Meet the female rappers carving out a home in Nashville, America's Music City

It’s early evening in Nashville and classic country music drifts from the doorway of a nearby honky-tonk bar. Peeking inside the dingy dive, I see a four- piece band in matching western-wear owning the stage. Their rhinestone costumes dazzle under the spotlights as they serenade the crowd, who look amped for a night of serious two-stepping. For me it’s too early to start line dancing, so I continue strolling along Lower Broadway — commonly known as Honky Tonk Highway — past a chorus of Stetson-wearing revellers and glowing neon signs shaped like cowboys and giant guitars. At first glimpse of the thronging streets of Tennessee’s capital, it would be easy to write this city off as a stuck record, playing heartbreak songs on repeat. Yet I’m here to meet a new wave of musical talent — the south’s female rappers, who are picking up the mic and bringing greater diversity to its hallowed music scene.

Nashville has been a nerve centre of America’s music industry since the 1800s, home to major songwriting publishing houses and recording studios. It was a Black choir who helped earn Nashville its nickname — when Queen Victoria met the Fisk Jubilee Singers during a 1873 world tour, she reputedly declared they must be from a ‘city of music’ — but it’s country music that made it famous. After the 1925 launch of weekly live show the Grand Ole Opry, the twang of banjos, fiddles and steel guitars stole the limelight here. Country continues to be the sound most associated with Nashville, at least partly responsible for attracting nearly 17 million annual visitors to the booming city.

To find the beat of a different drum in this city, the next day I arrange to meet a rising star of the US rap world, 28-year-old Daisha McBride. She’s offered to show me her side of Nashville and we’re starting at her favourite pizzeria, Slim & Husky’s, located in the creative Buchanan Arts District to the north of the city. She arrives wearing a baseball cap, beaded bracelets on her wrists and a ready smile.

Over an artisan thin-crust margherita named ‘Got 5 on it’ in homage to Luniz’s 1995 hit, Daisha points out a medley of other musical references. “This place is hip-hop inspired, from the music that’s playing to the names of the pizzas, which reference famous rap songs,” she says. “It’s all about amplifying Black music.” Video footage of her performing at a gig supported by Slim & Husky’s flashes up on a wall-mounted screen.

Daisha’s Tennessee upbringing helped shape her musical vocabulary. Born in Knoxville in the Smoky Mountains, the leafy Appalachian foothills that also raised Dolly Parton, Daisha was already riffing on her surroundings and creating her own lyrics by the tender age of 10. “Growing up in east Tennessee, the vibe was lots of folk, country and rock,” she says. “And then over in Memphis, in western Tennessee, there was blues, jazz and trap [a distinctively southern style of hip-hop with a heavy bassline] music.”

As a young adult, Daisha moved to Nashville — known as ‘the buckle’ of the Bible Belt because of its central location and Christian music industry — and discovered a harmonious melting pot of influences. “One of the cool things about Tennessee is that it’s actually super diverse,” she says. “You’ll often get this crossover between the genres.”

We head onwards to the bohemian neighbourhood of east Nashville for a spot of thrifting at Music City Vintage. Inside this vast warehouse treasure trove — which counts the Canadian rapper Drake as a customer — walls are splashed with funky murals and rails are crammed with a selection of hard-to-find urban streetwear. As we browse nostalgic T-shirts from the 1990s and coveted retro Nascar jackets, Daisha reflects that Nashville’s non-traditional movement has been largely powered by the musicians themselves, tired of waiting for opportunities from industry gatekeepers.

“If you’re not invited to the table, you have to build your own,” she says, skimming through a rack of silky baseball jerseys. Despite being the subject of a documentary made by the legendary singer and actress Queen Latifah, amassing over 180,000 Instagram followers and achieving a million downloads of her single, Birds, Daisha remains an unsigned artist. Instead, she’s bootstrapping her own path. “I’ll hit up a Nashville venue to perform a show and let people know through social media,” she says. We stop to admire a wall of shrink-wrapped collectable trainers, some of which are so rare they’ll fetch hundreds of dollars.

“Some spaces do a great job of making themselves inclusive,” says Daisha, citing Nashville venues like Exit/In, Acme Feed & Seed, The Basement and The Basement East as examples. “And the honky-tonks have multiple floors. You’ll have a live band playing country covers on the ground floor, but often the upper floors will have a DJ spinning in some hip-hop with pop.”

