
“There were records from wall to wall, a
radio in the bathroom that was on the local
FM soul station,” she recalls. Everyone was
allowed to have their own corner to express
their musical tastes. “My uncles would be in
the back listening to funk. They were into
Bootsy [Collins] and George Duke and Stan-
ley Clarke. My mother was more into the si-
rens — the Chaka Khans, the Phoebe Snows,
the Deniece Williamses, The Emotions. My
uncle, who’s a rebel, was into Prince and
Pink Floyd and Three Dog Night,” she says.
“I had a variety to pull from.”
Badu immersed herself in everything
artistic Dallas had to oer a young person.
When she was in elementary school, she
began taking classes at the Dallas Theater
Center, as well as the Martin Luther King Jr.
Community Center, where she would sing
and dance and perform in plays. Badu and
her younger sister, Koko, also frequented
The Black Academy of Arts and Letters,
where her mother and godmother vol-
unteered. TBAAL’s founder, Curtis King,
recalls seeing the “it thing” in Badu from an
early age.
Badu went to Louisiana’s Grambling State
University to study theater but left in 1993
and returned to Dallas before she graduated.
She planned to pursue music full time — but
since dreams don’t come true overnight,
Badu found herself working a series of odd
jobs to support herself while she worked
with her cousin Robert “Free” Bradford
to record her demo, Country Cousins. The
two would perform around Dallas as a
duo — she would sing and he would rap.
But even with the 19-song project, Badu
couldn’t pay a label to take her on. She says
she auditioned for everyone — Sony, Prior-
ity, Bad Boy, So So Def — but didn’t catch a
break until D’Angelo’s then-manager, Kedar
Massenburg, saw her perform at South by
Southwest and received her demo. He im-
mediately signed her to his fledging imprint,
Kedar Entertainment.
“As soon as I heard ‘On & On,’ I knew
that I had to get involved,” Massenburg told
Billboard in 2017. “The thing that struck me
immediately was the beginning, because
Erykah had used a beat in the intro that
Daddy-O, a member of a group I managed
called Stetsasonic, had created: Audio Two’s
‘Top Billin.’ ”
Country Cousins was the foundation of
what became Baduizm, and Badu’s debut
cemented not only her career but also the
neo-soul scene that had been developing. “I
think Tony! Toni! Toné! kind of opened the
door, D’Angelo took it to the next level in
terms of edginess, and Erykah solidified it,”
Massenburg said. “That’s what Baduizm did.
You’re saying, ‘I don’t need to wear these
kinds of clothes or look this kind of way, this
is my “-izm.” ’ The only thing that dates it is
the term ‘neo-soul’ — maybe that’s the issue.
It places it at a time when that term meant
a certain thing. Take away the term, and it
stands with the best of the artists that are
out here today.”
You would think, with the impact she
has had on R&B and hip-hop, that Badu
would have dropped more than five albums
over her 28-year career. But nope — just
five studio sets, a live album and a mixtape.
Granted, they’re all classics and helped
either introduce a new sound or popular-
ize a new style of working. Take 2008’s
New Amerykah Part One (4th World War),
which was recorded mainly on laptops
with Apple’s GarageBand software, with
Badu emailing sessions and files back and
forth with producers. At the time, it was a
pretty novel idea to forego the studio for
your bedroom — only new, cash-strapped
artists were doing that. Badu helped bring
the practice to the mainstream — just one
of many examples of her being aware of the
winds of change before most of her peers.
That same awareness inspired her to
launch her label, Control Freq, in 2005. At
the time, Badu said it was her attempt at
making a “profitable home for artists, with
fair contracts that will return ownership
of the music to the artists after a period of
time.” The first artist signed to the label was
Jay Electronica, the father of Badu’s third
child. “I didn’t develop him at all. I just
wanted to be near his greatness,” Badu says.
“He needed to be heard and I had a plat-
form. I wasn’t interested in building an art-
ist from scratch. I was interested in artists
who were building their own platforms.”
When it comes to her own music, Badu
is less interested in what she puts on wax
than in what she puts forth onstage. “I tour
eight months out of the year for the past 25
years,” she says emphatically. “That’s what
I do. I am a performance artist. I am not a
recording artist. I come from the theater.
It’s the immediate reaction between you and
the audience and the immediate feeling. The
point where you become one living, breath-
ing organism with people. That’s what I live
for. It’s my therapy. And theirs, too. We’re
in it together. And I like the idea that it hap-
pens only once.”
Unlike most performance artists, however,
Badu doesn’t create her music with the live
aspect in mind. Once she decides to perform
a song, she begins to re-create it for the stage.
“It’s like, ‘OK, now this is one arena. Now,
what are you going to do with it in here?’ ”
(One of her most popular songs, “Tyrone,”
was only ever released as a live rendition,
on her 1997 Live album.) The results speak
for themselves. Badu — this year’s Women
in Music Icon — has emerged as one of the
premier performers of her generation.
In 2015, while on an apparent hiatus,
Badu released a remix of Drake’s gargantuan
smash “Hotline Bling.” Produced by the
Dallas-based Zach Witness — who first con-
nected with Badu after she heard a remix he
did of her 2000 song “Bag Lady” and reached
out to him — “Cel U Lar Device” was posted
to SoundCloud without much explanation.
The track became the lead single for her
mixtape — and most recent project — 2015’s
But You Caint Use My Phone (a nod to “Ty-
rone”), which she recorded in less than two
weeks with Witness in his home studio. The
tape centered on a theme of cellphone use
and addiction, with Badu putting her spin
on a few other popular phone-based songs
like Usher’s “U Don’t Have To Call” and
New Edition’s “Mr. Telephone Man.”
Since then, Badu has popped up here
and there. She says she only collaborates
with people whose music she really enjoys.
Dram featured her on his debut album in
2016. She jumped on a track for Teyana
Taylor’s self-titled album in 2020. She lent
her vocals to a Jamie xx song that came
out in January. And at the 2025 Grammy
Awards, she won the best melodic rap
performance statue for a collaboration with
Rapsody, “3:AM.” “It snuck up on me!”
she says. “I remember collaborating with
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