“There are R&B artists who do pure R&B – that's great and it should be labeled as such,” says Ravyn Lenae. “And then there's Black artists who are doing pure pop, and it should be labeled as such.”

In the two years since her cover story for The FADER, a lot has changed for Ravyn Lenae. Her third studio album Blue Island finds the Chicago-raised singer-songwriter stretching her adventurous sonic range even further than before, drawing on everything from rock to Prince to Italodisco as Ravyn unpacks the dramatic shifts in her life over the past two years.

Three months after she graced our cover, her second studio album Bird’s Eye arrived to serious critical acclaim, eventually leading to Ravyn’s first charting hit with “Love Me Not” the following spring. Initially landing at No. 81 on the Billboard Hot 100, the song would eventually peak at No. 5, with billions of streams from listeners who had never heard her music before.

That success shifted everything for Ravyn, who found herself performing the song all over the world and the subject of increased scrutiny for appealing to white audiences or leaving R&B behind. For Ravyn, who’d been open and vocal about her interest in pop music well before the release of Bird’s Eye, the heated debates about her Blackness forced her to recenter as an artist as she began recording Blue Island.

“There was a new lens on me, a new visibility, and new questions around my identity,” says Ravyn. “It really made me look at myself and ask myself hard questions about what type of artist I want to be.”

Executive produced by Dahi with songwriting contributions from Eric Leva, Blue Island sees Ravyn exploring and expounding upon who she is – not only as an artist, but as a daughter, sister, and lover. The morning of the album’s release, Ravyn Lenae stopped by The FADER HQ for an in-depth interview about recording Blue Island, working with Noname, and what R&B means to her. You can watch the video interview here, and read the full transcript below.

Video Credits:
Executive Producer: Jon Cohen, Anthony Holland
Creative Director: Nadine Ng
Director of Photography: Ethan Holland
2nd Camera: Tommy Maidment
Editor: Quinton Dominguez
Sound Mixer: Alexander Zooi
Score: Luisa Bryan
Talent: Ravyn Lenae
Interviewer: Vivian Medithi
Special Thanks: Orienteer

The FADER: Hi, I'm Vivian Medithi, Senior Reporter at The FADER, and we're joined here at the offices today by Ravyn Lenae. Ravyn, the album just dropped 12 hours ago. How are you feeling?

Ravyn Lenae: Every time an album drops, it always feels bittersweet in a really weird way, because obviously I'm excited for people to hear it, but once it's out, it's out. You open up your heart in a way, and hopefully it's received. So I think it's being received.

The album is titled after Blue Island, Illinois. What was growing up in Blue Island like?

I didn't grow up in Blue Island. I was just born there. It's a hospital there, I don't even know if it exists anymore. But honestly, growing up on the South Side of Chicago was a really beautiful experience for me. I don't know if a lot of people know, but Chicago is one of the most segregated parts of the United States, and being able to grow up in such a culturally rich, Black space was important for me growing up.

Then going to high school and going to an art school in a different part of the city really opened me up to different types of people and culture and music, and other artists and other mediums. So I got this really colorful palette of people and inspirations in Chicago. And I think that's why so many cool and unique artists come from there.

Why was Blue Island the right title for the album?

One, I like that the name in itself sounds like a mystical place. And sometimes it's really fun to find the beauty in the mundane, or the things that we cross every day and don't really think twice about. It just felt right for this point in my career [with] this album feeling like a point of arrival for me, especially after the last album and the success of it, and really having to come back to who I am as an artist and what I want to leave here.

Whenever you have a really good [or] crazy moment in your career that you've been dreaming about for so long, there's a lot of change that comes with that. So a lot of [Blue Island] was me reconciling that change, the good, the bad, the indifferent. And understanding that there was a new lens on me, a new visibility, and new questions around my identity, my blackness. And it really made me look at myself and ask myself hard questions about what type of artist I want to be.

This album feels like it's standing in that artist, you know? I'm someone who really likes to go against the grain and blend multiple genres and influences, and just making peace with the fact that I am this layered person, an artist that likes to blend worlds. Thinking of it as a gift really gave me some new perspective on who I want to be.

It’s interesting to me when you say you like to be oppositional, because when we talked at Gov Ball, you said, “If you want me to make the same song twice, I’m not the artist for you.” I was curious — you were in the church choir growing up, then you went to a performing arts high school in Chicago. How did music become such a central part of your life so early?

I think you're just born with some type of feeling around the arts and being creative, if that's what your path is. It's kind of hard to explain. I feel like I was always someone who lived in my head, in my imagination, in my dreams, and that naturally lends itself to a creative path. And obviously having a family that recognizes that in you early is really important, and I'm so grateful to have had that, because I was put into guitar lessons really early, and piano lessons, and just spaces that really nurtured that initial spark in me.

