SA's women artists still fighting for visibility in a hostile music scene

I recently read a piece in Let’s Get Local titled “Cape Town is Missing a Music Industry” about the fragility of our local music scene. It hit close to home: dwindling infrastructure, lack of support and transparency. But as I read, a familiar question resurfaced — one that has echoed through every stage, studio and streaming chart I’ve encountered…

Where are the women? 

Music in this country is more than entertainment — it’s livelihood, connection, a cultural heartbeat. The pandemic muted that pulse, but the rhythm is returning. New voices are emerging, bold sounds are breaking through. Yet female artists remain sidelined, facing systemic barriers at every level. 

We’re not absent. We’re underbooked, underfunded, underrepresented. For many South African women in music, the challenge isn’t talent or work ethic — it’s navigating a system that is quietly, but consistently, hostile to us.

Silence, safety and the reality of risk

The structural challenges of South Africa’s music industry — underfunding, minimal government investment and a lack of transparency in systems — affect all creatives, but lived experience, backed by data, shows women pay a steeper price. 

An SA Music Rights Organisation (Samro) survey of 400 professionals (75% women) found:

• Over 70% witnessed gender discrimination.
• Nearly two-thirds faced micro-aggressions or were expected to do labour unrelated to music.
• One-third were pressured into sexual relationships.

These aren’t abstract numbers. They’re lived realities, and they affect every decision we make as artists: Can I go to this rehearsal alone? Am I safe alone in a studio with this producer? Can I accept this booking in another city and trust that I will be safe? Do they really like my music, or is there an ulterior motive at play? It’s an issue even for massive artists, like Tyla, who stated in Vogue: “Even before ‘Water’ I would never go to the studio alone. I was very careful.”

Making the “safe” choice often means turning down career-altering opportunities, because the structures meant to protect us are either absent, or uninterested. 

Public perception and algorithmic bias

Beyond the stark reality of safety concerns in a country facing a gender-based violence crisis lies the subtle impact of perception. 

In a digital age, where streaming and social platforms can make or break an artist’s career, visibility is survival — yet women are judged by a different metric.  

Male artists are “taking risks”; women are “cringey” or “attention-seeking”, with criticism often skipping the music entirely, as in cases of artists like Lady Zamar, whose success has come along with relentless harassment, body-shaming and bullying — a reflection of broader social media patterns.

Every remark, dismissive comment, or algorithmic bias reinforces who gets taken seriously, who gets booked and who is seen on major stages. Male artists often enjoy greater leniency and visibility, while women must navigate a constant barrage of commentary, most of which has nothing to do with their art.

The lack of representation in media, festival slots and label rosters fuels public hesitation to support female artists. It raises the question: Is the public truly not listening, or are we simply not given equal platforms to be heard?

Tyla sums it up: “When I was younger, I always wanted to see a South African girl doing the things that I wanted to do… Because being in South Africa, it didn’t seem possible at the time.”

Zahara’s heartbreaking story exposes the industry’s toll. In Bona Magazine, she said: “Our music is not being played — if you want music with a message, you can’t find it. You have to be dressed a certain way. The media has the power to make or break you. It’s the media that needs to change.” After Zahara’s death in 2023, Somizi Mhlongo said: “We have failed her as an industry.” Her story illustrates the cost women pay in this industry.

The numbers don’t lie — if you can find them

The gender gap in South Africa’s music industry isn’t just a feeling — it’s written in the numbers, and the numbers are grim:

• Fewer than 20% of Samro members are women, and they earn only 5% of royalties.
• In 2024, every single one of Spotify’s top 10 most-streamed South African artists was male.
• Globally, just 3% of credited producers are women.
• Publicly released radio airplay stats by gender? They don’t exist.

Unlike news media, where organisations like Media Monitoring Africa track gender representation, there is no regulatory requirement in South Africa for monitoring airplay by gender. How do you fix a problem you can’t even measure? 

With booking agents, festivals and labels often looking to the charts for top-performing acts, the cycle of invisibility continues. This exacerbates the fierce scarcity mindset that so often drives women in the industry to compete instead of collaborating, creating with, and celebrating one another.

This was brought into stark relief for me on my recent tour of London, where I saw multiple all-female line-ups, drawing tens of thousands of people. South Africa is far behind — and it needs to change.

From South Africa to the world 

This disparity helps explain why we can’t retain our local talent. Artists like Tyla and Makhadzi received a surge in domestic recognition only after gaining international acclaim. While it’s empowering to see South African women succeed globally, it tells a poignant story that so often women need to receive external validation to “prove” they are worth being supported at home.

When I reached out to rising local artist Mila Smith, she echoed this sentiment, stating: “Women form the backbone of the South African musician industry. We’re in your writing rooms, we’re singing the top line on your tracks. And yet, despite that, opportunities are still so few and far between. We will continue to carve out a space for ourselves, one way or another — but support from industry, booking agents and festivals makes all the difference. It’s 2025. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain by investing in women.” 

So, what needs to change?

I truly believe change starts with audiences demanding something different. It starts with insisting on seeing more women on festival and venue line-ups, supporting female-led initiatives and amplifying women’s music in our everyday choices. We need to question our own biases. Why do we scroll past her song? Why do we hesitate to take her music seriously until someone else, somewhere else, does it first?

Whether an artist has 200 listeners or two million, good music is good music. Choose to buy the tickets, share the song, stream the album and celebrate women’s work.

We’re here. In every province. Producing, writing, performing, editing, mixing and marketing ourselves. Often alone. Often unpaid. Often invisible.

But with your support, when asked, “Where are the women?” Soon, we’ll answer: “Here we are. On every stage. In every room. Shaping the sound of South Africa, together.” DM