From Accra to Rio and Back: BLACK STAR Is Amaarae’s Genre-Defying Victory Lap

Amaarae’s third album, BLACK STAR, isn’t just a sequel to 2023’s genre-shattering Fountain Baby—it’s a full-throttle takeover of the club as cultural crossroads. Clocking in at a taut 44 minutes across 13 tracks, this is the Ghanaian-American auteur at her most unapologetically indulgent: a sweat-soaked survey of Black diasporic dance music that fuses Afrobeats propulsion with Brazilian baile funk basslines, Jersey club glitches, and highlife horns. Co-produced with her trusted circle—including Kyu Steed and a São Paulo funk squad—the record feels like a passport stamped in Accra, Atlanta, and Rio, all while chasing the high of self-actualized stardom. It’s joyous, jagged, and occasionally jaggedly nihilistic, a victory lap that asks: What happens when the party peaks and paranoia creeps in?

The opener, “BLACK STAR”, sets a cosmic tone with its shimmering synths and Amaarae’s breathy proclamation of arrival, evoking Ghana’s Pan-African flag as a badge of unyielding shine. But it’s the lead single “S.M.O. (Sweet Mother’s Offering)” that truly ignites the fuse—a kpanlogo-fueled banger blending zouk rhythms and futuristic gloss, where Amaarae polishes her heritage into a mirrorball manifesto. It’s peak Amaarae: roots as rocket fuel, her featherweight vocals gliding over beats that demand a body roll.

The features elevate without overshadowing, turning the album into a global summit. “GHETTO GODDESS” (feat. Bree Runway) is a villainous house heater, Runway’s laser-sharp bars slicing through ketamine-fueled hooks (“ketamine, coke, and molly” chanted like a spell), declaring a sovereign “CzechSlovakAtlanta” amid crossfire synths. It’s the track that most echoes Beyoncé’s Renaissance in ambition but ditches the lecture for pure, populist pulse. Similarly, “CHARLIE’S ANGEL” (feat. Charlie Wilson) injects Gap Band soul into a trance-tinged slow-burn, Wilson’s velvet runs lifting Amaarae’s guarded yearning into something almost redemptive—a rare comedown that feels earned rather than exhausting.

Shorter interludes like “PINK PANTHERESS” (an interlude) and “NAOMI” add cheeky flair: the former a glitchy hyperpop breather nodding to UK’s bedroom queen, the latter a 30-second Naomi Campbell spoken-word strut (“Pivot, pose… Bitch, serve”), transforming a muted trap pulse into a runway revelation. It’s the album’s boldest crossover flex—fashion as funk—and it lands with empowering swagger, embodying BLACK STAR’s ethos of hustle-turned-legend.

Mid-album, the Brazilian jaunt shines on “FUNK DA VIDA”, a baile-infused romp that loops highlife guitars into euphoric loops, while “ACCRA 2 RIO” cartwheels from Ghanaian microgenres to South African amapiano chugs, proving Amaarae’s globe-trotting isn’t gimmicky but genuinely galvanizing. “HIGH LIFE” flips Jersey club into a highlife hybrid, its “switching genres till we make it pop” credo a cheeky thesis for the whole project. Yet not every border-crossing sticks the landing. “CROWN” and “COSMIC GIRL” veer into pretty but weightless hyperpop territory, their starry-eyed empowerment anthems (“crowns” and “cosmic” motifs piling up like Instagram reels) feeling more motivational playlist filler than knife-edge innovation. The back half, “LUNAR LOVE” and closer “STARLIGHT”, drifts into ambient afterglow—gorgeous, sure, but echoing Fountain Baby’s introspective tail without the same emotional gut-punch.

Lyrically, BLACK STAR swaps Fountain Baby’s sly sensuality for a cocktail of lust, longing, and luxury highs: drug-fueled flings on “She Is My Drug” (flipping Cher’s “Believe” into a glitchy confession), unrequited ache on the PinkPantheress duet “Kiss Me Thru the Phone Pt. 2” (a helium-voiced sequel to Soulja Boy, sampling Sisqó’s “Thong Song” into sinister sweetness). It’s softer, more vulnerable—Amaarae armored in opulence yet cracking open to reveal the comedown’s paranoia—but the clichés (“yearning to the bone,” “love off the drugs”) occasionally blunt her blade-sharp wit.

At its core, BLACK STAR is Amaarae redrawing pop’s map: a hedonistic recalibration where Black electronic roots pulse through every breakdown, interpolation (Kelis’ “Milkshake,” Nightcrawlers’ “Push the Feeling On”), and rave-up. It’s not flawless—the nihilism lingers like a hangover, and some tracks prioritize vibe over viscera—but it’s audaciously alive, a coronation for an artist who’s always danced between worlds. Play it loud in the club or low in the afterhours; either way, it’s the sound of a supernova mid-bloom.