And that just sets you up for success in the best way, even if it's just you feeling the confidence to pursue whatever it is you want to do. I was raised around that type of mentality, but also I grew up around my dad being really into music and introducing me to artists like Outkast and Pharrell and Kelis and Nelly Furtado. I had a really good introduction to cool music that went against the grain. So that was almost built in me in a way, to try to find those artists that blend worlds in a really cool, universal way. That's always been something I’d strive for, that magic.

You mentioned that you had to ask yourself hard questions about the type of artist you are and want to be. When you were grappling with that question, did you feel like you were going back to some of the ideas that you had when you were really young, or was it like I'm trying to do something completely different?

It was a little bit of both and I think that's where that uncomfortable feeling comes from, because you're taking things from the past while moving forward and grabbing new things. But looking back was important too, because even this past year, recently celebrating the 10-year anniversary of Moon Shoes, it made me reflect on what it felt like to be 15, 16 and releasing music. I just looked at the tracklist and thought about that time in high school, and even the fact that I shot that EP cover like on my MacBook and just threw it up. I think it's important to remember those type of impulsive urges around music and what that feels like — following that and knowing that it's right. I definitely brought that back into the picture for sure.

But then there's this other thing of pushing what I already know. There's a comfort zone for me, and I know that when I'm in the studio and I'm having a hard time recording a song that means I'm pushing past it in a way. And also with each album, just challenging what I think is cool is what I like to do. And acknowledging what I thought was cool last year and thinking about how I can push that a little bit is important. So it’s that 15-year-old brain merging with the growing Ravyn and the artist in me.

Speaking of 10th anniversaries. I saw Noname’s sold out Telefone show here in New York a couple nights ago. She, of course, shouted you out and performed “Forever.” Can you talk to us about making that song?

I remember when I first got the message from Noname about me being on her album. That made my whole year. Growing up in Chicago and looking up to artists like her and Mick Jenkins and Chance and Saba, it just felt so good to be acknowledged by the people I looked up to, who showed me it was possible coming from the South Side of Chicago. That's really all I needed to be able to pursue it.

But when I heard that she wanted to be on the album and she wanted to take me on my first tour, that meant everything to me, and that's why Noname will always be someone that I look up to and I respect, as a person and an artist. Hopefully I get to make one of these shows, and I want to come out and sing the song together because I remember that just being such a highlight for me. Being able to go on tour in my senior year of high school, like what the fuck? Love her. I'm so happy she's having this moment to be able to really celebrate such a monumental album.

You mentioned Saba and Chance and these other people who came up in the 2010s in Chicago alongside you and Noname. You also signed a major label deal very early, when you were still 16. What's your perspective on how the industry has evolved over the past decade?

It's changed so much, oh my God. It's not even that long ago, it feels like, when I was 15. But I feel like there was more fun in the unstructured nature of it. And there was this urge as music listeners and music lovers to discover and find new things. That was really exciting and not that it's not fun now, but I think the discovery aspect of it was just a little more robust. There was this need to be the first one to find something cool. Whereas now, I feel it's a little more… bandwagon-y, and people are looking to other people and looking over their shoulders of what they think is cool. There was more pride in your music taste, SoundCloud being the place where people just dumped shit, whatever they were feeling, and people were receptive to that and nobody really cared about how many listens it got or how many likes, how many shares. It was a really pure place.

Now it's just figuring out how to get your music to cut through in a really big world and entity that the internet is. And there's something fun about it and almost boundless that that feels cool, but then it's a little daunting, I can imagine, especially for 15 year old kids coming up now trying to figure out how to get my music out there. So it's tricky, but I think it's fun if you can tap into it and unlock it.

In your 2024 cover story for The FADER, you said, “I feel like I'm just now kind of getting an understanding of what signing really means.” What does it mean, and how have you adapted to the industry over the years?

I think when you sign so young, you don't really understand what's happening in a way. You hear stories of people signing and their lives changing overnight and that's just what it is, but when I signed, that's when things really started to change and internet culture started to change and this need for promoting yourself in a different way started to happen. There were artists like me and Steve Lacy coming out that a lot of people didn't really understand where to put us or where to categorize us. And I think what's so cool about now is that it seems like there's a really deep appreciation for those outsiders and the people who kind of live in multiple worlds. So seeing people even like Charli and Lorde have really huge robust moments is interesting to see because I feel like maybe there wasn't space for that type of thing on a large mainstream level [before] that is happening now. I think it's cool that the industry as a whole is embracing people who go this way when everybody's going that way. I feel like the door is wide open right now.

Definitely. It feels like it's harder to cut through the noise, but there are a lot more paths to do things once you do and be really successful in it. Also in your cover story around Bird's Eye, you spoke about feeling like you had to limit yourself and follow certain rules to make an R&B record with Hypnos specifically. For you, what sonic elements define R&B as a genre?

