Historical Context
Asian American women have long been involved in hip-hop. From Sophia Chang, talent manager of RZA and GZA of the Wu Tang Clan, to artists like Audrey Nuna. Dubbed the first Asian woman in hip-hop, Sophia Chang got involved in the hip-hop scene in the 1980s while working at Jive Records. Her career paved the way for other Asian American women to find their place in the industry. But the rise of female Asian American rappers and hip-hop artists has not been easy. Being both Asian American and a woman mean that these artists experience unique forms of intersectional oppression. Asian American women are often stereotyped as docile, submissive, exotic, and breedable. Other stereotypes include the calculating and deceptive “dragon lady” and the unproblematic, diligent worker. These stereotypes have varying levels of potency; how they affect artists depends on various factors like context, ethnicity, and proximity to whiteness. Given these stereotypes and the invisibility of Asian American women regardless of their achievements, it is no surprise that Asian American women remain on the margins of the hip-hop scene.
The stereotypical Asian American woman does not fit the hip-hop prototype: hyper-masculine, edgy, and outspoken. Yet Asian American women continue to find bold and creative ways to carve out their artistic path. Ruby Ibarra was exposed to hip-hop as a kid growing up in the ’90s in Tacloban City, Philippines and after moving to the East Bay (near San Francisco). After immigrating to the US, 13-year-old Ibarra began writing rhymes, and in 2010 began pursuing music more seriously. She released her first album, Circa’91, at the end of 2017. In it, she explores some very personal themes— self-doubt, her mother’s tireless work for her family, her father’s abandonment. Through it all, there is this throughline of Pinay power, visibility, and resilience. The album features fellow Beatrock Music recording artists like Bambu de Pistola, Rocky Rivera, Klassy, and Faith Santilla.
The reception of Ruby’s first album was overwhelmingly positive. Most recently, Ibarra was named the 2025 NPR “Tiny Desk” Winner. Ruby Ibarra and the Balikbayans performed their new single, “Bakunawa,” a song rooted in Filipino folklore about a moon-swallowing serpent. Part of Ibarra’s originality stems from her ability to seamlessly transition between three different languages: English, Tagalog, and Waray, her family’s regional dialect. Paired with Filipino legends Han Han, Ouida, and June Millington from the 70’s girl rock group, Fanny, Ruby Ibarra and the Balikbayans are an all-star cast of Pinays in music. As Ruby Ibarra becomes a household name, she sheds light on the often overlooked Filipino Americans, creating a space for belongingness and community. Meanwhile, fans are eagerly awaiting the release of Ibarra’s sophomore album.
The Music
Ibarra’s inspiration for “US” was the sisterhood between Filipina hip-hop artists who are often pitted against each other in the industry. “US” also served as Ibarra’s directorial debut. In addition to filming the music video, the crew also shot a 25-minute documentary, “NOTHING ON US: PINAYS RISING BEHIND THE SCENES,” about the process of organizing and filming with 200+ participants as well as the messages of resistance and Pinary resilience that “Us” portrays. The documentary premiered at the Center for Asian American Media Festival in 2018. “US” was a true collaboration with each artist bringing something unique. Klassy wrote the hook of the song, now a kind of anthem for Filipinas everywhere. With each “nothin’ on us,” the crowd responds in affirmation. She explains that she wrote some parts in English and others in Tagalog because “certain words feel a different way when they’re said in another language.”
Island woman rise, walang makakatigil (nothing can stop you)
Brown, brown woman, rise, alamin ang ‘yong ugat (know your roots)
Rocky’s verse features strong, militant language. She paints herself as a political organizer commanding and leading a battalion of Pinay women. She doesn’t shy away from violent resistance, saying that she would kill a “pig in a white hooded suit… for my country.” By juxtaposing the white hooded figures of the KKK with the police, she points out the well-established relationship between the two entities as well as their similarities as organizations that continue to commit acts of racial violence and political oppression. She ends her verse with a strong, anti-capitalistic stance to continue to fight for the national liberation of the Filipino people. Klassy’s verse also follows in a similar vein with a nod towards Captain Nieves Fernandez, the only known Filipina guerrilla leader during World War II.
Ruby takes the first and last verses of the song. Her first verse refers to symbols commonly associated with Pinay women, like the butterfly sleeve, a feature of traditional Filipina clothing, and the Pandanggo Sa Ilaw, an intricate dance performed while balancing lit candles on your hands and head. At the same time, she speaks about Pinay power, comparing their words to bullets and recentering Filipinas in the narrative. Ibarra even makes reference to Betsy Devos, Secretary of Education at the time, pointing towards the power of sharing one’s narrative. While Betsy Devos attacked public education, Ibarra’s words suggest that by telling our stories, we can resist the effects of societal amnesia and challenge dominant, harmful social narratives. In Ibarra’s last verse, she brings herself back into focus as a weapon and beacon of truth and brutal honesty to speak out against violence and oppression both in the US and the Philippines.
Musically, the song begins with the low rumble of the bass paired with a short and repetitive sound byte till the beat drops, signaled by a young dancer’s stomp in the music video. The energy continually builds through each verse as bass, synth, high hat, and ride cymbals add complexity and depth to the verses and repeats of the hook. There is a push and pull in energy as each new verse repeats the cycle of building up musical elements until the music pulls back to just bass for the start of the fourth verse, as Ibarra switches seamlessly between Tagalog and English. As synth and high hat reenter the groove, energy is built up to a climax before completely dropping out as if to call complete attention to the song’s final message.
Faith Santilla, a Filipina and Bay Area poet, wraps up the song with a commanding presence and some promising spoken word that addresses her fellow Filipinas.
So let it be known, if you don’t already
Pinays have always been part, and parcel, if not, imperative and critical to the struggle
Filipinas are no strangers to wielding our own power
Of all the privileges that exist in this world, none of which you may be a benefactor of
There is at least one you bear
And that is the privilege of having been born a Filipina
Your DNA contains building blocks made from the mud of over 500 years of resistance and survival
And when you are ready, sis, we’ll be right here
We then hear Klassy’s call to action for Filipinas everywhere to rise up once more as the fades out.
Resources
- US– lyrics with translations
- Interview with Ruby, Rocky, Klassy, and Faith– Hypebae
- Isang Bagsak! One fall, One down– essay post on the history of the phrase ‘isang bagsak’
- Meet Ruby Ibarra, The Filipina Rapper & NPR “Tiny Desk” Winner Creating Space For Her Community– Recording Academy interview
- The Power of “Us”: The Making of a Music Video and a Documentary– YOMYOMF archives of Lauren Lola, blog
- Asian Americans in Hip Hop– Zine for the Chinese American Museum
- More Than a ‘Femcee:’ Asian American Women in Rap– Joy Ng blog post
- Buck the System: Beatrock music celebrates a decade of resistance– One Down article