“I’m trying to figure out where I’m supposed to be, but at the same time enjoying the fact that there’s nowhere I’m supposed to be.” This admission might seem like the beginning of an existential crisis, but it’s a welcome, liminal space for the rising singer and songwriter Momo Boyd. Between her recently released debut EP, a second EP in the works, and two tours, the 27-year-old is being pulled in many directions. But she’s also enjoying the emotionally ambiguous position she’s currently in – it’s what characterizes much of her work.
Boyd, who’s a part of Infinity Song, a pop rock sibling quintet that debuted in 2015, confesses that she’s nervous about striking out on her own as a solo artist. The demands are high: Her debut Miss Michigan tour just finished its US leg this past August and she will continue on throughout Europe in the fall, with a stop in London in November. She said that in comparison to Infinity Song’s sound, which can be characterized by guitar-driven melodies full of romanticism. “I’m doing my own thing and it’s a bit folksy, emotional and personal.” One might expect that Boyd being both a solo artist and an ensemble group member means that she runs the risk of producing indistinguishable bodies of work. But her moodier sound could not be more different from the family band’s more optimistic tunes. Nevertheless, the young singer is quick to say that the balance between the two lanes has been “pretty easy”.
The challenge so far has been trusting herself to explore different sounds in an industry where Black women’s artistry is often flattened into categories. The alternative and indie rock artist Santigold spoke about the industry’s narrow view of “Black music” during her 2022 Tiny Desk performance, and the Grammy award-winning artist SZA once said that her own music was only categorized as R&B because she’s Black. Being Black, female and gifted is often accompanied with being misunderstood–a consequence that Boyd has learned early on in her career.
Her musical origins began with her father, John Boyd, who started multiple choirs in Michigan, where the family is from, so that the younger people of their community would have an activity after school. By the time Momo was seven, her family relocated from the midwest to the north-east. While going to school in the Bronx, Boyd recalled, a blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl said to the singer: “Where you from? You talk like a white girl.” The comment made Boyd acutely aware of the cultural shift from her slower, midwestern roots to a faster, city life. The suspicion that she was cosplaying whiteness would resurface years later when she released her debut single, American Love Song.
Boyd’s melancholic, haunting voice about an ill-fated romance in American Love Song has made some listeners call her the Black Lana Del Rey, which Boyd considers a compliment. “She’s so emotionally interesting,” Boyd says about Del Rey. “I was drawn to her.” Boyd said that working through her own deep-seated sadness has allowed her to protect her inner child and to present herself to the world with intentionality and sensitivity. As the seventh of nine children who, Boyd said, didn’t get much attention growing up, she spent a lot of her formative years experiencing anxiety and temperamental attitudes. She decided to channel those feelings from childhood into her music.
After high school, Boyd chose not to attend college and remained at home with her parents, where she learned and practiced the guitar and bass for hours daily. She describes the isolation of that period as “tough” but crucial. When Infinity Song’s Hater’s Anthem, a quirky, acoustic number about jealousy and prideful laziness, went viral in 2023, her family knew that their dedication came full circle. “We always knew something would happen,” Boyd said. “We were feeling a bit discouraged and very unsure. Around that time we were just coming together to see what could happen.”
Though Infinity Song has developed a cult following as a group, each member intends to go solo. So when Boyd released Miss Michigan in April, her siblings were in full support of her endeavors. Boyd’s velvety vocals float over the seven tracks as she processes her self-doubt, avoidant tendencies and lovelorn experiences. Fader called her voice “moisturized” and The Source called Miss Michigan “reflective and deeply personal”.
This emotional interiority of her music manifests through the visuals for the aforementioned American Love Song, where Boyd sings about the inability to love due to being too “independent” and “American” for commitment. The music video captures Boyd with a delicate touch that complements her soft vocals. She is introduced wearing two-tone chaps-style denim jeans as she pets a horse and stares off into the distance. The fashion is pure rockabilly and Americana – her softly coiffed curly hair, the fit-and-flare silhouettes, a vintage style wedding gown, and an American flag sweater.
Boyd alternates between playing the guitar amidst wild grass and brush and running through an open pasture. The ease that Boyd exudes as she frolics through a pastoral landscape might seem incongruent to how such settings, which recall plantations and fields, would have been the historical sites of violence against Black people. “People were assuming that I was catering to a white audience. They were questioning my right to make a song on Americanism because of my race. For it to be twisted as if I’m sinister or an agent of propaganda, when I tell you–” Her voice trails off before continuing. “Sometimes I’m like, should I even bring it up?”
The truth, Boyd said, is that American Love Song is not propaganda or even a product of her own imagination. It was her life. Boyd lived with her large family in Shay Lake, a rural oasis for working class and upwardly mobile Black people seeking rest away from their homes in Detroit and Flint. Her home was the renovated lobby of an old motel with huge pine trees wrapped around the entrance. She reminisced on her family’s crabapple tree, picnics and bonfires, the small Black church her family frequented, and the countless stars that illuminated the evening skies. “This is where my home is. Do I not exist? Is this not where my family has put in all these hours of work? It’s just the truth. But the truth was controversial.”
Boyd operates within a tradition of Black female artists who dare to center their experiences as integral to the American landscape as anyone else’s. In 2016, Beyoncé performed with The Dixie Chicks at the Country Music Awards and online communities argued whether or not she belonged in the genre. Despite her 2024 album Cowboy Carter topping the Billboard charts, she received no CMA nominations. In 2020, Mickey Guyton triggered a shockwave throughout the country music scene with Black Like Me, a song that addressed systemic racism in the industry. Country music star Tanner Adell spoke about the underrepresentation of Black women in her genre and staked her claim as a glamorous Black woman of the south with her song, Buckle Bunny. Adell told Grammy.com: “We, as Black women, have been fighting our whole lives. We’ve been fighting for space. I’m purposely trying to bring softness into the picture.”
Although Boyd emphasizes that she doesn’t want to over-intellectualize her music, her sound and aesthetic choices are inherently political. “I had some not so pretty experiences in high school with colorism–how you’re perceived, how you’re ranked on the scale of desirability, and whether or not you’re seen. It lowkey radicalized me … My goal is to be a representation for Black women who desire freedom.”
Freedom, to her, is the refusal to allow the fear of failure to eclipse one’s courage and the ability to be one’s self. When Boyd created She’s a Sweetheart, a tongue-in-cheek song about a woman who’s too accessible to others, she said she wanted to create a world where Black women were the moment and nothing else existed besides those who looked like her. Despite once feeling invisible because of the color of her skin, Boyd professes that she’s always been a lover of beauty and feminine archetypes. She’s a devotee of classic rom-coms like Love Jones, Brown Sugar, and Pretty Woman. She loves the effortlessness of women from the 1970s and 1990s. And though her wide-ranging interests may confuse some people, Boyd enjoys the variety. “It takes a lot of work to have gratitude and peace. I have done a lot of work to protect my heart and who I am at the core and maintain this joy.”
