When Tems first announced her all-woman music community, Leading Vibe, targeted towards helping women in the music space grow, it sparked conversations - budding Black women in the industry started to revisit the treatment they face. For many Black women in the UK music scene, it echoed something they continually fight for. A space that listens, both to them and their music. The initiative, all-women-led but one, her manager, was born from Tems’ own experiences navigating an industry that often questioned her talent, “it’s really hard to get people to take me seriously, not just as a producer, but as a singer…I didn’t feel safe, and I didn’t feel seen, and I didn’t feel supported for a very long time,” she revealed to CNN. In another interview with Korty, the African star revealed how she would put on baggy clothes so as not to “seduce” the male producers and actually indicate she came to work.

Her words capture what it is to be a young Black woman in the music scene where every day is a fight for recognition and respect.

The Bias and the Burden

There's a saying that you have to work twice as hard if you are Black. There's another one that says you have to work twice as hard if you are a woman. Now imagine if you were both. Across the UK, the music industry continues to treat Black women’s creativity as exceptional rather than the norm. Systemic barriers like underrepresentation, limited access to funding and not enough visibility in production/leadership roles and even monolithicity are faced by both chart-topping singers and underground producers.

“People are less willing to listen to electronic music that is made by a Black woman. That’s just a fact” reveals PinkPantheress, one of UK’s most talked about alt-pop producers, to Hollywood Reporter. To progress, many Black girls need to constantly ask themselves “what’s a girl gotta do to be seen? How many girls like me do you see on the centre stage?” And the artists that “fit the mould” are expected to perform a kind of palatable femininity, the kind FLO critique in their song, “I'm Just a Girl”, singing: “Yeah, what's a girl gotta do to be seen? (To be seen) / Beggin' hard, pretty please, on my knees (on my knees) / Tryna be what I don't see on the TV” and when they try to steer away or complain, they are told to “shut up and look good.” 

A 2023 UK Music report found that 86% of Black music creators believe there are barriers to progression in the industry - a figure that rises to 89% among Black women. Little Mix’s Leigh-Anne Pinnock has spoken openly on her BBC documentary, Race, Pop and Power (2021) about being told, “You need to bleach your skin because you won’t sell any records.” Many Black women have also shared similar experiences, revealing how they are often kept at the lowest rungs of industry hierarchies, particularly in technical and production roles. For them, the intersection of racism and sexism creates a double erasure - being perceived as neither fully technical nor commercially marketable.

The Lineage of Sound

If we look at it, these challenges aren't new. More often than not, they are inherited. Before the industry had names for it, Black women were already composing harmonies in church choirs, crafting rhythms from domestic rituals, and creating soundscapes. 

Take Black Voices, founded in Birmingham in 1987, for example; an all-Black-women acapella group, wove gospel, folk, jazz, and Caribbean spirituals into performances across the UK and beyond. They rehearsed in living rooms, church basements, places not marked as “official” according to western standards, or even consider the many choir directors and community singers connected to the Windrush generation, who taught the next generation spirituals, hymns, improvisation, even when formal music education ignored those sounds and dismissed them as “folk” or “not serious.” Their lessons weren’t always documented, but the impact was and still is in how generations have come to find their own voices and claim their space; an example of this legacy is Choir Director Audrey Lawrence-Mattis whose mentorship shaped countless young voices.

Today, rappers like Little Simz have often credited Lauryn Hill and Missy Elliot as their models, which further proves black women's music lineage transcends time and geography. 

Little Simz wears a black jacket, white shirt, and sunglasses sings into a microphone on stage. The mood is energetic and vibrant, suggesting a lively performance.

Pictured: Little Simz performs on stage (Boardmasters, 2023)

The Communities Giving Women the Backup and Women Who Are Doing It Regardless

As writer and activist Audrey Lorde said, "the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house". That's why Black women are building their own.

Tems’ Leading Vibe is an example. Launched to cater to women in Nigeria and Africa at large. In the UK, Shakira Walters noticed the lack of female representation around the UK music scene from artists to platforms, so she founded GIRLSofGRIME. For Walters, the genre which is predominantly black failed to acknowledge its women, and she made it her duty to prioritise the generation of unheard young female voices. For her, sound is “Not Just Music, It's Our Culture”, and her goal is to help other underprivileged women who may need help navigating the music industry.

Then there's Girls I Rate, founded by Carla Marie Williams in 2017, after experiencing first hand the imbalance and inequality within a very male dominated music industry, was compelled to create a movement that provides females with a voice and platform. Its motto,"When Women support each other, incredible things happen!” A reminder of community and girl-power.

Even globally, artists like Megan Thee Stallion are expanding this sisterhood. Her mental health initiative, Bad Bitches Have Bad Days Too, reminds women that healing is also part of resistance. 

There's also the push for restructuring of the UK school curriculum. According to Angel Nduka-Nwosu, a music journalist, “Black feminists push a lot for documenting women's voices in music and that shapes how children are taught about women musicians. They push for more conversation about the portrayal of women in music such that more media classes in universities now actively study women and the historical misogyny of hip hop.

What an Inclusive Future Looks Like

Like Beyoncé suggests, “never ask permission for something that belongs to you”, on a stage that told her she couldn't be different. 

An inclusive music industry begins with representation but doesn’t end there. It must reimagine every level of creative development by integrating Blackness at every step. From the classroom to the studio, the stage to the press release. 

For young Black girls, Solange offers a glimpse of what that future could look like. Appointed as the first-ever Scholar-in-Residence at USC’s Thornton School of Music, she’s merging artistry with mentorship to guide the next generation.

That future looks like teaching models that are collaborative and anti-hierarchical. It looks like music journalism that amplifies Black women’s stories. It looks like dismantling the myth that technical skill has a gender or race. It looks like more Black women entering music without having to justify their presence. 

And because there is community, healing and joy becomes paramount, something that is usually detached from Black girls' realities as a result of decades of not prioritising their mental health.

A future where Black women are free from associating with their abusers. “The series, Surviving R. Kelly, showed how Black feminists ensured that he was muted across radio stations. They ensured that they saw to the end of platforming sexist singers from popular media because the radio can influence how young listeners embody misogyny,” Angel Nduka-Nwosu adds.

And most importantly, it looks like joy. A feminist future in music means centreing joy not as an afterthought but as an act of resistance. A reminder that freedom doesn’t just sound good - it heals.

Words by Youth Music NextGen writer, Oladoyin Alana | @dhoyenn

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