Meet the 7 women shaping the future of Pakistani music – Culture

From bedroom covers on Instagram to becoming the most-streamed Pakistani woman artist of 2024 with ‘Jhol’, Annural Khalid’s rise to fame has been inspiring. Grounded, self-taught, and entirely in tune with her generation’s vocabulary, she is proof that you don’t need to shout to be heard — you just need to sing like you mean it.

With roots in indie-pop, her music feels like a diary entry wrapped in melody — delicate and heartfelt. Over the years, she’s built a loyal following by simply staying true to herself.

Q. What are some of the biggest challenges you face as a woman musician in Pakistan, both on and off the stage?

My biggest challenge is probably being assertive and getting people to take my concerns seriously. However, it’s definitely gotten better recently because I have the best team.

Q. Have you ever experienced mansplaining or gender bias? How do you usually handle it?

So many times! It’s inevitable, honestly. I’m not saying that everyone in the industry is like that, but you’re bound to encounter such individuals. I don’t think there is much you can do except set clear boundaries and distance yourself from such people. You’re not obligated to work with someone who can’t respect you or treat you as an equal.

Q. What is one thing the music industry needs to change for women artists, and how can the industry better support and empower them?

I think we’ve come a long way but I still feel like there needs to be more opportunities for women in the music scene, like live shows with equal female representation.

Q. What’s a moment in your career that made you feel proud or validated as a woman in music?

Being last year’s most streamed female artist was definitely the biggest moment for me as a musician. From making cover videos in my room to making my way into mainstream music, to be frank, I’m still processing it all but so much more to come InshaAllah and I’m excited about it!

When she was 12, Paracha picked up a guitar and never looked back. It was her escape from problems at home. “It was the only thing I had control over,” she told me. For her, going to an all-girls school meant having no one to jam with — “That’s when I ventured into music production. I started to record rhythm guitar while playing a solo over it.” She also made up for the lack of jams in school by co-founding the Lahore Music Meet with Noorani and others in her senior year of college.

Today, Paracha is a guitarist, producer, singer, and songwriter, whose talents span genres. She’s produced and performed with bands like Sikandar ka Mandar, Biryani Brothers and Dolce and Ghabraana, and worked with artists like Moji, Towers, Maanu, Zoha Zuberi, Risham Faiz Bhutta, Hassan and Roshaan, Ali Suhail and Eva B.

In 2023, she had her song ‘Tum Kaafi Ho’ featured in the Netflix series, Class, the Indian iteration of Elite.

Q. What are some of the biggest challenges you face as a woman musician in Pakistan, both on and off the stage?

Most of my struggles stem from the field itself, but gender plays its part. You may forget your gender, but someone will always remind you by placing unexpected obstacles. Being proficient isn’t enough — women are expected to fit a narrow brand in entertainment, and many don’t. That said, I’ve met people in the industry who are more open and respectful because I’m a woman — those are the ones I choose to work with. Schedules in this field are random, and many women face curfews or permission issues. Explaining to your family that this is a career — not just a hobby — is a challenge in itself.

Q. Have you ever experienced mansplaining or gender bias? How do you usually handle it?

Absolutely — in college, a guy offered to tune my guitar before hearing me play (which is Guitar 101). He backed off after hearing me play, but it stuck with me. I think of younger women just starting out and how attitudes like that can discourage them.

There’s such a skew in gender ratios, especially in technical roles, that some people act like working with women requires a different manual. But some of the best collaborators I’ve had treated me just like anyone else — sometimes even dumping an unreal workload on me, which I take as a sign of trust.

Q. What is one thing the music industry needs to change for women artists, and how can the industry better support and empower them?

We need better systems to pass on knowledge. When I started out, I learned most by working with others — mentorship was key, and I was lucky to learn from Haniya Aslam. There needs to be a clear path for young women to find the right people and spaces to learn in. That alone could shift the gender ratio in the industry.

Q. What’s a moment in your career that made you feel proud or validated as a woman in music?

I’ve often said that you have to be twice as good to be seen just as good. But when you are twice as good, especially in a gender people didn’t expect, it hits differently. Being called a “guitarist” or “producer”, seeing people recognise my songs, having Netflix feature my music, or Ali Azmat hugging me after a performance — those moments feel unreal. I look back to being 12 with a cheap guitar that broke my fingers, and today, it all feels worth it.

Having grown up across different parts of the world, Lyla, or DJ Lyla, developed a deep curiosity for cultures and environments. With a Master’s in sustainable development, she works in the development sector, teaches yoga, is an avid CrossFitter, and proud dog mum.

While working at music venues and selling records in Glasgow, she began DJing in 2017. Her nomadic life and love for music evolved from making playlists and burning CDs for friends to performing live. She became the first woman DJ to play Boiler Room Pakistan and continues to run her charity club nights, Sunny Side Up!. She’s hosted a monthly show on Clyde Built Radio for four years and is currently producing music and co-founding a record label.

