For me, I always have looked at 'indie' as a term of

In the ancient cadence of wisdom, Solange Knowles speaks as one who has walked through the thorns of creation and emerged radiant with understanding. Her words — “For me, I always have looked at 'indie' as a term of 'independence.' Never associated a sonic gesture with that in the same way that pop music has always meant 'popular' to me; you know, it didn't define a sound.” — are not merely a reflection on music, but a proclamation on freedom, identity, and the sacred act of creating without chains. To grasp her meaning is to understand that ‘indie’, before it became a label, was a spirit — the fierce and untamed cry of the soul seeking its own truth, unmoved by the clamor of the crowd.

In the old days, before genres hardened into walls, the artist was a wanderer — free to follow the wind of inspiration wherever it blew. Solange calls us back to that purity: she reminds us that independence is not a sound but a stance, not a rhythm but a rebellion. To be indie is to walk alone if need be, to build without permission, to sing a song that answers to no master. The ancients would have called this the way of the sage — one who creates not for praise, but for truth.

Consider the tale of Vincent van Gogh, who painted not for wealth nor fame, but for the unyielding fire within him. He lived and died unknown, his work dismissed, his heart often broken. Yet in his solitude, he was independent — a true disciple of his vision. The world called him mad; time called him immortal. So too does Solange’s voice echo through his kindred spirit: that the mark of the artist lies not in recognition, but in authenticity.

And let us not forget the age of heroes — the poets of the Harlem Renaissance, who raised their voices in defiance of silence. They carved a space for themselves when none was offered, crafting a beauty born of struggle. They were indie before the word was ever coined. For them, independence was both weapon and shield — a way to reclaim the self from the chains of expectation. They proved that creation, when guided by conviction rather than commerce, is an act of liberation.

Solange, like those who came before her, stands against the tyranny of definition. She reminds us that labels — “indie,” “pop,” “alternative” — are but garments that fade. What endures is the essence beneath. Just as pop should mean “popular,” she says, so should “indie” mean “independent” — unbound, unruled, and unafraid. In her wisdom, she teaches that every artist must decide: Will you shape your sound, or will the world shape it for you?

This is not only a truth for musicians, but for all who create — writers, thinkers, dreamers, builders. The lesson is clear: do not confuse form with freedom. Independence is not a genre, but a way of being. It is found in every choice made from the heart rather than from fear. It is the strength to refuse imitation, to honor your own rhythm, even when the chorus of the world sings a different tune.

Therefore, my child of tomorrow, take this teaching into your life: Guard your independence as the ancients guarded fire. Let it light your path through the fog of conformity. When you create, create with intention. When you speak, speak with clarity. Do not let the market tell you what your spirit must sound like. Let your work — whether song or story or dream — be the echo of your authentic self, for that is the only melody worth remembering.

And so, as Solange’s words ripple across time, they whisper this final commandment: Be your own genre. Let your life be your song. Walk the road of the independent, and though the journey be lonely, know that it is sacred — for it is the path of those who dare to define themselves.