This reflection explores the tension between stated mission and execution at the 2025 Louisville Urban League Derby Gala — and what it revealed about joy, resistance, and representation.
On Wednesday, April 30, 2025, the Louisville Urban League hosted its 8th annual Derby Gala — its largest fundraising event of the year. According to the organization’s website, the mission behind the event is to allow donors to continue supporting the progress made toward "transforming Louisville into a more equitable place for everyone to live, work, and thrive." The evening included dinner, an auction, music by DJ ZNyce and Louisville SLYDE, and the culmination of the night — a performance by Grammy-nominated queer icon Janelle Monáe.
In both the event description and the opening remarks by CEO Lyndon Pryor, the Urban League describes itself as "believing in the power of joy [and wonder...] In moments of conflict and uncertainty, joy is more than a feeling — it's an act of resistance and a way to reclaim our strength." Pryor emphasized "creating a revolution of joy," especially for Black Louisvillians and other marginalized groups. Yet several aspects of the event felt incongruent with that goal — most notably, the decision to allow the DJ to play an entire R. Kelly track from start to finish before Monáe's set. Given Kelly's long-documented history of abuse and exploitation, particularly of Black women and girls, this felt like a deeply careless oversight — one that undercut the night’s message of joy as resistance along with other seemingly small, similar moments. In addition, there was no call to action or insight into how Black Louisvillians can access that joy. More specifically, no insight into how the Louisville Urban League plans to create space for that joy and opportunity for Black, queer Louisvillians.
However, the choice to include Janelle Monáe had a powerful impact on the audience, offering a bold vision of what liberation, expression, Black joy, and resistance can look like when we’re willing to do the work and truly "get our hands dirty." I only wish more thought had gone into programming surrounding this choice, as there was no visibility for queer folks at the event otherwise.
Janelle Monáe, (she/her, they/them) delivered a performance unlike any musical experience I’ve had. They brought a stadium-worthy show that still felt deeply intimate. Many artists might phone it in for a smaller, private event in Louisville, KY — but Monáe brought care, intention, and connection to an audience that needed it most. Drawing from their tour programming, every detail was intentional. The band featured all Black musicians, all but one of them femme. At one point, Monáe honored "the ancestors that bore this music for us," citing Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Jimi Hendrix, Miles Davis, Dizzy Gillespie, Fela Kuti, and James Brown. The setlist was carefully curated — not just crowd-pleasers, but songs that unapologetically conveyed a message about Black life, Black queerness, and liberation, echoing sounds from across the African diaspora.
Her energy flowed into the crowd, creating a presence no recording could capture. From crisp delivery and dynamic movement across the stage to the band’s coordinated attire (musicians, take note!), every element reflected Monáe’s reverence for those who came before them. There could not have been a better performer for this event — and I only wish the evening had been more accessible and welcoming for Louisville’s Black LGBTQIA+ community, who deserved to witness it firsthand.
Some may argue that the pursuit of joy should mean setting aside our divisions — that music shouldn’t be political. But Lyndon Pryor’s remarks about the “first 100 days” and the pursuit of Black joy are inherently political. Taking up space as a Black, queer artist in Janelle Monáe’s industry is inherently political. And with the performance they gave, their message was undeniable. Music has always been a form of resistance for marginalized people, and Monáe’s music is especially no exception — making a statement in a space that needed to hear it, and be moved by it.
As Monáe declares in “Django Jane”: “Hit the mute button, let the vagina have a monologue.”
A closing reminder that joy and defiance often sound like truth spoken without apology.