Q. What are some of the biggest challenges you face as a woman musician in Pakistan, both on and off the stage?

I can only speak from experience — and from a place of privilege — which makes this question tricky. I was raised in a home where I was taught I could do anything my brother could. That gave me the confidence to see challenges as part of the human experience — something to navigate with like-minded people.

While certain aspects of life as a woman in Pakistan used to frustrate me, I’ve come to see challenges as opportunities for growth. That mindset shapes how I approach everything, not just music.

That said, globally, there are persistent stereotypes about what women can and cannot achieve. I consider myself fortunate to be an assertive woman in Pakistan, where many still aren’t used to women voicing opinions. I prefer to take a broader view of womanhood — reflecting on historical contexts and envisioning changes for the future. If I see a problem, I try to fix it or speak up.

Q. Have you ever experienced mansplaining or gender bias? How do you usually handle it?

I’ve definitely experienced it a few times in Pakistan. Things like people explaining how to plug in an XLR cable or suggesting I hit the sync button to improve my mixing. I just thank them, ask them to step back, and do my thing. If I need help, I’ll ask.

It reminds me of landing at the Karachi airport and people rushing to grab a woman’s bags — as if she can’t carry them herself. In music, too, some people assume I can’t handle my gear. But I can, and I do.

It doesn’t happen as much now, or maybe I just ignore it. I’ve distanced myself from people who talk down to others. I’ve learnt to walk away, even if it means turning down money or visibility. I only want to work with people who treat others with respect.

Q. What is one thing the music industry needs to change for women artists, and how can the industry better support and empower them?

There needs to be better representation of women and marginalised genders in lineups. The scene is still overwhelmingly male, here and abroad, and that needs to shift. Promoters need to actively seek diverse talent instead of claiming there isn’t enough.

In Pakistan, we also need more community spaces where artists and collectives can access equipment, practice, and collaborate. Right now, those opportunities are limited to people with resources, and that creates barriers.

Q. What’s a moment in your career that made you feel proud or validated as a woman in music?

For me, it’s never about one moment — it’s about the collective experience. Watching people connect, lose themselves in the music, and find joy on the dance floor — that’s what makes me proud. That feeling of shared energy is far more fulfilling than any external validation.

Natasha Humera Ejaz is a recording artist, music producer, actor, dancer, educator and entrepreneur from Islamabad. With a certificate in audio production from the International College of Music, Kuala Lumpur, she’s honed her skills through international residencies like BorderMovement, Dosti Music Project, American Music Abroad and Saffron (Pakistan chapter).

Her debut album Ordinary Miracle was released in August 2023. Alongside making music, she runs her independent label Tiny Dancer Live and teaches as visiting faculty at the Kathmandu Jazz Conservatory.

Q. What are some of the biggest challenges you face as a woman musician in Pakistan, both on and off the stage?

Safety, security, and respect are constant considerations. At this stage, I experience Pakistan not just as a female artist, but as a person who happens to be a woman. That mix leads to an unusual lifestyle — constant travel, times when I’m without the company of trusted friends, late nights that come with the job, and always ensuring I get home safely.

Over time, people do listen when I speak, but the industry remains complex. I hold high standards for my work, and advocating for stronger foundations takes ongoing effort.

Q. Have you ever experienced mansplaining or gender bias? How do you usually handle it?

One of the most valuable things I’ve learned is to build a strong sense of self and choose my battles wisely. I do this work because I love it, and I try to let the music speak for itself. When I’m undermined, I focus on the work. If a conversation is necessary, I try to approach it with clarity, knowing that change takes time and not every perspective shifts immediately.

Q. What is one thing the music industry needs to change for women artists, and how can the industry better support and empower them?

Creating environments where artists are treated with dignity, heard, and supported makes all the difference. Collaboration works best when there’s mutual respect. The less time spent on comparison, the more space there is for everyone to bring their best forward.

Q. What’s a moment in your career that made you feel proud or validated as a woman in music?

Any time a young artist tells me that my music or journey resonated with them, it means the world. I knew this path wouldn’t be easy, but I chose it anyway. Now, I get to share space with artists at different stages of their journeys. That, to me, feels full circle — and a reminder of how the music landscape continues to grow.

Asteria is an indie/alt-rock artist whose music is raw, honest, and unapologetically expressive. She plays five instruments, writes, produces, engineers, and mixes all her music herself. For her, music is joy, healing, and a form of divine expression — a way to create beauty in the world. Having turned to music during her darkest moments, she now hopes to offer that same solace and emotional connection to others.

Most recently, she was a guitarist for the house band on Coke Studio 15.

