How Black Women Are Flipping the Pop-Rock Script

Beyoncé was once told it would be harder for her to land a magazine cover because “Black people did not sell.” And when Rihanna’s “SOS” hit pop radio in 2006, Amerie called the moment exciting, not just because the song was a hit, but because it was the first time in a long time that a young Black woman’s music was embraced by pop radio without hesitation.

For decades, Black pop stars have faced a steeper climb to the top. They’ve been sidestepped, miscategorized, or flattened into tropes while somehow delivering some of the most emotionally resonant, creatively daring music out there. But in 2025, a new wave of pop-rock and indie stars are pushing against that old narrative. Rachel Chinouriri, Ravyn Lenae, Willow Smith, and Alemeda aren’t easing into the indie-pop space. They’re reshaping it and reminding us that this sound has always had Black fingerprints on it.

These artists aren’t R&B with a splash of distortion, or dipping a toe into “alt” aesthetics. They’re not crossing over from a “soul” sound to dabble in indie. They are pop-rock acts through and through. Think Avril. Paramore. Fefe Dobson (who, it should be said, helped break this door open years ago). The convergence of their output right now feels like a moment. One that fans say matters.

On indie music TikTok, young Black fans are making heartfelt album reactions and giddy recommendations, urging people to support the rise of Black women in scenes still dominated by white faces.

“If you’re Black and you love pop—and you love the Paramores, the Billie Eilishes, the Olivia Rodrigos of the world—but you also love supporting Black women in music? This is the perfect album for you,” one user said of What a Devastating Turn of Events, Rachel Chinouriri’s 2024 studio debut. “She’s the perfect artist for you.”

Chinouriri has spoken out about the industry’s tendency to pigeonhole Black artists into R&B and hip-hop, regardless of the music they make On X, she wrote: “My music is not RnB My music is not Soul. My music is not alternative RnB My music is not Neo Soul. My music is not Jazz. My influences are Indie, electronic/alternative and pop music. Black artists doing indie is not confusing. How tf do ppl listen to ‘So My Darling’ and think ‘RnB.’”

And she’s right. On What a Devastating Turn of Events, Chinouriri delivers coming-of-age anthems that sound like early Coldplay mixed with the psyche of a Tumblr kid. Her vocals are light and ethereal, though her subject matter is anything but. The album is filled with grief, self-doubt, and emotional survival. It’s more Bloc Party than Brandy. And Chinouriri’s presence and success are proof that Black women making indie-pop is not niche, but instead long overdue.

And she isn’t the only one getting her flowers. Ravyn Lenae is finally getting mainstream shine with “Love Me Not,” a slow-burn hit that landed her on the BET Awards stage earlier this month. The crowd may have been low-energy, but online, fans erupted in celebration of her moment.

Elsewhere, Willow Smith and, TDE’s newest signee, Alemeda, are making messy, loud, and sometimes absurd pop-rock bangers no one can call boring. Smith has long done things her own way, so it’s not surprising to see the young superstar carry the alt-Black-girl aesthetic into the mainstream. And it’s never been more exciting to see a newcomer like Alemeda sign to a traditional hip-hop label like Top Dawg Entertainment.

But this shift isn’t just sonic. For too long, Black women have been cornered into either hyper-sexualized R&B archetypes or gospel-adjacent “powerhouse vocal” lanes. If they tried anything outside that, they were labeled “alternative” in a way that felt like a euphemism for “not Black enough” or “too weird.”

What Chinouriri, Lenae, Smith, and Alemeda are doing is refusing to be boxed into a corner. They continue to take up space in genres that historically wouldn’t claim them, even though rock and pop were built in part by Black women.

This moment is as much about visibility as it is about sound. In a pop culture era in which Black girls are vanishing vanishing from coming-of-age narratives on screen, these artists offer something vital. They’re not sidekicks or afterthoughts. They’re the stars. The screamers. The shredders. The frontwomen.

Some will write this off as a cute, fleeting trend. But if we’re lucky, it’s only the beginning.

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