The first time a woman truly stunned me with her skills on the decks was at Amplified, back in the early 2000s when I was still in London. Amplified was both the name of the DJ collective I was a part of and the name of our flagship monthly event, dedicated to neo soul back when it was still starting out, as well as classic soul, funk, old-school afrobeat, and all the Black music that wasn’t on radio at a time dominated by hip-hop, R&B and dancehall. We had no dress code or VIPs: just several floors of good music, positive vibes, and – above all – dancing. Our events were wildly popular with women. However, all five of the DJs were men.
Fresh from the States, our guest that night was gracious, vibing to the music and reading the crowd until it was her turn to play. And then, she stepped up and delivered a set that was part masterclass, part bloodbath. She knew what to play, when to play it, when to cut the track and let the crowd sing, and how to make everyone scream – several times over. It was murder. My boys and I were good, but I had never seen anyone own our audience quite like that. Her name was DJ Reborn, and she’s now the DJ who accompanies Lauryn Hill on tour.
I spent my twenties at live sets by some of the best DJs in the world, long before Boiler Room became a thing. The only time I saw an all-woman lineup in those early years was at a night in New York co-hosted by Reborn and two of her friends, DJ Moni and DJ Selli. I danced so hard I almost fell asleep on the street while walking home. That night affirmed for me that if there aren’t more women behind the decks, it’s not because women can’t DJ. The problem is not one of talent.
It’s one of power.
Some like to imagine the music industry is a meritocracy. That good work gets noticed, and talent naturally rises. But if that were really true, far more of our faves – DJs and artists alike – would be more globally successful. We’ve all encountered artists whose skill outweighs the recognition they receive and others whose visibility far exceeds their talent (I won’t name names). Skill matters, but so do resources, timing, visibility, and networks. The truth is that talent isn’t everything and never has been.
Because talent can’t take you where power won’t let you go.
Before I left Ashesi about a decade ago, the late DJ K3V and I started after-school DJ classes for anyone who wanted to learn (ask Eff the DJ). The classes were free, but only two or three girls signed up. I’ve often thought about that. Was it because we didn’t do enough outreach? Because DJing felt like a male domain? Or because too many girls had learned – through experience – that spaces advertised as “open to all” often aren’t?
You could count on one hand the DJs playing at alté(rnative) music events back then. And for a while, we were all men until we were joined by the likes of the brilliant PamBam and Theo, who started stepping out of the Atlantis FM studio to foray into clubs. At Soul & Motion – my second collective – we were all male until the mighty Ms Naa joined us, back when she was still at YFM. The exclusion wasn’t deliberate. Both my collectives grew from friendships at times when you would hear more women on radio than you ever saw behind the decks. When there were more women behind the decks, and we did attempt to bring them in, I can imagine that it must have felt like tokenism: being invited to join pre-existing, male-centred collectives without having had a hand in shaping them. No one wants to be an afterthought.
And then came Keyzuz.
DJ Keyz – as she was known before she switched up her name – exploded onto the Accra scene a few years after me, and she walked so that everyone I see DJing in Accra’s alternative scene today could run. Google her. Keyzuz was the first DJ I saw incorporate sequencers into her sets, which meant she was deconstructing and remixing songs live at least a decade before stems made it common. She was so good she was nominated for Best Female DJ at the first ever Ghana DJ Awards in 2012. And she was so badass she turned it down, explaining that she should’ve been nominated for Best DJ.
Period.
She was right. And if you’re not asking yourself why the awards even proposed a separate female category to begin with, keep rereading the sentence until you do. Yet some will still say women DJs face no discrimination in Accra.
Lolz. Let’s be serious, please.
An unspoken rule that still exists at many clubs around the world is that men play music while women dance to it. The clubbing experience has long been designed around male desire. We may roll our eyes when women get in for free while the rest of us queue (unless we arrive accompanied by women), but this happens because of men. Few heterosexual men want to party in a space full of other heterosexual men. Clubs (usually owned by men) solve this problem by curating audience by gender at the door.
Thankfully, things are changing. Accra’s new DJ-led electronic rave scene has been a revelation. It’s the first time I’ve seen a subculture emerge in Ghana with multiple women DJs not just present but central to its growth. That didn’t just happen. It took intention. It took platforms. It took work. Shoutouts are due to Kikelomo, WatWomxn, Palm Moments, and Oroko Radio for their women-focused DJ lessons, and to the growing number of events like Afrodite & Friends, iMullar Sound System, and more that consistently book women without making a fuss about it, or create spaces dedicated entirely to them.
These days, I’m excited by names like MzOrstin, an OG and easily the most professional DJ I’ve ever worked with; Araba OA, whose Transit event is a breath of fresh air in a city full of copy and paste; Baaba the Big Bad Sound, who squeezes scary big talent into her little frame; TMSKDJ – the pioneer, and Elinam Yaa, whose song choices are so good I always find myself interrupting her sets with questions Shazam can’t answer. And there are so, so many more. But let’s not pretend everything is solved.
When women DJs speak up about being excluded from all-male lineups, they’re often told that if more women aren’t being booked, it must be because their work isn’t that good.
Please.
We say systems are fair when they feel fair to us, but it’s always those who benefit most from the status quo who claim nothing needs to change. It’s strange logic to expect gatekeepers to describe the view from outside the gate better than those still locked out.
Even if there is an increase in women DJs who aren’t very good, let’s be real: that’s because there’s been an increase in DJs in general who aren’t yet very good, regardless of gender. Technological improvements mean the bar for entry to DJing is lower than it’s ever been. And that’s not a bad thing: the more, the merrier. Growth takes time though, and many of us still have work to do across the gender spectrum.
So what can be done?
If you’re a male DJ and you’re curating a lineup, pause before defaulting to the usual suspects. Recommend women when you can’t do a gig. Give feedback if it’s wanted. Don’t just say, “there aren’t enough women DJs.” Do your homework, support the ones already grinding, and make it easier for the next ones to come through. And – importantly – if you’re really trying to support someone, don’t hit on them. Be deeply intentional about not letting those lines blur. I say all of this not as someone who’s always gotten these things right but as someone who’s learned – and is still learning – that it all matters.
And to women who want to enter the scene: please come. Music needs you, and every time a woman steps behind the decks, we ‘make the circle bigger’ (IYKYK).
Scenes don’t change on their own. They shift when enough of us decide to build something better: deliberately, communally, and with care. The future of DJ culture is not just about talent and skill. It’s about access, audacity, and who gets to write the next chapter.
If we want the future to sound different, we must make different choices now. If the dance floor is a mirror of the world we want to live in, let’s make it one where everyone has room to move, be it behind the decks or in front of them.
Kobby Ankomah Graham 