Amaarae Is Exactly Who She Thinks She Is on ‘Black Star’

“I’m a Black fucking star,” Amaarae told Rolling Stone in the weeks leading up to the release of her third studio album, Black Star.

The title, she explained, isn’t just bravado. It’s a triple entendre: her own self-mythology, the Ghanaian flag’s center emblem, and the Black cultural lineage that underpins the dance-floor ecstasy she crafts on record. Amaarae has always been deliberate about her image and sound, but Black Star feels like her most fully realized vision: a dance-fluid record that drapes itself in glitter, heat, and the kind of self-assurance only earned through years of meticulous artistry.

From the first track, Amaarae invites you into her hazy, sensual world—a place where club lights seem to never dim and intimacy hovers just above the bassline. She’s confrontational, vulnerable, and cheeky, often within the same song. This is an album that insists on your full attention. Even when the back half grows heavier, the payoffs are worth the wait, if only to hear how far she’ll stretch her extraterrestrial sounds.

“My soul can’t rest until I feel like I’ve made a project that resonates in a really huge way globally," she told RS. “The last frontier is to make both a commercial and critical success.”

Black Star might just be that inflection point. Below, seven parts that make Black Star impossible to ignore.

The music is genre-blending at its finest

Trying to box Black Star into a single genre is nonsensical. The record slides from dance to Jersey club to electro rave without ever losing its pulse. Baile funk threads in and out on songs, keeping the energy unpredictable.

Nowhere is her shapeshifting more thrilling than on “B2B,” whose beat switch morphs it from a sultry, body-to-body track into something like a ballad. The transition is disorienting in the best way, like realizing halfway through a song that you’ve stumbled into another banger. Amaarae won’t stop molding and reshaping multiple sounds until the product suits her exact vision.

How even “S.M.O.” still sounds fresh

Debuted live at Governors Ball in NYC back in June, “S.M.O.” was our first glimpse into Black Star. Months later, it still hits like the album’s ignition point. Dark, emo, and electric. Even if you intend to listen to the album front to back without stopping, “S.M.O.” make you press repeat.

Charlie Wilson’s feature

It’s easy for a feature to sound ornamental, but thankfully we have Charlie Wilson. His arrival on “Dream Scenario” is unexpected but welcomed within seconds. His voice radiating warmth and ache is yearning at its peak, the kind of performance that slows the album’s heartbeat for a moment without killing its momentum.

We’d like to hear their worlds collide a little more.

The synths on “Dove Cameron”

It’s easy to overlook production details when the vocals and lyrics are this magnetic, but “Dove Cameron” is a different story. The synths on this one, assertive and maybe even a little aggressive at points, elevate the track similarly to how they do on Amaarae’s own “Princess Going Digital." Add to that what Amaarae is talking on the song and you get a decadent, playful, and sultry standout.

The samples

Amaarae shows off just how cheeky she is with some of the samples on Black Star. Kelis’ playful “la la la la” vocals from “Milkshake” in “Starkilla” become a teasing refrain that feels that doesn’t devolve into corniness when coupled with Amaarae’s squeeky performance. There’s the wink toward Sisqó’s “Thong Song” on “Kiss Me Thru the Phone Pt. 2” with PinkPantheress, a move so fun it undercuts any notion of Black Star being overly self-serious.

And then Cher’s “Believe” appears on “She Is My Drug." Warped into something that sounds like it was recorded underwater, the track builds in 30-second increments, each more hypnotic than the last.

How rave-ready the album is

Like Tyler, the Creator’s Don’t Tap the Glass, Black Star is not designed for passive listening. This is music meant for movement, for the blur of lights on a dance floor when you’ve kind of lost all sense of time.

“Stuck Up” captures that sensation of stepping into the coolest underground club in the city. On “Starkilla,” she hypnotically chants “Ketamine, coke, and molly” with conviction strong enough to turn it into a manifesto for the night’s wildest hours.

The lusty lyricism

If there’s one thing Amaarae will never do, it’s shy away from desire. Lust runs through Black Star.

On “Dove Cameron,” she raps, “’Bout to see what are we fucking on next / I’m really myself in the flesh.” It’s a confidence that’s neither performative nor apologetic.

It’s this combination of sensuality, humor, and audacity that keeps Black Star from feeling predictable. Amaarae isn’t interested in coyness; she’s invested in truth, whether that’s whispered in your ear or shouted over the bass drop.

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