The thing that defines R&B for me or gives it that feel is definitely the vocal texture, the tone. It naturally would give something a more soulful feeling that I love so much. Also the writing style and the stacking style, the harmony choices, the chords. It's really this beautifully textured, layered thing that expands beyond what we even think it is, you know? Artists like Kelela and Solange and the likes are really important to understand that R&B can be really anything. But for me, what really defines it is the vocal style.

With Blue Island, similar to Bird's Eye, you and Dahi and your collaborators are really trying to push past maybe these boxes or these genre categories in a way. In your cover story, I remember the producer Spencer Stewart said that you guys were playing a game with Bird's Eye like, anytime it got too close to R&B, you guys were like, “OK, let's take a shift.” With your vocal approach on the new record, how were you playing with that or doing something that felt distinct from what you consider R&B?

It wasn't about not getting too close to R&B. It was about getting too close to anything, really. Anytime it started to feel too literal of any genre, that's when I like to kind of move it or shift it a different way. So even with songs on this album, like “Saturday Night,” for instance, that production went through so many different changes. It first started off as this almost country feeling, Southern thing – that felt a little too literal for me. Then I'm like, “okay, let's try to take it in this space and make it a little more indie,” and we did that. And then we moved into this kind of electro, Italo disco thing. I just like when you can't really put your finger on what something is. That's my favorite thing, and if you can do that with one of my songs that's when I'm like, "gotta move it." That's just fun to me. It's not about moving it from R&B. It's really moving it from anything that feels like I've heard this type of thing done a million times. How can I make it Ravyn?

What genre labels feel truest for your music?

It all feels right to me. When people call me an R&B singer, that feels right. People call me a pop singer, that feels right. I don't know, but I do think pop kind of encapsulates all of it. If you really look at artists like Janet Jackson or Prince or Michael Jackson, they call that pop. Even though there's soulful tones to it, that's popular music.

It was just interesting to try and understand how you’re thinking about genre, because both with Blue Island and Birds Eye, it was a lot about people trying to put you in a specific box and you're like, “I'm not trying to be stuck in that box.” And at least from my outsider perspective, it feels like the way people in general categorize pop or R&B is more about racial classification than anything about the sound of the music. One way or the other, because a lot of pop music right now is very much cribbing from R&B explicitly.

It's all racial. And that's why I try to reject all of it in a way, because I don't think that's fair. There are R&B artists who do pure R&B – that's great and it should be labeled as such, you know? And then there's Black artists who are doing pure pop, and it should be labeled as such. And to me, that's not a rejection of anything, you know? I understand why Black listeners get really defensive and protective over the genre and over who exists in it and what makes R&B, R&B. I completely understand it and I completely understand just the historical trajectory of it and how much we've worked so hard to not be policed. With that freedom, and with those Black artists who've come before us, they really did work so hard so that we don't have to live in one box, you know? And I think it's a disservice to Black culture, Black art as a whole, for us not to be able to just fly free.

Bird's Eye spawned a mega hit with “Love Me Not.” What was that sort of viral success like for you?

Crazy. It's like, in real time, seeing the world accept me and validate me. It's such a high that is just really hard to explain. But what also felt just so good about it was that I believed in that album and that song so much, before it even came out. I felt like there was something about it that just works universally.

So for the world to agree with me just felt like everything I needed to feel confident and validated in my decisions and my taste. So this time around, it gave me a lot more clarity on even picking the singles and picking the tracklist and not feeling shaky on my opinion, you know?

It seems like the viral success of “Love Me Not” could also be a bit of a double-edged sword when we're having these conversations about how people think about your identity or authenticity in genres. Could you talk a little bit about how expectations or additional scrutiny impacted you as an artist?

I was never at a point in my career where I felt like I had to defend myself and defend where I come from and culturally what I come from and what I'm influenced by. And you know, it was weird on both sides! I had white people loving “Love Me Not” and then watching the music video and seeing that I'm Black, seeing where I come from, seeing I'm from the South Side of Chicago and there being this kind of disconnect. I remember seeing YouTube comments like, “oh, she's Black” or “oh, I didn't expect that.” It's yeah, really interesting. But then on the flip side of it, Black people hearing the song and being like, “I didn't realize she was Black,” “This doesn't sound Black,” or that “this song doesn't hit for Black people.”

Having to weed out those feelings and emotions and opinions around me was a hard thing to do, because my fan base, who’ve been so loyal this whole time, felt like they had to defend me from the outsiders coming in, in a way. And then with this new album, there were comments, fans feeling rejected or forgotten, because I wanted to explore pop, even before “Love Me Not” happened. If people read my interviews around Bird's Eye, I literally said in interviews, “I want to explore pop, I think it's fun. There's something sparky there that I'm really interested in right now” – had nothing to do with the success of “Love Me Not.” I’m just an artist that likes to follow whatever I'm feeling. And the people who know me and who know my journey understand that it's always gonna be led by that.

