Top 60 Kelela Quotes

I really do like Solange, sincerely. I’m down for her, and I trust her judgment.

I want to speak in the tradition of rhythm and blues and soul music, but also push how it’s dressed and how it’s delivered to the audience. And hopefully that gets embraced by as many people as possible, but the goal isn’t necessarily to speak to everyone. The goal is to get it out as exact as it is in my head.

I like smart rappers who aren’t necessarily trying to be deeper than you, like Danny Brown.

As it pertains to my black womanhood, there’s just a lot of ground to cover. There’s a lot of stuff to say.

I think my worst enemy was myself. It’s like I’ve been in my own way more than anybody else has been.

The whole thing about ‘progressive R&B’ blows my mind. Black music has always been progressive.

As a black woman, there’s so much pride and communication through hair. It’s naturally something that you are excited to embellish on and be creative about.

I’m finding out what part of punk culture or white indie culture I actually still want to hold onto – What are the values? What are the contributions that I actually like? – and it not coming from a place of desperation or wanting to be embraced or wanting approval, essentially.

I would love to do an album of standards!

I try to make it a sonic experience so that when you put your earbuds in or when you’re in your room, it sounds like an enveloping feeling. I think that is the most important thing, that wherever you are, it is wrapping you up and making you feel safe and comfortable.

You can never have enough reinforcements, resources for black women to thrive in the world. The topic has been addressed a million times before, but it will never end because what we’re up against keeps morphing, and we have to figure out how to beat it.

For those of us who make music together, I think it’s important to realize that generosity on both sides is actually going to produce the biggest possibility.

In Maryland, I didn’t grow up around poor white people. Where I grew up, the white people were middle class or upper-middle class. It’s interesting how screwed up it is in reality, because most people who receive assistance from the government are white, but not in my head or in my experience.

I don’t care about the underground, even if that’s where I’m currently residing sonically.

My first reaction to being pigeonholed or pushed into certain confines is to be like, ‘No, I’m the opposite,’ you know? Like, don’t put me in a stereotypical black-girl category, because I’m not like that; I’m doing this thing over here.

After it became clear that I was not going to graduate, I had this moment where I was like, ‘I need to not sulk. I need to pursue – at least try – to pursue music. But if I don’t try, I’m going to be a really bitter middle-aged lady working in a cubicle.’

We are – as artists, we are racialized through genre and called black – without being called black – through genre.

I just want to live in a world where I can tell a guy, ‘This is the deal: I really want this. I really want you. But it’s also not that deep.’

How much closer can I get to the common ear, the mainstream, and how much it can still be from this other world, this other place? That’s the line I keep trying to tread but have my wings extend more on both sides.

I’m coming from the zone of Faith Evans, but with weird production.

‘Take Me Apart’ doesn’t feel cohesive in a singular way but in a varied way. You can fixate on individual songs, and there are references from all over the place: Anita Baker to Bjork. I wanted to show all the facets of myself.

Fog and one blue light is all I need in life at the club. Just a dark room and loud music. I’m into that.

I don’t want you to feel defeated, like, ‘Oh boy, why do you do this to me?’ We have too many of those songs.

Music in the U.K. is not racialised in the same way as it is in the U.S. In the U.S.. it’s more rigid and conservative. And white people in the U.K. have more close proximity with black people and people of colour in general.

I’m just tryna be honest about all the things that I dig in my music. It’s not just this over here, it’s also that over there.

At the end of the day, I would like to have the farthest reach in terms of being able to communicate to as many people as possible. So it’s not that I enjoy being obscure; it’s that I sonically don’t want to be situated here or there.

There is this feeling among black artists that you have to be really careful. We’re not inclined to talk about this stuff because, if we do, we put ourselves in a position where we’re not marketable or where we can’t win.

I have something stupid, like, 12 credits, to graduate.

‘Seat at the Table’ has expressed real adversity, struggle, and also triumph and joy.

There’s definitely a push and a pull to ‘legitimize’ electronic music live by playing the same way that a band would play.

I want to empower.

Sometimes I learn by someone giving me warnings and giving me advice about what to do next. And other times, a lot of times, I have to put my hand into the fire.

The goal is to blow the audience’s mind.

To me, the best writing points to something literal or common but is also nuanced: The moment when somebody is telling you they love you while simultaneously disappointing you. Everybody’s experienced that.

I guess the bottom line is I don’t make music that is consumed en masse.

I remember the day I first heard what Timbaland and Aaliyah did – that intersection of her pretty voice and his weird, resonant production. I remember where I was and what I was doing. It was a major situation. We’re trying to continue that legacy.

It is very rare that I am just coming up with melodies off the top of my head. I usually am responding to something – it could be chains dragging on the floor – but I am usually responding to something.

I was in school studying International Studies and Sociology. I was really into what was going on in school. I was affected by the ideas and engaged as a student, but not disciplined or motivated enough to do the work. That was a fear of mine for a while, that nothing was motivating.

It’s gratifying to hear something familiar and challenging at the same time.

I’ve talked about that with friends, about what genre makes sense to choose for each record and the strategy around that… Sometimes it’s more about the moment of time, and other times it’s more about the sound of the song. Sometimes it’s about what’s going on in larger life, in politics.

My queer black women peers are the ones who make me not feel crazy. The way we act is so instinctive.

I’m very into familiar things, popular things. I’m into things that no one seems to know about or be into. I’m trying to draw a line between those two things and make it clear… that it all makes sense to me. That it’s not disparate. That it’s all one thing inside me.

I just want to shed light, illuminate and turn the spotlight over to all of the black people who have been being futuristic and innovative since instruments were plugged into a wall. With computers, machines, and music, black people have been contributing to that a great deal for a long time.

Before I collaborate, it’s important that I have a conversation about what I care about before we make anything, so that it’s very clear.

I want to soundtrack people’s layered feelings.

I know my ticket is vulnerability. Most people point to some emotional experience, some hardship, some high or low when they talk about my music… a time when they need to feel those feelings more.

We don’t want it to be obscure music. We’re not trying to be indie. We want to be popular.

That’s pretty much how every song of mine works – I start with gibberish and melody and phrasing. I speak it naturally first. And then I think about lyrics that fit into that.

Most artists are going into the studio for a fixed period of time, and they say that’s their album. I can’t relate, because I’ve never made music in that way. I come from a culture of editing and remixing.

When I was little, my parents would have these gatherings, and it was a common thing for me and my cousins to have to put on, like, shows.

A black woman’s handbook in this industry is, ‘Whoa.’ The chapter on ‘Don’t go there.’ The chapter on ‘How to say that nicely,’ how to express that you don’t like something so that you don’t lose the opportunity – which is what we’re doing all day long.

When I called ‘Cut 4 Me’ a mixtape, I was thinking about a few elements: One is used instrumentals. The project is more centered around introducing you to an artist; it’s not meant to be seminal. It’s ‘Hi,’ ‘Hello,’ a thing that you first hear.

Most of my friends, growing up, were upper-middle-class white kids, so it was a different reality at home both culturally and linguistically. It created a lot of insecurities for me, but it also did a lot of amazing things that I didn’t know were happening at the time.

It means so much to be able to share myself with the world.

Self-care is a requirement.

When I was growing up… I’m not going to say I listened to everything, but when it comes to vocals, I was really adamant about imitating all kinds of voices.

I’d like to change what people expect. I want to evoke something that’s not nameable, for people to go, ‘Huh?’

I think I’m taking risks and putting myself out there.

My music sounds like one synergised thing, one message.

I think the Internet is more layered and complex than just hating it or liking it. I find it to be more purposeful to talk about the way that it’s conducive for relationships and making connections.