Amaarae's 'Black Star' is a Galaxy of Afropop Greatness
Party strobe lights for this album are sold separately.
Album artwork for Black Star. Image property of Golden Child and Interscope Records.
A few weeks ago, singer Amaarae dropped her scorching third album, Black Star. She didn't just pick a random Friday—she threw an intercontinental block party, dressed it in sequins and dared listeners to hit the dancefloor by midnight.
With Black Star, the Ghana-raised, global-stage princess sheds the art-school cool of Fountain Baby and dives headfirst into pure, uncut fun. It's an album for the girls, the gays, the diasporans, the lovers—and for anyone who knows the best therapy is three shots, a strobe light and a ribcage-rattling bassline.
It's an album that refuses to sit still. Black Star, recorded between Miami, Brazil, Los Angeles and Ghana (with beatwork from Kyu Steed, El Guincho and BNYX), distils global club culture into a single, intoxicating cocktail. It's camp, couture and pure "catch me if you can" energy from start to finish—an unapologetic flex that lives in the space between fashion week runways and sweaty basement raves.
From the jump, Amaarae throws us headfirst into the deep end of the night. "Stuck Up" starts with glittery Brazilian-funk heat and slyly nonchalant shade. "This bitch likes me, and I like this bitch for now" is a stiletto-heeled boundary line. The transatlantic charge continues with "Starkilla", a baddie summit with Bree Runway where the bassline plays laser tag and Amaarae tosses in a cheeky "Milkshake" sample to prove she can bend pop nostalgia to her will.
"Girlie-Pop!" cranks chaos to maximum, mashing Jersey Club bounce against Ghanaian percussion and playground-chant energy. It's the song that dares listeners not to yell along in a crowd.
Suppose that's not enough, "100Drum" with Zacari lives up to its name with percussion in hyperdrive, vocal chops flying like confetti, and a Jersey Club heartbeat that keeps everything racing. "Fineshyt" is the main character moment—Y2K club glamour dripping in gloss, the sonic equivalent of slow-mo hair flips in a mirror before heading out. This is Black Star's first act: euphoric, high-gloss and built for nights that blur into mornings.
"ms60" delivers an unexpected but perfect cameo from Naomi Campbell, who closes the track with a regal runway sermon. Set against a stunning backdrop worthy of a Paris Fashion Week afterparty, Naomi's powerful statement, "I am the Black Star," resonates like the triumphant final pose in a breathtaking couture show.
"She Is My Drug" is pure genius in sample flipping: a Cher "Believe" interpolation reimagined as a lovesick fever dream. Amaarae plays with melodrama here, leaning into both romantic obsession and tongue-in-cheek camp. Then there's the Soulja Boy homage "Kiss Me Thru the Phone Pt. 2" with PinkPantheress—sweet, shy chaos wrapped in trancey twinkles and a "Thong Song" nod, like a 2 AM WhatsApp voice note to a situationship.
Even the album's quirkiest detour, the thirty-second "Dove Cameron", works as a couture wink—an inside joke that broadens Black Star's world and underscores its self-assuredness. After the glittery chaos, the album softens, but never loses its sense of movement. "B2B" slides in with Spanish guitar and warm strings, a slow sway replacing the earlier jump. It's the after-after-party, when voices are low, but the pulse of the night is still in the room.
"S.M.O." glides with pure highlife luxury, Amaarae's vocals smooth as silk over a beat that still insists on movement. It's like Donna Summer by way of Wizkid, all shimmer and sway. "Dream Scenario" (with Charlie Wilson) strips away the drums entirely, letting lush orchestration wrap around both voices for an emotional reset—a breather that still feels opulent.
The album closes with "Free the Youth," a rallying cry wrapped in stadium-chant energy and jazz flourishes. It's a send-off, a warm embrace of liberation that pushes listeners out the door with heads high and hips still catching the rhythm.
If Black Star has a secret weapon, it's in the production's fearless range. Amaarae and her collaborators pull from house, trance, amapiano, baile funk, Jersey Club and gqom—stitching each thread with her Ghanaian sensibility. The samples are never lazy nostalgia grabs. "Milkshake," "Thong Song" and "Believe" are flipped, stretched and bejewelled until they feel brand new, transformed into couture moments rather than retro references. Everything here is intentional; nothing feels recycled.
“The album is Amaarae in full bloom. It’s a vibrant soundtrack celebrating loud, stylish, and unbothered Black joy. It serves as a love letter to the diaspora, where you can wine, two-step and vogue together without needing explanations.”
It's not just about sound, it's about world-building—creating a space where confidence is the only passport you need. If Fountain Baby was the art gallery exhibit—sleek, curated, whispering in your ear—Black Star is the afterparty spilling into the street: the bass rattling your ribs, strangers becoming best friends, the sunrise catching you in yesterday's outfit. It's glitter under streetlights and laughter over the last drink you swore you wouldn't have.
You don't just listen to Black Star, you live in it. And when the lights come up, you'll beg the DJ to run it back.
Stream Black Star below: