-led uptempo funk built for the dance floor. Be sure to press play on the Spotify playlist above, and check out GRAMMY.com's playlist on Apple Music, Amazon Music and Pandora.

Say She She

Aptly self-described as "discodelic soul," Brooklyn-based seven-piece Say She She make dreamy, operatic funk, led by singer-songwriters Nya Gazelle Brown, Piya Malik and Sabrina Mileo Cunningham. Their '70s girl group-inspired vocal harmonies echo, sooth and enchant as they cover poignant topics with feminist flair.

While they’ve been active in the New York scene for a few years, they’ve gained wider acclaim for the irresistible music they began releasing this year, including their debut album, Prism. Their 2022 debut single "Forget Me Not" is an ode to ground-breaking New York art collective Guerilla Girls, and "Norma" is their protest anthem in response to the news that Roe vs. Wade could be (and was) overturned. The band name is a nod to funk legend Nile Rodgers, from the "Le freak, c'est chi" exclamation in Chic's legendary tune "Le Freak."

Moniquea

Moniquea's unique voice oozes confidence, yet invites you in to dance with her to the super funky boogie rhythms. The Pasadena, California artist was raised on funk music; her mom was in a cover band that would play classics like Aretha Franklin’s "Get It Right" and Gladys Knight’s "Love Overboard." Moniquea released her first boogie funk track at 20 and, in 2011, met local producer XL Middelton — a bonafide purveyor of funk. She's been a star artist on his MoFunk Records ever since, and they've collabed on countless tracks, channeling West Coast energy with a heavy dose of G-funk, sunny lyrics and upbeat, roller disco-ready rhythms.

Her latest release is an upbeat nod to classic West Coast funk, produced by Middleton, and follows her February 2022 groovy, collab-filled album, On Repeat.

Shiro Schwarz

Shiro Schwarz is a Mexico City-based duo, consisting of Pammela Rojas and Rafael Marfil, who helped establish a modern funk scene in the richly creative Mexican metropolis. On "Electrify" — originally released in 2016 on Fat Beats Records and reissued in 2021 by MoFunk — Shiro Schwarz's vocals playfully contrast each other, floating over an insistent, upbeat bassline and an '80s throwback electro-funk rhythm with synth flourishes.

Their music manages to be both nostalgic and futuristic — and impossible to sit still to. 2021 single "Be Kind" is sweet, mellow and groovy, perfect chic lounge funk. Shiro Schwarz’s latest track, the joyfully nostalgic "Hey DJ," is a collab with funkstress Saucy Lady and U-Key.

L'Impératrice

L'Impératrice (the empress in French) are a six-piece Parisian group serving an infectiously joyful blend of French pop, nu-disco, funk and psychedelia. Flore Benguigui's vocals are light and dreamy, yet commanding of your attention, while lyrics have a feminist touch.

During their energetic live sets, L'Impératrice members Charles de Boisseguin and Hagni Gwon (keys), David Gaugué (bass), Achille Trocellier (guitar), and Tom Daveau (drums) deliver extended instrumental jam sessions to expand and connect their music. Gaugué emphasizes the thick funky bass, and Benguigui jumps around the stage while sounding like an angel. L’Impératrice’s latest album, 2021’s Tako Tsubo, is a sunny, playful French disco journey.

Franc Moody

Franc Moody's bio fittingly describes their music as "a soul funk and cosmic disco sound." The London outfit was birthed by friends Ned Franc and Jon Moody in the early 2010s, when they were living together and throwing parties in North London's warehouse scene. In 2017, the group grew to six members, including singer and multi-instrumentalist Amber-Simone.

Their music feels at home with other electro-pop bands like fellow Londoners Jungle and Aussie act Parcels. While much of it is upbeat and euphoric, Franc Moody also dips into the more chilled, dreamy realm, such as the vibey, sultry title track from their recently released Into the Ether.

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Living Legends is a series that spotlights icons in music still going strong today. This week, GRAMMY.com spoke with Billy Idol about his latest EP,  Cage, and continuing to rock through decades of changing tastes.

Billy Idol is a true rock 'n' roll survivor who has persevered through cultural shifts and personal struggles. While some may think of Idol solely for "Rebel Yell" and "White Wedding," the singer's musical influences span genres and many of his tunes are less turbo-charged than his '80s hits would belie.  

Idol first made a splash in the latter half of the '70s with the British punk band Generation X. In the '80s, he went on to a solo career combining rock, pop, and punk into a distinct sound that transformed him and his musical partner, guitarist Steve Stevens, into icons. They have racked up multiple GRAMMY nominations, in addition to one gold, one double platinum, and four platinum albums thanks to hits like "Cradle Of Love," "Flesh For Fantasy," and "Eyes Without A Face." 

