It’s hardly controversial to say that 2025 marks an interesting time for music.
Accessibility has never been higher. Saturation, too. Our feeds loop the same snippets over and over until everything blurs together—impossible to tell one track from the next.
Every day, over 100,000 songs hit Spotify. The irony? With all this noise, finding something truly fresh—something that makes you stop and actually listen—can feel rare.
But every once in a while, the universe blesses you with the person you need to hear, when you need to hear it.
Like many of us, this happened to me one night deep into a doom-scroll. The kind of 3 a.m. spiral where your eyelids are bloodshot but your thumb refuses to go to sleep.
I stumbled on an On The Radar freestyle: “Stay calm, cool, collected… cop a six pack from ocky on the corner / get your weave snatched if you talkin’ outta order…there’s a real breaking to the makin’ of a system /startin’ with the sh*t they got us drinking in the water.”
Cue the replay.
The freestyle was SALIMATA’s. The track was “FOIL,” her most recent song. A Brooklyn-born rapper with roots in East New York, she now splits her time between New York and Europe, working with Fada Records. With two major projects—OUCH (2021) and Wooden Floors (2024) — she’s built a catalog equal parts feminine rage, social commentary, and personal truth.
She’s creative kin to MIKE of 10K Records, a key architect of New York’s underground sound and the catalyst who pushed her to drop her first album OUCH.
Her artistry is rooted in poetry, shaped by the early internet days when Facebook freestyles were her outlet. Years in, she’s mastered pouring her heart out lyrically.
With the video now sitting at 50K likes on TikTok, the comments echoed what I felt: “Conscious. Original. Raw.” Some drew lines to legends like Bahamadia. But after listening in full, it’s clear she’s no imitation. SALIMATA is carving her own silhouette: sharp, honest, someone you want to know. To listen to.
In a world where so much music is programmed to be escapism or background noise, it’s rare to find something that makes you stop and think.
Lyrics that make you pose the question: how honest am I with myself?
I met her 48 hours before her homecoming show at Baby’s All Right in Williamsburg. Fresh off a five-day NYC sprint—shooting music videos, rehearsals, & Carhartt meetings.
It felt like the right moment to meet the person behind some of the best lyricism I’ve heard in a long time. Sporting long blonde braids and a multicolored dress, she was sweet, animated, and personable.
And no stranger to saying exactly what’s on her mind.
In a conversation that felt more like catching up with an old homegirl than a formal interview, we got into her journey so far, the new music, vulnerability, and what being “conscious” really means.
What does it feel like to perform back in Brooklyn after spending time away overseas?
SALIMATA: Oh, my gosh. I mean, it’s so weird because the best thing about New York is that it never changes. But you change. So you get to observe the same thing from a different perspective. And of course, there’s something different going on—the atmosphere changes, the people change. I know there’s definitely not a lot of New Yorkers here no more.
Somehow the music led me there (overseas). I’ve been working a lot with Fada Records—they helped me with my last album. I’m like f*cking European now at this point. It’s crazy.
But being back. It’s just been like a breath of fresh air for me. And just to be surrounded by people who get me you know? And I don’t mean that in like any specific way, but it’s been so nice just to have very simple interactions. People just get you.
I’m happy that this is my first show back. I’m mad excited. It’s a lot of new music. I’ve been rehearsing since the second I found out about the show.
Your On the Radar freestyle earlier this year felt like a turning point—did you see that moment coming?
SALIMATA: That was crazy. I really didn’t expect that. I’m a hermit—I be under a rock. So I would’ve never thought that.
Before the On the Radar shit, everyone on my IG was my friend. I knew everybody. It felt like Facebook—like, “Y’all look what I’m doing today.” After the video, I realized people were meeting me as a rapper. On the Radar really stapled that.
People started reaching out because of it. I had no clue. It’s been a whole new world to process. Now I have a Close Friends list because I’m like, “You don’t know these n*ggas.” (Laughs)
The craziest part: I did two songs for On the Radar. The one (song) I thought people would like was not the one they liked. I thought, “No way they’re gonna like this conscious shit (FOIL), but maybe it’ll be cool.” I felt like, “I’m in Brooklyn, I have to do something New York.” But people loved the conscious one. That made me so happy because that’s how I was born into rap.
I noticed a lot of people in the TikTok comments saying that ‘conscious rap is making a comeback.’ Do you feel that’s an accurate description of your work?”
SALIMATA: Oh, yeah…off rip. And I have no, there’s no insult in that whenever anyone feels like they should say, I feel like it’s such a sketchy thing for people to label someone as. Like, a lot of people don’t like that or the sound of it, because it’s very easy to be corny when you’re conscious. But, I definitely consider myself a conscious rapper. But It’s more than that too, you know? That’s one dimension. Yeah, that’s definitely one spot, but I have different pockets for sure.
In rap, especially for Black women, people try to box you. How do you sidestep that?
SALIMATA: I really don’t care. Everything I do is honest to who I am, so no matter what form it takes, it’s still me.
