Brazilian pop singer Liniker’s voice is reaching the world, but her community is still fighting to survive

By Julia Vargas Jones, CNN

(CNN) — The moment Brazilian pop sensation Liniker walked into Amoeba Music in Hollywood, the crowd roared. Fans lifted their phones, snapping pictures with one hand and clutching her Latin Grammy-winning record on the other, many still buzzing from watching her performance at the awards show days earlier.

The Latin Grammys were one of the biggest nights of the singer and songwriter’s career — for the second time. In 2022, Liniker was the first-ever out transgender artist to win a Latin Grammy. In 2025, she entered the ceremony with seven nominations, the most ever for a Brazilian artist, and walked away with three major wins in categories honoring music in her native language – Portuguese-language contemporary pop album, song and urban performance.

Her breakthrough album “Caju” — a bold fusion of Brazilian groove-based pop, neo-soul, samba, disco, and jazz — has turned her into one of the most celebrated Brazilian artists of the decade. Critics from the LA Times to Rolling Stone have praised the project’s intimacy and ambition. Over the past couple years, she has collaborated with giants of Brazilian music like Milton Nascimento and the late Elza Soares, and took the stage in front of 2 million people in Copacabana after Lady Gaga’s historic concert in May.

“I’ve been living a life of dreams – receiving awards, being successful, being a huge artist in my country and now I’m starting my career out of Brazil, but I know my reality, and I know the reality of my community,” Liniker told CNN in an interview before her record store event.

Liniker, born Liniker de Barros Ferreira Campos and named after English soccer star Gary Lineker, was raised in a home where samba, rock, and soul were always playing. Her working-class family lived in Araraquara, a city of 250,000 just outside the edges of São Paulo’s cultural reach.

Black, trans, and from a modest upbringing, her stardom is remarkable in any context, but in Brazil, where the lives of Black trans women are so often marked by danger rather than possibility, it feels nothing short of astonishing.

A rise to stardom against staggering odds

Brazil holds a stark and somber distinction: It is the deadliest country in the world for transgender people, according to the National Registry of Trans Deaths compiled by Rede Trans Brasil, a nonprofit organization advocating for trans rights.

The report documented 105 killings in 2024, but that number is widely understood to be an undercount. Data is compiled from publicly available information such as local media reports, social media posts, and police reports, but those often fail to register a victim’s gender identity, and many deaths likely never make it into the dataset at all. Most of the victims were young, Black and poor.

None of that is lost on Liniker. As the awards and recognition push her into the spotlight, she said she has to remind herself to “not be delusional.”

“Fame doesn’t exempt me from being subjected to violence — whether online or in the streets,” she said. “Even though today I have a structure around me — a team that protects me, security, all these things that many people from my reality, from my community, don’t have — none of that changes the fact that I’m a trans person.”

And online, she said, there is no way to brace for the backlash.

“It’s awful, because with every victory, the wave of praise comes mixed with an equal wave of violence and harassment,” she said.

The more visible she becomes, the harsher the comments, the stalking, the threats.

“I thought I was protected, but now I know I’m not. The more I go into the light, the more the violence comes to me too.”

At 30, Liniker is celebrating four Latin Grammys — a milestone many artists wait a lifetime to reach — yet, she admits the duality is dizzying. The glamour, the global stages, the adoring fans at Amoeba; and, at the same time, a country where people like her are routinely targeted.

“Being recognized as a songwriter, someone who writes her own story, in a country that kills the most trans and Black people in the world… that carries a weight,” she said.

Liniker sees her work — writing, singing, composing — as an act of offering, a way of sending love outward, even when hostility circles back. Even in her most energetic songs, like “Negona dos Olhos Terríveis,” (Black woman with terrible eyes, in Portuguese), which she performed at the Latin Grammys, her sound is still soft, landing like a feather and never harsh.

The epitome of this style can be heard in the track “Veludo Marrom,” (Brown Velvet), which was written and co-produced by Liniker and one of the tracks that won her a Latin Grammy.

The seven-minute ballad opens with a jazzy guitar, and Liniker’s warm timbre slowly builds up, with sprinkles of birdsong, singing: “I don’t feel like letting go / but I want to make peace from the days / to make a big to-do about your smile / I don’t care, we can take our time.”

The description of an intimate lazy morning with a lover slowly turns brighter as she recites song verses almost like prayer. With each line, a new layer of instruments from Brasil Jazz Sinfônica Orchestra joins in; piano, then strings, drums, and finally, a full choir, taking the song from personal to universal, from physical to ethereal.

Her music has drawn the admiration of artists across the world.

Sophie Hawley-Weld, of the Electronic duo Sofi Tukker, who collaborated with Liniker on a song earlier this year, said “she has the aura of someone who knows herself profoundly and has a rich spiritual life.”

“Her voice and music reflect the same,” Hawley-Weld said.

Fellow Brazilian singer and songwriter Catto thinks the universality of Liniker’s music is responsible for her success. “This record touches people’s hearts, and that’s why she can take it to the whole world,” Catto told CNN on the phone from São Paulo.

Catto, a rising star with powerhouse vocals and long-standing presence in Brazil’s LGBTQ+ cultural scene, said watching Liniker’s success feels both personal and historic.

“There’s the side that’s about representation, which is so important for our community,” Catto said. “But there’s also the personal side: I’m her friend. I know how deeply this win comes from her life, her journey.”

But Liniker’s significance does not begin or end with identity, she emphasized.

“The fact that she’s a trans woman is, in a way, a detail. And at the same time, the fact that she is a trans woman means everything to us,” she said. “But she doesn’t need a label. Her music speaks for itself.”

That admiration is shared widely in Brazil’s artistic circles, but the response from mainstream audiences has been just as striking.

In May, Liniker spent a morning on live television with Ana Maria Braga, a talk-show host on a beloved morning show whose impact on Brazilian culture is often compared to Martha Stewart’s in the United States.

A slender woman in her 60s with short blonde hair, Braga sat beside Liniker on a set designed to look like a family breakfast table as the singer reflected on her 11-year musical career, her personal journey and her family life. Between conversation breaks, Liniker performed — her velvety voice flowing into millions of Brazilian homes.

As viewers sent in comments through the show’s online channels, Braga read a few aloud.

“Ana Maria is charmed by Liniker, just like us. So beautiful to see her in this place getting all this recognition,” she read, her voice breaking. Then, holding back tears and looking into Liniker’s eyes, she told the singer, “We meet so many people in this life, but sometimes we meet people, you know?”

Before moving on, Braga read one last message: “Society needs to see trans people on TV, doing cool things, showing their genuine talent, so that the masks of prejudice may fall.”

Braga paused after concluding and spoke to the viewers who had written in. “I have nothing else to say … you’ve said it all.”

For Liniker, the sentiment resonates deeply.

“We need to be recognized as human beings,” she said. “It’s not even about acceptance; we don’t need acceptance. What we’re asking for is the most basic thing: respect.”

Back at the record store surrounded by fans, Liniker posed for selfies, signed vinyl records and listened patiently as people shared their stories as her album played on the speakers. The first person in line — a young fan who looked to be in their 20s — told her that Liniker had inspired her to learn to sing.

Her message to the Black, trans, or queer youth who are watching her star rise, Liniker said, is simple: “Be kind with yourself and respect your soul, always.”

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