Q. What are some of the biggest challenges you face as a woman musician in Pakistan, both on and off the stage?

In Pakistan, there are many issues that come with being a woman musician. The broad statement I can make is men, both as an audience and as authorities, will refuse to acknowledge our talent and capabilities. Despite producing, engineering, and writing all my music, I’m still not taken seriously by many.

At soundchecks before shows, sound engineers will nine times out of 10 ignore what I have to say, and even tamper with my settings mid-performances. As Asteria, my persona by Pakistani standards is open, unapologetic and unconventional; because of this, other producers and musicians often give me unsolicited advice and will tell me I have to change who I am if I want to succeed.

More often than not, men in the industry, oftentimes married or committed to other partners, will approach you not for work but to pursue you romantically. Without exaggeration, expect messages nearly daily that are objectifying and derogatory.

Q. Have you ever experienced mansplaining or gender bias? How do you usually handle it?

More often than not, men in the music industry will exhibit gender bias. If they cannot categorise you as a muse or a damsel who needs their assistance, they do not understand how to treat you. To them, the idea of an equal is incomprehensible. While it may not be said, it is evident through subtext.

I deal with it by staying confident in my abilities and avoiding knee-jerk reactions. Diplomacy matters, but I take mental note of how people treat me. I surround myself with good people, and I believe nothing can take away what I’m building.

Q. What is one thing the music industry needs to change for women artists, and how can the industry better support and empower them?

We need a cultural shift in how women are perceived. As a short-term solution, we need more women on live lineups — which are still overwhelmingly male. But in the long term, we have to stop viewing women in the roles we have created for them and start listening to their voices as artists.

Q. What’s a moment in your career that made you feel proud or validated as a woman in music?

Playing as a guitarist for the house band on Coke Studio Season 15 was a truly validating moment. Their standards are high, so being recognised for my craft and having my vision understood meant a lot to me.

Based in Toronto, Zoha Zuberi is an indie singer-songwriter hailing from Islamabad. Despite resistance from her family, her music journey began at 15. “Growing up, I was the quiet kid lost in melodies, teaching myself guitar in my room,” she said. From covering to writing songs, she found her voice in music. Blending her indie/pop, singer-songwriter style with her Pakistani roots, she has released three EPs; February, Jeem, Tassawur and an album, RECLAIM.

Q. What are some of the biggest challenges you face as a woman musician in Pakistan, both on and off the stage?

Cultural expectations play a huge role in shaping the musical journey of women in Pakistan. There’s an unspoken mould — sometimes overt, sometimes subtle — that defines how a female musician should sound, perform, and present herself. It’s a balancing act — traditional roles often clash with the spotlight.

The biggest challenge for me has been honouring that culture while still evolving as an artist. It’s a tightrope walk between respect and rebellion. If your music leans too Western, it might not resonate with audiences who have a fixed idea of what a Pakistani female musician should be. But if you stay entirely within the traditional mould, you risk being confined to a particular style, tone, and repertoire deemed ‘acceptable’ for women.

The real challenge is carving out a space where you can be unique, relevant, and true to yourself. So far, I think I have succeeded.

Q. Have you ever experienced mansplaining or gender bias? How do you usually handle it?

Oh, absolutely — I’ve had a producer explain my own song’s vibe to me. I respect the craft of everyone I work with, and I’m open to collaboration, but I also make sure to give myself the respect I deserve. I wouldn’t mind being led when it’s about creative growth, but condescension is where I draw the line.

Gender bias often shows up in subtle ways — like people assuming I’m just a vocalist and not a composer or producer, I handle it with a smile, a firm “I’ve got this,” and let my work do the talking.

Q. What is one thing the music industry needs to change for women artists, and how can the industry better support and empower them?

Two things. First, women in the industry need to collaborate more. Men do it all the time, but I rarely see women supporting each other in the same way. That’s one of the reasons my last album featured only women — I wanted to create space for more female voices to come together.

Second, build your own brand — an identity that’s entirely yours. Too often, women in music are recognised for collaborating with a trendsetter rather than for their own artistry. Platforms like [Spotify’s] EQUAL Pakistan are meant to empower us to carve out our own path. Make our own music, tell our own story — it will work.

Q. What’s a moment in your career that made you feel proud or validated as a woman in music?

There have been a few. Releasing my first EP, February, seeing ‘I Rather’ on Spotify’s EQUAL Global playlist, being featured on Dolby Atmos MENA, and having my face on a Times Square billboard in 2022 — those were surreal moments. Learning to produce my own music, beyond composing, writing, and singing, and then releasing my first self-produced EP, Tassawur, was another milestone.

But RECLAIM is my proudest achievement — not just because I learned to produce for it, but because I made it while moving to Canada and preparing for motherhood. I shot seven music videos while eight months pregnant. RECLAIM represents everything I’ve worked for. It’s proof that no matter what stage of life I’m in, music will always be a part of me.