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The energy shifts when Moliy walks in the room. It’s well into the afternoon by the time we get her The Cover shoot rolling, but when she arrives – her braided ponytail swinging, blinged-up in a steely bad gyal outfit that catches every ray of light – the room recalibrates. She twists her hips to the sounds of rap’s current glamazons, giggling as her cheeks squeeze plump; the sterile, white studio fills with new life. This is how Moliy operates: she sets the temperature and everyone else adjusts.
Moliy on The Cover of NME. Moliy wears a shrug by Mars the Label, a top and neck piece by Alexandra Olaniyan, and a skirt and shoes by Dior. Credit: Nirah Sanghani for NME
We hear that chuckle again, weeks later, on Zoom for her NME interview. “I just giggle all the time. I can’t help it,” she retorts. But sit with Moliy – real name Moliy Ama Montgomery – long enough and the giggle starts to feel like a tell. It surfaces right before she drops something important, like she’s immune to pressure even as the world changes around her. She’d know something about that as the star behind the 2024 international dance hit ‘Shake It To The Max’. The infectious bone-rattler produced by Silent Addy and Disco Neil blended Afrobeats and dancehall for a diaspora-uniting sound that made Moliy an emerging leader of Afro-pop at dizzying speed.
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There were plenty of dance trends (not least her own viral “shy girl whine”), she scored her first-ever Billboard Hot 100 placement as a main artist, and the remix featuring Shenseea and Skillibeng gave Moliy an extra stamp of superstar approval. But what got lost in the whirlwind, and what she’s eager to discuss now, is how much ground she had to cover to get there – and how different it felt from the inside. “It totally changed everything about my life,” she says of ‘Shake It To The Max’. Her music dream was no longer just a matter of hope and faith. “It wasn’t just words anymore… It’s real. I do have what it takes to keep doing it.”
Moliy wears a hat by Hityshi, a jacket by Omolayo, a bra by Hityshi, custom shorts and shoes by Louis Vuitton. Credit: Nirah Sanghani for NME
Over our call – which Moliy takes while chilling in her Airbnb in LA, where she enjoys walks down Rodeo Drive without being barraged by paparazzi and fans – she traces her journey all the way back to Accra, Ghana, where music was practically a member of the family. She has many memories of her Christian family simply singing: “It was a way for us to bond, to be spiritual.”
While gospel and more traditional styles were played at home, diaspora-beloved stars like Michael Jackson and Celine Dion were also in heavy rotation – especially in Moliy’s mother’s bar and restaurant, called The Gomeries, which was just next door to the house. Her mum even sang in a band with her sister, playing venues across Accra, until their mum turned down an opportunity to tour Asia on their behalf for their family’s sake. “I can see how [my mum] would have thrived if she did put all her energy [into music],” Moliy says. “It’s really cool how I’ve been able to grow up and follow that passion.” The superstar bug was always going to find someone in that family; Moliy just made sure it was her.
“I had to give myself the freedom to be watched”
Moliy was an introverted teenager growing up in Accra, burning new music onto CDs from blogs, falling in love with English class. The first song she ever wrote and recorded was ‘Jonny’, made around 2018 during a bedroom studio session with an old friend who told her to put the pen down for a moment and sing something. She had been circling the process from the edges, sitting in on sessions and making casual suggestions without believing she could be the main act. “It took so much out of me to actually voice anything on the mic that day because I was just so incredibly shy,” she remembers. “But the second I did it, it was just like, ‘Whoa! This is actually mad beautiful.’”
What helped give Moliy permission to be different, to bravely chip away at the “layers of ice” that froze her in, was watching the àlté movement spread across west Africa. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from this generation of cool kids – Amaarae, Cruel Santino, Odunsi, Lady Donli, Tems – who were moulding Afrobeats into strange new shapes and showing her she could “be different in her own way and still succeed”.
Credit: Nirah Sanghani for NME
“If this group of people can be creating the sound that they’re making and there’s a space for them, then that gives me space for whatever sound that I’m making,” Moliy reflects. In 2020, she released her debut EP ‘Wondergirl’, which she made with MikeMillzOn’Em, who had opened up his studio for her for free. She got a few playlist placements through cold emails and sheer willpower, but remained “in this weird limbo”. Moliy even flew to Orlando, Florida, in pursuit of a business degree and the American Dream, holding down a nine-to-five in Victoria’s Secret. But music was the only thing she “wouldn’t want to give up on”: “Like, if I died today, what am I going to be known for?”
