Janelle Monáe met us at a coffee shop in Midtown Manhattan, arriving alone, without a publicist, 10 minutes early.

Your career has moved between music, film, and activism in ways that seem genuinely integrated rather than strategic. How do you think about that?

I do not separate them. The same questions I am exploring in music — who am I, who gets to define me, what does freedom actually look like — those are the questions in the films I make and the causes I support. I am not switching modes. I am just using different tools.

You have talked about genre as a form of control. Can you expand on that?

When someone puts you in a genre, they are telling you what your ceiling is. They are telling you who your audience is allowed to be. The moment you accept the category, you accept the limitations that come with it.

What does a Janelle Monáe album sound like in 2026?

I do not know yet, honestly. It sounds like everything I have been feeling for the past three years — joy and terror and confusion and love — run through every instrument I know how to play. It will be out when it is ready.