So yeah, I think it was a gift and a curse, really asking a lot of questions around my identity and my Blackness, because it really made me have to evaluate that and stand on it in a really new way.

Your songs are deeply emotional, sometimes even startlingly candid. Can you talk to us a little bit about your songwriting process and staying in touch with your emotions and your desire?

Especially with this album, I didn't have time, in between promoting Bird's Eye and singing “Love Me Not” everywhere, to think about what was going on in my life. So the studio really served as the main and only space where I could just revisit my mind and think about my world changing around me so quickly. So it almost served as like therapy sessions in a way — Eric Leva being my close collaborator and co-writer for this album, was like my therapist and we just talked through all my drama and what was going on up here and having to almost try to ignore the fact that my life was changing and this song was taking over my life in a way. And having to ignore that and come to the studio and act like nothing is happening is really funny.

Even the album before this, Birds Eye, “One Wish” being probably the one of the most vulnerable songs I've ever released prior to this album. It speaks about my relationship with my father and us coming together and figuring out how to get better together and make sense of and peace with him being absent for a lot of my childhood, really gave me a new idea of how vulnerable I can get in my music. And I remember that was one of the first songs that had a big response before “Love Me Not.” People really connected with the candidness you speak about. And I was always so afraid of revealing those parts of me that felt difficult or unclear or unresolved, and just making peace with that and finding the beauty in it is something I learned from that experience. So now I try to really find that place. Like, how uncomfortable can I really get with these lyrics?

There’s a phone call interlude with your grandfather on the outro of “Never Let Me Go.” Why was that the right texture for that song?

I love my grandparents. It was both of them. I love our calls. I always call them when I need some type of anchor or landing emotionally. And it always brings me back down to the little girl in me in a way. And being so far away from home., missing them, missing just, what my everyday used to be. Sometimes it’s just necessary to get that glimpse of home and that glimpse of normal. When I call them, I’m reminded: I'm a daughter, I'm a granddaughter, I'm a sister, before anything. So it just felt right to have such an integral piece of me in the album. And my grandma, she's on a few of my albums, accidentally, because it just feels right for people to get that slice of life from me.

Doechii’s guest verse on “Babygirl” rips. How did that song come together?

I love that one. I remember when we wrote it, it almost started to feel like the thesis of the album. Just the lyrical nature of it feels like walking people through my mindset and the everyday of a Black girl in this world, this industry, trying to find her way when she moves to the beat of her own drum. And Doechii just felt like the perfect person to help me tell that story because she's somebody that I deeply admire as an artist and as a person. She's someone that feels so convicted in her vision and in her path. And when you see that and you feel that it's almost contagious in a way.

I remember when I sent it to her, she responded immediately and was like, “you're a fucking superstar,” and I was like, “okay, she's gonna do it.” Any woman, any artist that just stays true to their path and believes in it before anybody else does and really believes in it, I'm inspired by.

My favorite song on the record is “Potential,” which reminds me of almost a drop-less Zedd song, until the actual drop kicks in, which totally blew my mind. What inspired that track?

That one felt so easy. We wrote that one in a day or something crazy like that. The subject matter really took me back to high school and one of my first crushes and what that felt like in a way. I like how innocent the lyrics feel. I sat around making this album, it was a lot of transporting myself from the past to now, past to now. It just kept feeling like this ping pong of who Ravyn was, what she existed as, what she thought about, and how that feels now. Revisiting that first crush, that first love felt right to me.

And I like how melodic it feels, but almost a little melancholy. I like that mix of light and dark and making people feel like they don't know how to feel, because that's how I feel a lot of the time. And I remember we went back and forth on if we should have drums on this song, but it just felt good. It felt percussive in its own way and the melody kind of drives it in this beat driven way. And Monte [Booker], who's one of my favorite humans on this planet, who has known me since I was like 15, just a genius with drums and texture and something that feels cinematically dark. And I just love that mix of almost fairytale melody with this really unsettling ending. But I'm glad you like that one. That's one of my favorites too.

Hell yeah. And that segues into my last question, thinking about this idea of ping-ponging between like your teenage self and your current self, and even working with people like Monte who you've worked with your whole career. Looking back to “Moon Shoes” and your early career, where do feel like you've grown the most as a person and as an artist?

The beautiful thing about growing up and being able to release music while you're growing up and share big parts of yourself with the world is learning to really trust my voice and lean into what I think is right.

Being in music at such a young age, it gets muddy and loud and cloudy. And as the years go by, being an artist, it's just weaving through the clouds, seeing what that initial spark was and harnessing that. This past year has been just that. And I hope I keep getting closer and closer to that type of girl.