‘Sad Girlz Luv Money’ was born from that exact mix of persistence and audacity. Moliy had been sliding into Amaarae’s DMs for months because she loved what she was doing and could already hear how their voices might work together, so it was cosmic when the former NME Cover star finally sent over two beats for Moliy to write to. The night before their session, Moliy argued with her older sister, who was supporting her financially, and carried that frustration straight into the song. “I was so pissed,” she laughs, recalling her feelings then: “‘Bitch, I’m going to get money too. I’m going to be good too. This is just a temporary situation.’
Credit: Nirah Sanghani for NME
“I was just tired of being dependent on my older siblings, and I wanted to be able to take care of myself, so it was like a manifestation song for me,” she continues. And in her bones, she knew it was “going to change her life”. ‘Sad Girlz Luv Money’ went global in 2021, powered by TikTok and the kind of chorus that proved impossible to ignore. But the success wasn’t straightforward. “As much as something can be blowing up online, my personal life at that point was kind of shitty,” she says plainly. “I was broke. I wasn’t getting booked.” The gap between being heard and being known became one of the defining tensions of her early career – online, listeners debated whose voice was whose, whether Moliy’s tone was too similar to Amaarae’s. “It was tough,” she says. “It was my first situation where negativity online comes into play – reading negative comments or having backlash.”
Moliy’s second EP, ‘Honey Doom’, came from that complicated context. “There’s layers to me, and ‘Honey Doom’ has a lot of those layers. I felt like I was trying to prove something, but I’m not sure if I was supposed to be doing that.” Amid the confusion, she went quiet for two years. From the outside, hitting pause on music at that point probably looked like career suicide, but a conversation with Fousheé reframed everything. “It made me reclaim my power,” she believes. “I was putting a lot of blame on people – people didn’t do this for me, they didn’t give me this. But it’s like me saying, ‘OK – but I could have put myself out there more’.” That’s when she started posting more.
“I want you to just be subconsciously feeding your mind positivity”
“Content creation is a big catalyst in how I gained confidence,” she says now. “I had to give myself the freedom to be watched. Whether or not I was getting the feedback I wanted, I wasn’t doing it for validation. I was doing it for me.” And when she decided to make Accra her creative base, “everything fully unlocked” for Moliy.
As a child, Moliy wanted to be a pilot. Now, her voice takes her all over the world. ‘Shake It To The Max’ sent her everywhere: she’s gold-certified on both sides of the Atlantic. But there was backlash, again – with people, including Shaggy and Sean Paul, questioning her intent and the song’s place within dancehall culture – and she answers it with characteristic precision while talking to NME: “A riddim is done with intention. People start a riddim. I made a song and people love it so much that they want different versions. This is not a riddim. This is ‘Shake It To The Max’, my song.” If the ‘Sad Girlz Luv Money’ era left her scrambling for footing, this time Moliy is standing firm.
She’s entering a new phase with her upcoming EP ‘Baddies Love Moliy’ – a project designed as an antidote to stillness. “It has a bit of nostalgia in it, but it’s also futuristic at the same time,” she says. “It has Afro feels, dancehall feels. A lot of it has crazy bass that you just want to shake to.” From the carnival bouyon swagger of ‘Backie’ to the club-ready ‘Body Go’ with Tyla, the release promises adventurous party chaos with Moliy as the “cyber alien diva baddie” in control.
But the party is just the start. What she’s really building is something closer to belief, a state of being “that girl”. She makes it a point to thread affirmations into even her most carefree songs. “I want you to just be subconsciously feeding your mind positivity – showing love to yourself, seeing the amazingness about yourself.” When she was making ‘Wondergirl’, she was asking herself what she’d be known for – and now, with a sliver of the global pop pie, she has her answer: “I just hope that some legendary shit goes down,” she states. For one last time, that giggle bubbles up – light yet certain – because there is no question what Moliy is right now. And she says plainly: “Superstar. Period.”
Moliy’s ‘Baddies Love Moliy’ EP is out this summer.
Listen to Moliy’s exclusive playlist to accompany The Cover below on Spotify or on Apple Music here.