When people get introduced to you, you can either let them put you in a box or intentionally present yourself in a way that shapes how they see you. People are multi-dimensional. Whatever I do is going to feel like me, so that’s all that matters.
Your lyrics are extremely vulnerable. Is there ever fear of putting out something that is so personal?
SALIMATA: Vulnerability is easy for me. It’s just regular. Sometimes I think, “Should I be this vulnerable?” But at the end of the day, people will relate to it. I know it’s nice to hear someone say it, so I’ll be glad to say it.
Tell me about “Foil.” It’s a fan favorite.
SALIMATA: I got sent the beat and I was like, “What the f*ck, I love this.” That’s what makes me rap: the beat. I started writing and it just flowed. Nothing premeditated. It just happened. My mom is a big part of my music process, and when I sent it to her she said, “People are going to like this.” She never says that.
I tested it on tour with Mike earlier this year. It got a great reaction every time.
What do you want Black women to feel when they press play on your music?
SALIMATA: I want them to not give any f*cks—about anybody or anything. To feel comfortable in themselves, powerful. Almost like…a nice bully, if that’s possible. Nice and strong. I just want people to celebrate being themselves, how they are. Whatever that is.
At GROWN, we’re for women who are grown but still growing. How are you grown & how are you still growing?
SALIMATA: For me, it’s about emotions—how you handle life. Being grown is being able to handle things..because you don’t even know you’ re growing until you look back. Like some sh*t will just hit you and you’ll just be like wow. the way I would have handled that six months ago, a year ago.. Different. Crazy. And I’m really proud of myself ’cause I grew so much. When you grow, you attract better things.
On Instagram you’re a big advocate of health and movement. Why is that important to you?
SALIMATA: My mom and dad are obsessed with health. My dad’s a personal trainer, my mom’s always been active. I grew up in an athletic family.
Health is engraved in me. Now that I think about it. Foil is kind of a healthy song (laughs). I even sent it to my dad, which I never do because I curse too much. He said, “You’re just talking like me.”
When I was 18 and moved out, I noticed a lot of people don’t move their body unless they skate or something. Being around active people made me realize I’m a body user. I also have an injury that affects me most of the time, so I have to take care of myself. I want to be moving forever. So move your body!
You told me you’re playing some new music at the show. What’s the next chapter of your going to sound like?
SALIMATA: Usually my projects are a collage of everything I’ve been working on. I waited so long for people to hear my voice, so now I use it. Like I have something to say. This time I’m trying to be more directional… to take it somewhere instead of letting it take me somewhere. You know, let it evolve into what it’s meant to be.
If you had to leave people with one word to describe you?
SALIMATA: That’s evil. (Laughs) But I’m going to try! Hmmm. I am everything. That’s it.
By the end of our interview, the light drizzle became a rainpour. We kept talking anyway. She mentioned, again, her relentless love for the OG days of Facebook. I told her I’d catch her Friday at her show.
I left knowing one thing: she’s passionate about people. Friday proved it.
By the time doors opened at Baby’s All Right, the air was already thick. Friends, fans, family — all crammed into the Williamsburg venue known for breaking artists and breeding stories of good nights.
Outside, smoke breaks and quick catch-ups; inside, clusters formed, hugs traded. All walks of life, all buzzing to see her.
The openers — Diani, Kelli Moonstone, Sideshow — weren’t just booked acts; they were her people. Each flipped strangers into fans, priming the room. SALIMATA didn’t hide backstage. She moved through the crowd like a fan herself — phone up, filming, shouting encouragement. Her manager, also her DJ, held it down in the booth. It was personal.
She hit the stage around 10:30PM. And for the next 60 minutes, she didn’t let go. Braids swinging, voice sharp, never breathless, never slipping. Between songs: “Y’all didn’t know you was gon’ get stand-up too,” she cracked, pulling laughs without losing momentum.
It was interesting. This wasn’t the type of show where the crowd overtook, but rather knew their role. Respecting and letting the lyricism breathe, coming in at just the right moments. They weren’t there to just see; they were there to really hear her.
Throughout the show, I got to see the relationship between SALIMATA and her mom come alive. SALIMATA rapping directly to her at moments, her mom standing front row. Proud.
Near the end, she yelled, “Alright, open this b*tch up,” and the pit snapped open. She dove in. Mike, her creative kin, jumped onstage for a surprise verse. Before the closer, she stopped, scanned the crowd, on the verge of tears. “I rapped the old sh*t, I rapped the new sh*t, I hope y’all liked it, meet me at the merch table!”
You could tell it meant something real to her. A raw moment of love from the Brooklyn crowd, and she gave it back.
Walking home, I kept replaying what made the show different. I hadn’t just come back from a performance.
I was a witness to what happens when vulnerability connects people. When someone’s honest life experience — the good, the bad, the ugly, the indifferent, moves a room because people are actually listening. That’s the kind of artist SALIMATA is. It left me thinking how most of us could be more honest with ourselves, that everyone should call their mom more, and maybe I should start using Facebook again.