Malaysia does not crown pop stars often, and when it does, the moment rarely lasts. lucidrari knows this. He has asked the question himself: “When was the last time we had one? Why does it only happen once every few years?” In a music scene like Kuala Lumpur’s — one still learning how to nurture youth culture as something worth listening to, and where art is only just beginning to be treated with the seriousness of any other industry — the idea of being a pop artist that starts locally feels as fragile as it is ambitious.
For the 26-year-old rapper, it is a constant negotiation: How do you stay rooted in the pace of Shah Alam, shaped by the contradictions of suburban life, while building something big enough to resonate beyond it? How do you evolve the sound without losing the familiarity that gets you on the charts? Is it braver to break genre, or safer to follow the blueprint that earns an AJL nomination?
Since debuting with LAMPU BIRU, a low-slung club track that quietly racked up five million streams, he has barely missed. His debut album CHRONOSPHERE hit number one on Spotify Malaysia, with GADISKU and PAPERTAG emerging as standout tracks. Then came LOWKEY, a soft-launched teaser to his next chapter, crossing a million streams in under a month.
He is not the type to call it luck. He moves too intentionally for that. His third album, TELETEXT, makes that even clearer. Named after an outdated TV broadcast system once used to transmit data through static, the title becomes a metaphor: lucidrari wants his music to carry signal through noise.
The 16-track album splits itself in two. One half experiments with hyperpop, rap and R&B, genres still orbiting the edge of Malaysia’s mainstream, but ones he believes the next generation is already wired for. The other draws from the melody and sentiment of classic Malay ballads, the kind that always find their way onto national radio. TELETEXT reads like a dual offering, one for the culture, one for the charts.
But even with the numbers, lucidrari doesn’t let hype drive the direction. That clarity is also why he has refused the shortcut most young artists are told to take: virality. The idea that a TikTok sound bite or algorithmic moment should come first, and the music second. It is a formula that works, one that dominates the current definition of pop, particularly in Asia where visibility often stands in for credibility. But lucidrari has insisted, from the beginning, that the sound has to come first.
“I am an artist, not an influencer,” he says. “Too many young talents subscribe to the recipe of going viral first and then release music. But shouldn’t your music be the thing that makes you go viral?”
It is a view that might feel old-school in a culture obsessed with exposure, but it is also what sets him apart. Even as his tracks chart locally, he avoids chasing attention. His Instagram feed is wiped clean. “I like Instagram,” he says, “I just don’t know what to post. I’m in the studio, making music.”
He is not against social media. He just resists the idea that presence must precede purpose. And in a space where constant visibility is often mistaken for relevance, lucidrari’s refusal to play the game becomes the strategy. When you move rarely but with clarity, people start to pay closer attention to your next step.
That same clarity shows up in real life too
We meet him for the shoot at The Grid by NINE in Petaling Jaya, an automotive garage surrounded by matte sports cars in electric blue, coral pink and neon orange. He walks in, nods toward the wardrobe rack, and grins. “Put me in something,” he says. “I am fine with anything, just don’t put me in the basics that people think local rappers wear.”
Throughout the shoot, his instinct to resist cliché shows up in the smallest ways. Between outfit changes, he would leave comments: “I don’t think this would go well as a layer,” or “shoot from this side, it’s a better angle of my face.”
It is subtle but telling. For someone who has only been releasing music for a few years, lucidrari already moves with the clarity of someone who knows exactly what he wants, both visually and creatively. More importantly, he knows what he does not want, and that is to be like everyone else.
And clarity turns into curation
Through his label MidLyfe, lucidrari is now building the an infrastructure that rarely exists around local pop. It feels less like a vanity imprint and more like groundwork. A new wave of producers, DJs and rappers are being shaped there, many of whom do not fit the commercial mould of what a Malaysian hitmaker is supposed to sound like.
“I don’t think we’ve ever had enough people curating,” he says. “Not just signing talent, but shaping something. I trust my taste. I think I have good taste in whatever I do.”
That curatorial instinct evidently runs deep in TELETEXT. There are no transmissions without receivers, and lucidrari builds those lines with the utmost intention.
Featuring voices from Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia, the album is not about crossing over, but about conversation. “I hope some of the artists I collaborate with get the spotlight they didn’t have before, because they deserve it.”
When asked what this album means to him, he describes it as a reset. A chance to rewire the local scene toward something more collaborative, more daring, and more self-curated. “I see TELETEXT as a system,” he says. “One that makes space for others, invites collaboration, and stretches the boundaries of what local pop can sound like.”
So what is a pop star, really, if not someone who shapes the culture into something it was not before? Which brings us back to that question: When was the last time Malaysia had one?
If you think a pop star is someone who lands hits and headlines, there are plenty to choose from. But if you think it is someone who curates, creates, and carves space for others — someone who reframes what the future of local pop could sound like — then the signal is already there. Whether you recognise it as lucidrari depends on what you have been taught to see, and more importantly, what you have learned to listen for.
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Photography Joe Ng
Styling Liew Hui Ying
Grooming and Hair Eranthe Loo
Photography Assistants ElfZam, Jia Jia
Styling Assistants Illy Azman, Aqeil Aydin
Location The Grid By NINE
Special Thanks Mira Rizam