But, unlike many legacy artists, Idol is anything but a relic. Billy continues to produce vital Idol music by collaborating with producers and songwriters — including Miley Cyrus — who share his forward-thinking vision. He will play a five-show Vegas residency in November, and filmmaker Jonas Akerlund is working on a documentary about Idol’s life. 

His latest release is Cage, the second in a trilogy of annual four-song EPs. The title track is a classic Billy Idol banger expressing the desire to free himself from personal constraints and live a better life. Other tracks on Cage incorporate metallic riffing and funky R&B grooves. 

Idol continues to reckon with his demons — they both grappled with addiction during the '80s — and the singer is open about those struggles on the record and the page. (Idol's 2014 memoir Dancing With Myself, details a 1990 motorcycle accident that nearly claimed a leg, and how becoming a father steered him to reject hard drugs. "Bitter Taste," from his last EP, The Roadside, reflects on surviving the accident.)

Although Idol and Stevens split in the late '80s — the skilled guitarist fronted Steve Stevens & The Atomic Playboys, and collaborated with Michael Jackson, Rick Ocasek, Vince Neil, and Harold Faltermeyer (on the GRAMMY-winning "Top Gun Anthem") —  their common history and shared musical bond has been undeniable. The duo reunited in 2001 for an episode of "VH1 Storytellers" and have been back in the saddle for two decades. Their union remains one of the strongest collaborations in rock 'n roll history.

While there is recognizable personnel and a distinguishable sound throughout a lot of his work, Billy Idol has always pushed himself to try different things. Idol discusses his musical journey, his desire to constantly move forward, and the strong connection that he shares with Stevens. 

Steve has said that you like to mix up a variety of styles, yet everyone assumes you're the "Rebel Yell"/"White Wedding" guy. But if they really listen to your catalog, it's vastly different.

Yeah, that's right. With someone like Steve Stevens, and then back in the day Keith Forsey producing... [Before that] Generation X actually did move around inside punk rock. We didn't stay doing just the Ramones two-minute music. We actually did a seven-minute song. [Laughs]. We did always mix things up. 

Then when I got into my solo career, that was the fun of it. With someone like Steve, I knew what he could do. I could see whatever we needed to do, we could nail it. The world was my oyster musically. 

"Cage" is a classic-sounding Billy Idol rocker, then "Running From The Ghost" is almost metal, like what the Devil's Playground album was like back in the mid-2000s. "Miss Nobody" comes out of nowhere with this pop/R&B flavor. What inspired that?

We really hadn't done anything like that since something like "Flesh For Fantasy" [which] had a bit of an R&B thing about it. Back in the early days of Billy Idol, "Hot In The City" and "Mony Mony" had girls [singing] on the backgrounds. 

We always had a bit of R&B really, so it was actually fun to revisit that. We just hadn't done anything really quite like that for a long time. That was one of the reasons to work with someone like Sam Hollander [for the song "Rita Hayworth"] on The Roadside. We knew we could go [with him] into an R&B world, and he's a great songwriter and producer. That's the fun of music really, trying out these things and seeing if you can make them stick. 

I listen to new music by veteran artists and debate that with some people. I'm sure you have those fans that want their nostalgia, and then there are some people who will embrace the newer stuff. Do you find it’s a challenge to reach people with new songs?

Obviously, what we're looking for is, how do we somehow have one foot in the past and one foot into the future? We’ve got the best of all possible worlds because that has been the modus operandi of Billy Idol. 

You want to do things that are true to you, and you don't just want to try and do things that you're seeing there in the charts today. I think that we're achieving it with things like "Running From The Ghost" and "Cage" on this new EP. I think we’re managing to do both in a way. 

**Obviously, "Running From The Ghost" is about addiction, all the stuff that you went through, and in "Cage" you’re talking about  freeing yourself from a lot of personal shackles. Was there any one moment in your life that made you really thought I have to not let this weigh me down anymore?**

I mean, things like the motorcycle accident I had, that was a bit of a wake up call way back. It was 32 years ago. But there were things like that, years ago, that gradually made me think about what I was doing with my life. I didn't want to ruin it, really. I didn't want to throw it away, and it made [me] be less cavalier. 

