“The world always shuns”: Moonchild Sanelly on her new album, underground scenes and abortion rights

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Moonchild Sanelly ran away from home when she was 19 years old. It was in the early ​’00s, and came after her uncle sexually harassed her, when she left with nothing but a small suitcase, 500 Rand and made her way to Durban where she immersed herself in the city’s burgeoning underground music community. While it left a rift in her family, she arrived in an exciting space, with local house music offshoot movement gqom emerging from taxi ranks in the city, and Sanelly quickly became a fixture on the city’s open mic and rap battle scenes, while carving out independence and navigating life as a mother.

But now, two decades later, she is a truly global pop star, having graced stages across the world, and collaborated with the likes of Beyoncé, Damon Albarn and Huck 76 cover star Ghetts. Her music, usually sung in both English and Xhosa, is unapologetically sex positive and liberation-focused, drawing upon anything from R&B, trap, hip-hop, kwaito, gqom and amapiano in a distinctive cocktail she calls ​“future ghetto funk”.

Her latest album, Full Moon, released this month via Transgressive, sees her at her most personal, and most vulnerable yet. The signature club-shaking heavy hitters remain, but across its 12-tracks there are more tender moments than what we have come accustomed to, where she addresses past relationships and reconnecting with family members, and in particular, her father.

I caught up with Sanelly to hear about the album, underground scenes, and laying it all out into the microphone.

I was at Glastonbury last year, and you seemed to pop up everywhere. Is it true you performed nine times?

It’s true, I did! It was ridiculous, just like ​“yes, yes, yes let’s do it”. It felt crazy, I remember getting some sleep after a 2am show about halfway through the festival and thinking: ​“What the fuck did I get myself into?” Then I got up and killed it again.

Congratulations on your new album. For fans who haven’t heard it, what should they expect and what do you explore?

They should definitely expect pussy power, and a reminder to keep fighting. And a new part that’s being introduced into my songs is my vulnerability, where I found words to express all the different scenarios – even the dark ones. The situations that got me to be like: ​“Let’s fuck shit up.” So you get to meet my vulnerable side before I liberate the black sheep and the pussy owners.

Regarding these ​‘black sheep’, you only hire queer people and women right to work for you right?

Yes, they are the most brilliant people in the world. Why? The world always shuns. When you’re in primary school, high school and you don’t know how to stand up for yourself and you’re being bullied, you usually take it out on the books. So you end up being the smartest motherfucker. So now, [I’ve] gathered The Avengers and we just fuck shit up.

On your recent single ​‘Tequila (To Kill a Single Girl)’, you talk about your relationship with tequila and alcohol – what led you to quit?

Tequila was a problem, there were so many regrets in the morning. There’s nothing worse than apologising for something you don’t remember, and on top of that, really hurting someone. So I was just tired – I have no problem with telling the truth, but tequila just gave the truth unnecessary thorns. I decided I needed to be in control, so I dropped tequila and I was like: ​“I can remember everything now, and I can stand by what I said.”

Of course, sex positivity is a big part of your music – on the first two songs of your album you sing about your booty. Why is it so important to you?

I’m just writing a love letter to my favourite body part – my ass – because it’s been with me through thick and thin and it helps me shake the world, and at the same time, liberate it.

2024 was a turbulent year, with Donald Trump being re-elected as US president and the far right riding a crest across the world. Are you fearful of what the future holds for women’s rights?

It’s crazy. The last song on my album, ​‘I Was The Biggest Curse’, is actually talking about my sacrifices and having the choice to terminate [my pregnancy]. I terminated four times. For my kids, I’m pushing and making sure that I get a home for them, but still following my dream and not forgetting the dream. So the song is all about the sacrifices that are part of it. I don’t know where I would be if I had the other four – I don’t know, I’m a fighter, but it would have been a different route. I can’t even imagine when people don’t have choices – at this point, women are still going to the back room [to get an abortion]. Abortion being legal protects women, because there are so many different reasons why people can’t have children and don’t want children at any point in time.

The black market will always exist, so this puts women in more danger – making abortion illegal is like saying: ​“Tell us you hate us without telling us you hate us.” Because you can’t really force us to have kids, you know? We should have a choice. There’s going to be a lot of problems when it comes to women’s fertility. Women will be shunned, they will go to the back rooms, or now have a family, or they can’t have babies – who is the problem? You. So I don’t know why men are making decisions that are not great for women. You’re literally stepping on your own pussy. It’s worse in America – dreams, whatever, it’s more like a nightmare when it comes to things like that. Women aren’t protected.

Was it hard to get so personal in the music?

I don’t think so, with the space that I’m at mentally. It’s an apology letter from my dad to me, where I’m forgiving what I expected of you as a father. If I didn’t forgive it and was holding on to that, I potentially would have lost meeting you as a person. With all my siblings, I was the only one that had a relationship with him like that – when I ran away from home, I was the example of what not to do, and now when I come back I’m the example of success.

But music and the arts comes from a dark place, then brings light to everybody. I feel like this album is a reflection of the things I’ve let go of, so I don’t necessarily think it was hard in the moment when I was writing it. It’s the emotions that we focus on in the production, when your hand plays the music – so I just let it happen. The harder part was when the album was done and listening to the songs over and over. I actually felt that the forgiveness was a physical process. I couldn’t drink, I couldn’t smoke weed – I just had to let it happen, it was so painful, but I just went through with it. So it was an entire process, and why I called it the Full Moon – it was everything I’d been through and everything I’ve done and now this is the beginning of another level.

You spent years being immersed in Durban’s underground music scene when you moved there in the 2000s. What do these spaces mean to you?

It was boot camp. There’s a mentality it, but you can’t be stuck there for too long. It’s called the underground for a reason. In those freestyle spaces when I was still hustling, my hunger for the mic was what is contributing to my magic – my storytelling is not boxed, or genre-based. When I was in these spaces, I lived in the studio and wrote songs with a band and recorded, but I kept moving because I knew I wanted to be wealthy from my art. I took what I needed and contributed in it, to become an artist living in my world and rocking the world.

Full Moon is out now via Transgressive.

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