Full Moon - MOONCHILD SANELLY

“Joy is an act of resistance.” – Toi Derricotte

The unabashed bluntness of Moonchild Sanelly’s music reminds me of a line from riot grrrl pioneer Kathleen Hanna’s memoir: “Poetic lyrics were important, but it felt like women sometimes hid behind poetry as a way to say something without actually saying it. I was on a mission to just fucking say it.”

Pics: Zoey Black

Moonchild Sanelly has always been on a mission to just fucking say it. From her early days as a poet in Durban to her rise as a global artist, Sanelly’s path has been defined by a radical approach to self-expression and empowerment. This approach is at the core of all her music — particularly in her latest album, Full Moon — where she continues to challenge and shake up societal expectations and stigmas surrounding sexuality and female autonomy, while speaking candidly about her personal triumphs over trauma.

Sanelly arrived in Durban after leaving her home in Gqeberha at the age of seventeen to study fashion design. Her mother had passed away, leaving her with a fierce spirit of independence — instilled through life lessons and her own example as a strong single mother, or rather, a “hustler,” as Sanelly often refers to her. She was also a jazz singer who encouraged her children to pursue their creativity, so a future in music was almost predestined for Sanelly. But it wasn’t until she started sharing her poetry at Durban’s open-mic nights that she discovered the voice she would use as a tool for liberation — and a path toward global reverence.

The first poem Sanelly wrote was inspired by the euphoria she felt while losing her virginity. Its unabashedly explicit and earnest depiction of ecstasy made audiences at those early open-mic nights visibly cringe. While many of her contemporaries focused on exploring their traumas, Sanelly used her art to reclaim her power. After all, she had her own traumas — including sexual abuse by a family member — and darkness to contend with. But the strength her mother had instilled compelled her to write not only about her wounds but about her power in spite of them — to challenge the narrative of victimhood with radical self-love and expression.

The discomfort felt in those early crowds is reminiscent of a story Hanif Abdurraqib tells about attending a poetry reading by Ross Gay during the Trump presidency, where he overheard a white woman whisper:“How can Black people write about flowers at a time like this?” It is telling that depictions of joy can be just as — if not more — offensive than depictions of trauma. As if joy and sorrow are not intertwined. As if surviving in a world built on violence — racism, misogyny, homophobia, and more — and choosing to celebrate that survival is not, in itself, a radical act of resistance.

“I'm not going to die from my diary,” says Sanelly. “I will not be the light to the world and forget to bring light into my life, because it was my darkness that brought the light.” In a FaceTime call for his Apple Music radio show Rocket Hour, Elton John told Sanelly the world needs her truth and her joy — for her to be a light.

 This light shines brightest in Full Moon, her third album, which she describes as the arrival of her true self. It continues her bold celebration of sexual empowerment and self-love, set to an electrifying fusion of Amapiano, Gqom, punk, and pop — a sound she calls “future-ghetto-funk.” But woven through the album are also intimate, powerful stories of transformation, marked by radical honesty and vulnerability, as Sanelly opens up about her emotional evolution and career journey.

The album opens with “Scrambled Eggs” — a tongue-in-cheek, braggadocious track celebrating her success and status — and ends with “I Was the Biggest Curse,” a song rooted in her decision to leave Durban to pursue her music career. Originally written during a vulnerable time with her first boyfriend, the song captures her early belief that she was a destructive force in relationships — someone whose presence consumed others. But over time, she reframed this narrative: it wasn’t her strength that was the problem, but others’ inability to handle it. The lyrics evolved from self-blame to self- affirmation, and eventually to gratitude. Even painful relationships taught her, shaped her, and pushed her forward. The “curse” became a blessing — a force of transformation that launched her toward success.

“It was beyond just doing a show,” says Moonchild Sanelly, reflecting on her recent performance in Cape Town at The Death of Glitter, one of South Africa’s most beloved underground queer parties.

Having first made her name in Cape Town’s alternative spaces, returning to the city as an internationally acclaimed artist — one who’s performed across the globe and collaborated with the likes of Damon Albarn, Diplo, and even Beyoncé — felt like a triumphant homecoming. This “full-circle moment,” reuniting her with the first audience that never questioned her art or her existence, and welcomed her with open arms (and shaking asses), was a fitting launch to a global tour supporting Full Moon.

Midway through her performance, she stilled the sea of sweating bodies to introduce “Falling,” the song that sparked the album’s emotional landscape. It’s a song about fear — fear of failure, of succumbing to one’s own darkness — but Sanelly, true to form, doesn’t let fear paralyze her. She embraces it as a driving force.

This is the source of her joy. This is the root of her power. This is her liberation.

The emotional terrain of Moonchild Sanelly is complex: she acknowledges pain without being consumed by it, celebrates her power without arrogance, and continues to grow with fierce intentionality. If she were ever to fall, she would know how to rise — and we would be ready to catch her, to lift her, just as she has lifted so many with her radical, unrelenting joy.

MOONCHILD

@moochildsanelly