I had to say to myself, about the drugs and stuff, that I've been there and I've done it. There’s no point in carrying on doing it. You couldn't get any higher. You didn't want to throw your life away casually, and I was close to doing that. It took me a bit of time, but then gradually I was able to get control of myself to a certain extent [with] drugs and everything. And I think Steve's done the same thing. We're on a similar path really, which has been great because we're in the same boat in terms of lyrics and stuff. 

So a lot of things like that were wake up calls. Even having grandchildren and just watching my daughter enlarging her family and everything; it just makes you really positive about things and want to show a positive side to how you're feeling, about where you're going. We've lived with the demons so long, we've found a way to live with them. We found a way to be at peace with our demons, in a way. Maybe not completely, but certainly to where we’re enjoying what we do and excited about it.

[When writing] "Running From The Ghost" it was easy to go, what was the ghost for us? At one point, we were very drug addicted in the '80s. And Steve in particular is super sober [now]. I mean, I still vape pot and stuff. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but it’s incredible. All I want to be able to do is have a couple of glasses of wine at a restaurant or something. I can do that now.

I think working with people that are super talented, you just feel confident. That is a big reason why you open up and express yourself more because you feel comfortable with what's around you.

Did you watch Danny Boyle's recent Sex Pistols mini-series?

I did, yes.

You had a couple of cameos; well, an actor who portrayed you did. How did you react to it? How accurate do you think it was in portraying that particular time period?

I love Jonesy’s book, I thought his book was incredible. It's probably one of the best bio books really. It was incredible and so open. I was looking forward to that a lot.

It was as if [the show] kind of stayed with Steve [Jones’ memoir] about halfway through, and then departed from it. [John] Lydon, for instance, was never someone I ever saw acting out; he's more like that today. I never saw him do something like jump up in the room and run around going crazy. The only time I saw him ever do that was when they signed the recording deal with Virgin in front of Buckingham Palace. Whereas Sid Vicious was always acting out; he was always doing something in a horrible way or shouting at someone. I don't remember John being like that. I remember him being much more introverted.

But then I watched interviews with some of the actors about coming to grips with the parts they were playing. And they were saying, we knew punk rock happened but just didn't know any of the details. So I thought well, there you go. If ["Pistol" is]  informing a lot of people who wouldn't know anything about punk rock, maybe that's what's good about it.

Maybe down the road John Lydon will get the chance to do John's version of the Pistols story. Maybe someone will go a lot deeper into it and it won't be so surface. But maybe you needed this just to get people back in the flow.

We had punk and metal over here in the States, but it feels like England it was legitimately more dangerous. British society was much more rigid.

It never went [as] mega in America. It went big in England. It exploded when the Pistols did that interview with [TV host Bill] Grundy, that lorry truck driver put his boot through his own TV, and all the national papers had "the filth and the fury" [headlines].

We went from being unknown to being known overnight. We waited a year, Generation X. We even told them [record labels] no for nine months to a year. Every record company wanted their own punk rock group. So it went really mega in England, and it affected the whole country – the style, the fashions, everything. I mean, the Ramones were massive in England. Devo had a No. 1 song [in England] with "Satisfaction" in '77. Actually, Devo was as big as or bigger than the Pistols.

You were ahead of the pop-punk thing that happened in the late '90s, and a lot of it became tongue-in-cheek by then. It didn't have the same sense of rebelliousness as the original movement. It was more pop.

It had become a style. There was a famous book in England called Revolt Into Style — and that's what had happened, a revolt that turned into style which then they were able to duplicate in their own way. Even recently, Billie Joe [Armstrong] did his own version of "Gimme Some Truth," the Lennon song we covered way back in 1977.

When we initially were making [punk] music, it hadn't become accepted yet. It was still dangerous and turned into a style that people were used to. We were still breaking barriers.

You have a band called Generation Sex with Steve Jones and Paul Cook. I assume you all have an easier time playing Pistols and Gen X songs together now and not worrying about getting spit on like back in the '70s?

Yeah, definitely. When I got to America I told the group I was putting it together, "No one spits at the audience."

We had five years of being spat on [in the UK], and it was revolting. And they spat at you if they liked you. If they didn't like it they smashed your gear up. One night, I remember I saw blood on my T-shirt, and I think Joe Strummer got meningitis when spit went in his mouth.

You had to go through a lot to become successful, it wasn't like you just kind of got up there and did a couple of gigs. I don't think some young rock bands really get that today.

With punk going so mega in England, we definitely got a leg up. We still had a lot of work to get where we got to, and rightly so because you find out that you need to do that. A lot of groups in the old days would be together three to five years before they ever made a record, and that time is really important. In a way, what was great about punk rock for me was it was very much a learning period. I really learned a lot [about] recording music and being in a group and even writing songs.