Our next stop, just down the street, is Grimey’s New & Preloved Music, a former church resurrected as a retail shrine to vinyl records. Championing up-and-coming talent since 1999, this independent store maintains a community vibe. “Everyone has a lot of love and respect for Grimey’s,” says Daisha fondly as she walks through the door. Heading straight to the alternative section, she starts pulling out albums by local melody makers including Maggie Rose and Alanna Royale. To give struggling artists a morale boost, Grimey’s often commissions painted portraits of lesser-known musicians to appear on its facade, and its wooden aisles are filled with LPs spanning from blues pioneer Robert Johnson to obscure European folk collectives.

Music-lovers regularly gather at this lo-fi store to hear free gigs performed on a dinky stage tucked away in the back, Daisha tells me, pointing out the huge rainbow Pride flag rippling over the entrance. “I’m a triple minority — a woman, Black and queer — so any place I can walk in that feels inclusive is always appreciated,” she says, smiling. Nashville supports stores like Grimey’s with such enthusiasm, customers queue overnight to buy exclusive vinyls released on the annual record store appreciation day in April, an international event that in Nashville brings block party celebrations, vinyl pressings, food trucks and of course plenty of live music. In return, Grimey’s blows the trumpet for local artists like Daisha — her latest releases are in pride of place at the front of the store.

Daisha is hoping to add to this back catalogue, and offers to show me Diamond Sound Studios in the Metro Center area, where she’s working on new material with her producer Sci-Fi. Leaning back on her chair between tunes, the rapper describes how the 2021 opening of the National Museum of African American Music (NMAAM) was further acknowledgement of Nashville’s rich Black music legacy. “I love that it’s right there on Broadway, just across the road from the Ryman Auditorium,” she says, referring to the historic music venue where Elvis, Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton and Taylor Swift have all graced the fabled wooden stage. “Its central location makes an important statement; it says that Black music is part of Music City too.”

A journey through sound

Back downtown, a guest experience associate at NMAAM shows me around the museum’s interactive galleries. Romello Smith wears smart wire-framed glasses and a clipped beard, his diamond earring twinkling as he walks me through 400 years of R&B, hip-hop, gospel, jazz and blues history. “Over here is DeFord Bailey,” he says, gesturing to a photo of the sharp-suited harmonica star, who in 1927 became the first African American artist to perform at the Grand Ole Opry. “At that time, it was taboo for a Black artist to play there, so he really broke the colour barrier.” We pass one of many guitars that BB King named ‘Lucille’, and a room where visitors joyfully hit the high notes as part of a virtual reality gospel choir.

“And let’s not forget Jimi Hendrix!” says Romello. “Having left the military he came straight to Printers Alley to cut his musical teeth.” By the 1940s, Nashville’s former printing district had evolved into an entertainment hotspot, filled with saloons and nightclubs. “In Nashville today you’ll find talent like Allison Russell: a Black social justice folk singer who’s just about the best artist in the city right now,” he says, as our tour reaches a crescendo at NMAAM’s hip-hop gallery.

A few blocks away is another of Daisha’s recommendations, Acme Feed & Seed, where I round off the day with flaming hot Nashville chicken, eaten while perched at the bar as an indie-rock band thrash it out under the music venue’s flickering stage lights.

The following morning, for my encore, I make my way over to Clear Waters Studio, which specialises in recording with non-country artists including local female rappers such as Sweet Poison and Meme Jenkins. Here I find 29-year-old hip-hop artist Mia Reona, working on some new music. She was raised in Nashville’s Jefferson Street district, an area with significant African American heritage, and takes a break to tell me about how the city has influenced her musical style.

“Growing up here, it was kind of inevitable that I listened to country,” she says, taking a seat on a weathered Chesterfield sofa. “And I’ve since dabbled with multiple genres in my own music — rhyming over country beats, for example.” Behind her is an illuminated mixing station, plus a stack of speakers and cables piled high like a plate of spaghetti. Mia isn’t the only one breaking down Nashville’s musical barriers. “I think Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter album helped open people’s minds. When it launched, there were a lot of themed parties where people of colour were showing up in full attire. Chaps, cowboy hats — the whole thing,” she recalls with a grin.

Nevertheless, the women in this space are pioneers. “The scene is still pretty male dominated,” Mia tells me. “The Tennessee hip-hop stars who’ve broken through are mostly male artists, like Young Buck or Yo Gotti.” While there are plenty of women in the industry, she says they tend to be behind-the-scenes grafters in roles such as artist promotion or tour manager, as opposed to the headline act. “But things are slowly changing here in Nashville. Country music always gets more shine, but there’s a growing awareness of the other genres floating around the city, too. It’s quite normal to see a rock act followed by a hip-hop artist on a night out now.”

As Mia returns to the microphone, I take the scenic route back along Lower Broadway — past the honky-tonks playing cry-into-your-beer country. This time I take Daisha’s advice and climb the staircases, up to the hidden spaces playing Nashville’s alternative genres — the future of Music City.