From church pews in South London to singing with Prince, hosting shows on BBC radio, and launching a fashion line... I’ve lived a life in music. It’s been wild, soulful, sometimes surreal. But more than anything, it’s been mine.

The first time I really felt music, not just heard it, I was about seven or eight. I’d come home from school, race round to my aunt’s house, and sneak into her front room. Now, in Jamaican culture, the front room was sacred. Immaculate. Always cleaned and untouched, strictly for guests. You weren’t allowed in there. But that’s where the records lived: those glorious gospel vinyls, imported from America.

So I’d sneak in, put on the Edwin Hawkins Singers’ Oh Happy Day and just… listen. Study. Mimic. I was obsessed. I knew every note, every key, who played what. I had perfect pitch even as a child. That’s where it all started.

My grandparents were Pentecostal ministers, and our church was my first stage. Every Sunday, they’d get me up to sing — and the congregation would go mad. By 11, I’d won my first award at Wembley Stadium, singing for the national Pentecostal convention. Can you imagine? Wembley at 11! My grandmother basically became my agent after that, dragging me all over the UK and Scotland, singing in every denomination you can name.

That voice – my voice – was a gift. But it wasn’t just a gift. It was a calling. I was constantly learning. Constantly absorbing. I wasn’t just singing gospel. I was listening to jazz, soul, funk... the real stuff, from the States. That became my secret education.

The First Wave

I joined a little gospel group called The Spirit of Us when I was barely in my teens. I was the baby — the lead singer, though. Eventually, a label came sniffing around, but they only wanted me. That led to me singing backing vocals for Hollywood Beyond — they had a huge hit with The Colour of Money — and then, at 17, I got a call from Julian Palmer at Island Records.

He saw something in me. He signed me. We made my first album together — and here we are, all these years later, working together again. Life really does come full circle.

When So Good dropped, I was just 18. It went platinum. Everything exploded. One minute I was in South London, the next I was on Letterman, flying Concorde, doing three TV shows a day. It happened that fast.

You Are My One Temptation took off, and suddenly I was a fashion reference. I’ll never forget the outfit I wore in the video — a sleek little suit with buttons down the sides. The moment I got my first pay cheque, I ran to Carnaby Street and bought it for myself. That was the first of many full-circle moments.

The Gospel According to Prince (and Chaka)

What followed was a wave — six years of hits, collaborations, travelling, creating, learning. I worked with Prince. Prince. He wrote If I Love U 2Nite for me. Brought me on stage with him in Camden just six months before he passed. That was the first venue he ever took me to. Again, full circle. Magic.

Natalie Cole was another huge force in my life. She should’ve been a teacher: she was so wise, so kind. She put me on the bill at the Nelson Mandela concert at Wembley. She was a friend and a real mentor.

And Chaka. Well, Chaka Khan became family. She's godmother to my children. A mother figure. A sister. She’s even duetting with me on my next album, out in 2026. I still can’t believe it sometimes.

Soul Solutions & Amy Before the Fame

At some point, BBC Radio 2 asked if I’d sit in for Dionne Warwick: she was unwell one night. I’d never done radio before, but I thought: why not? I gave it a go. And I loved it. That one night turned into 24 years.

My show was called Soul Solutions, and it became this beautiful space where I could speak to other artists: Mary J. Blige, Bobby Womack, Amy Winehouse. And because I was one of them, they got me, and I got them. We could go deep. No fluff. Just soul.

I recognised Amy’s talent instantly. I put her on stage at the Café de Paris, and from there, she flew. You could see it. You could feel it.

What Not to Wear, and What to Stand For

From there, I leapt into TV, joining What Not to Wear with Trinny and Susannah and my best friend Lisa Butcher. Four million viewers a week. Wild.

That show changed the game for me. It introduced me to brands, to fashion, and led to me launching my own clothing line with Simply Be. I even wrote a book, Beautiful Within, in 2007. I wanted to speak to women from all cultures, especially those aged 30 to 60, and help them feel good, feel powerful, feel seen.

It wasn’t just about clothes. It was about owning your story.

Legacy Isn’t a Buzzword — It’s a Responsibility

Now, after 40 years in this business, I think about legacy constantly. I’m still singing. Still acting. Still producing. I created a show for Sky called Gospel Christmas: it’s aired twice and may return this year. That’s the sort of work I want to keep doing. Uplifting. Rooted in something deeper.

I feel incredibly lucky. So many of the people who gave me chances were not people of colour, but they saw me. They believed in me. And I don’t take that for granted.

Yes, it’s been hard being a woman of colour in this industry. It still is. But if your intentions are good, and you keep going, the work will speak. That’s why I choose not to dwell on the negative. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t serve.

We’re all in labour right now, you know? The world feels that way: painful, raw, full of tension. But something beautiful is coming. We just have to push.

Passing the Baton, Holding the Mic

I want to leave something behind: not just music, but meaning. We’ve had so many incredible women of colour come before me: Shirley, Joan, the greats. But the legacy often stops short. The next generation doesn’t always know who came before them. I want to bridge that gap.

Gen Z, especially the multicultural, magnificent young women I meet, are smart. They’re aware. They’re kind. I want them to see that this career can be done with grace, with fire, with faith.

I’ve had the honour of blazing a few trails, but there’s still work to do. I’m still writing. Still building. Still believing.

I haven’t “cracked it”. That would be boring. I’m still evolving. Still dreaming. Still singing.

And I can’t wait for what’s next.