Then when I came to America, it was a flow, really. I also really started to know what I wanted Billy Idol to be. It took me a little bit, but I kind of knew what I wanted Billy Idol to be. And even that took a while to let it marinate.

You and Miley Cyrus have developed a good working relationship in the last several years. How do you think her fans have responded to you, and your fans have responded to her?

I think they're into it. It's more the record company that she had didn't really get "Night Crawling"— it was one of the best songs on Plastic Hearts, and I don't think they understood that. They wanted to go with Dua Lipa, they wanted to go with the modern, young acts, and I don't think they realized that that song was resonating with her fans. Which is a shame really because, with Andrew Watt producing, it's a hit song.

But at the same time, I enjoyed doing it. It came out really good and it's very Billy Idol. In fact, I think it’s more Billy Idol than Miley Cyrus. I think it shows you where Andrew Watt was. He was excited about doing a Billy Idol track. She's fun to work with. She’s a really great person and she works at her singing — I watched her rehearsing for the Super Bowl performance she gave. She rehearsed all Saturday morning, all Saturday afternoon, and Sunday morning and it was that afternoon. I have to admire her fortitude. She really cares.

I remember when you went on "Viva La Bam" back in 2005 and decided to give Bam Margera’s Lamborghini a new sunroof by taking a power saw to it. Did he own that car? Was that a rental?

I think it was his car.

Did he get over it later on?

He loved it. [Laughs] He’s got a wacky sense of humor. He’s fantastic, actually. I’m really sorry to see what he's been going through just lately. He's going through a lot, and I wish him the best. He's a fantastic person, and it's a shame that he's struggling so much with his addictions. I know what it's like. It's not easy.

Musically, what is the synergy like with you guys during the past 10 years, doing Kings and Queens of the Underground and this new stuff? What is your working relationship like now in this more sober, older, mature version of you two as opposed to what it was like back in the '80s?

In lots of ways it’s not so different because we always wrote the songs together, we always talked about what we're going to do together. It was just that we were getting high at the same time.We're just not getting [that way now] but we're doing all the same things.

We're still talking about things, still [planning] things:What are we going to do next? How are we going to find new people to work with? We want to find new producers. Let's be a little bit more timely about putting stuff out.That part of our relationship is the same, you know what I mean? That never got affected. We just happened to be overloading in the '80s.

The relationship’s… matured and it's carrying on being fruitful, and I think that's pretty amazing. Really, most people don't get to this place. Usually, they hate each other by now. [Laughs] We also give each other space. We're not stopping each other doing things outside of what we’re working on together. All of that enables us to carry on working together. I love and admire him. I respect him. He's been fantastic. I mean, just standing there on stage with him is always a treat. And he’s got an immensely great sense of humor. I think that's another reason why we can hang together after all this time because we've got the sense of humor to enable us to go forward.

There's a lot of fan reaction videos online, and I noticed a lot of younger women like "Rebel Yell" because, unlike a lot of other '80s alpha male rock tunes, you're talking about satisfying your lover.

It was about my girlfriend at the time, Perri Lister. It was about how great I thought she was, how much I was in love with her, and how great women are, how powerful they are.

It was a bit of a feminist anthem in a weird way. It was all about how relationships can free you and add a lot to your life. It was a cry of love, nothing to do with the Civil War or anything like that. Perri was a big part of my life, a big part of being Billy Idol. I wanted to write about it. I'm glad that's the effect.

Is there something you hope people get out of the songs you've been doing over the last 10 years? Do you find yourself putting out a message that keeps repeating?

Well, I suppose, if anything, is that you can come to terms with your life, you can keep a hold of it. You can work your dreams into reality in a way and, look, a million years later, still be enjoying it.

The only reason I'm singing about getting out of the cage is because I kicked out of the cage years ago. I joined Generation X when I said to my parents, "I'm leaving university, and I'm joining a punk rock group." And they didn't even know what a punk rock group was. Years ago, I’d write things for myself that put me on this path, so that maybe in 2022 I could sing something like "Cage" and be owning this territory and really having a good time. This is the life I wanted.

The original UK punk movement challenged societal norms. Despite all the craziness going on throughout the world, it seems like a lot of modern rock bands are afraid to do what you guys were doing. Do you think we'll see a shift in that?

Yeah.  Art usually reacts to things, so I would think eventually there will be a massive reaction to the pop music that’s taken over — the middle of the road music, and then this kind of right wing politics. There will be a massive reaction if there's not already one. I don’t know where it will come from exactly. You never know who's gonna do [it].

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