For poet, songwriter and organiser aja monet, art carries a responsibility to meet the moment. Born in Brooklyn and now based in Los Angeles, she began writing poetry as a child and won the Nuyorican Poets Café Grand Slam at 19. Her Grammy-nominated 2023 debut album, when the poems do what they do, brings her poetry into conversation with jazz, confronting racial injustice and capitalism while celebrating Black resistance and communal love.
Invited to perform at the Dutch festival Le Guess Who? in 2024 by Arooj Aftab, monet delivered one of the standout sets of the festival. That run of dates proved fruitful in other ways too: it was on the road that conversations began which grew into her second album. the color of rain, released in May 2026, is a tour de force that takes on labour in “working class musicians”, injustice in “for the Congo” and love (“love is a choosing”).
Returning as a performer and co-curator to Le Guess Who? this year, monet’s programme includes composer and multi-instrumentalist SHABAKA, Georgia Anne Muldrow, who also appears on the color of rain; and the Palestinian Sound Archive, an initiative devoted to preserving Palestinian recorded sound. Rooted in her belief in the power of artistic exchange, monet’s approach to curation reflects the same spirit of connection that runs through her work. Here, she talks to 10 about her curatorial choices, the importance of community and the ideas that continue to shape her art.
You write your name in lowercase – why?
It’s an intuitive, aesthetic choice. I like the softness and roundness of lowercase letters. They feel more fluid to me, almost like water. There’s something about the shape of capital letters that feels too sharp to me. When you see my name on the album cover, the way it flows feels like movement, it feels more like water to me. The rounded letters give it a sense of fluidity, as if the name itself is moving. It might seem insignificant to some people, but for me, it goes much deeper.
Where did the title the color of rain come from?
I wanted a title that felt expansive, something that invited curiosity rather than explained the album. What I love about poetry is that it’s not me telling, it’s showing. There’s no definition of it, there is no answer to what it means. It’s what people bring to it that gives it meaning. The irony, of course, is that rain is colourless. But there are all these dimensions to rain that are so captivating and compelling to me.
For the album artwork, I wanted it to be a strong blue or indigo, even before I had the title. My first record, When the Poems Do What They Do, was red, which had a very Shango energy, [in the Yorùbán tradition]. This album felt more blue, more Yemoja. Blue has been a recurring theme in my life. It felt like the right colour for this record.
Rain demands your attention. Was that part of your thinking?
Rain doesn’t care whether you notice it or not. You either get out of its way and accept that it’s happening, or you try to hide from it, but it will touch everyone, everywhere. It rinses, but it also nourishes. We wouldn’t survive without rain. Whether it’s a torrential downpour or a gentle patter on the earth, it has this strength and tenderness that I find complex and beautiful. That’s what I felt with this record.
Your work is centred around love and community. What does community mean to you?
Capitalism is on steroids, and it is directing and controlling the ways that people show up in their relationships in some of the worst ways. I’m grateful to be around people who feel sincere and are moving with integrity. They’re true and not phased.
I think part of that is as you age as a woman, your circle becomes that much more important People come into your life and leave, and you’ll go through some heartbreaks, that’s part of the growing pains of adulthood. I’ve had to learn tough lessons about what friendship means as a as a verb, as a practice.
Your work speaks to the world’s injustices with great directness, but it also holds a lot of hope. What does hope mean to you?
Hope is a disposition, a way of being alive. If we’re going to be here, we have to have some trust that optimism will prevail; we have to have some confidence in the future. It’s not necessarily about feeling optimistic all the time. There are moments when you feel despair, when you’re frustrated or fed up with the world, and I think it’s important to allow yourself to feel those things. But emotions have their seasons. Hope is about recognising that, continuing to care and finding ways to be of service beyond yourself. It’s also about remembering that we’re not alone in this. We have to keep going together. Its about humility as humans. There’s always forces at play seen and unseen. Things we don’t always understand. Hope is the distance between what we know and don’t know. It’s one of the greatest unnatural resources we have to persevere against all odds.
What brings you joy in everyday life?
Cooking meals with my partner, taking baths together, going for walks and getting some fresh air. Looking at the sky, the stars or the moon. And laughing. [My partner and I] watch a lot of George Carlin when we feel discouraged about the state of the world. He has a way of making you laugh at the ridiculousness of how things are set up. You have to try to maintain [a sense of] humor and remind yourself to not take yourself too seriously.
How would you describe your personal style?
I’ve always been drawn to things that have a story: vintage clothes, handmade pieces, colourful shirts, shoes and jewellery. Getting dressed is a way of using your imagination and stepping into different parts of yourself.
What helps you unwind after a performance?
Touring makes it difficult to have a routine. I try to look after myself, eat nourishing food and get enough rest. Mostly, I’m just trying not to get sick.
What do you remember most about performing at Le Guess Who? in 2024?
A feeling of gratitude and awe. I see every performance as an opportunity for connection, expression and ceremony. When you’re on tour it can be hard to sit in the fullness of the moment, because you’re always running from one place to the next.
I remember we had to make a lot of adjustments right before that show and ended up in a makeshift band, with very little time to rehearse. It was nerve-wracking, but that’s also the beauty of touring with musicians. You’re never completely comfortable with the music, you’re always discovering it as you go, but the trust between [your bandmates] gives you the flexibility to be vulnerable, to experiment and sometimes to offer up a new poem. I felt honoured and touched that Arooj Aftab, who was the curator that year, asked me to be part of the festival.
Now you return to Le Guess Who? as part of the curating team. What guides you when curating a festival?
I tend to start with relationships: artists I know, admire or have been wanting to work with. Le Guess Who? is a very avant-garde festival and I’m interested in creating opportunities for people to experiment and bringing together artists who might not otherwise share a stage.
I also wanted to platform artists that are from places that are being silenced right now, places that are not being offered the opportunity to have a stage and to tell the world what they’re actually grappling with. It’s a particular experience to be an artist where your people are facing genocide. That’s not insignificant. Having artists from Palestine, Congo, and Sudan were really important to me. I also tried with others but it didn’t always work out with timing and booking. I’m particularly excited about Shadia Mansour and Cody Chestnutt. I admire them deeply. Leaving room for artists to tell their own story is one of the greatest gifts.
Text CAROLINE WHITELEY
Concert photography ANNE LENTINK
Portrait photography CASANOVA CABRERA
Le Guess Who? 2026 is held in Utrecht, The Netherlands, 5-8 November
