No Permission Needed

Written by: Ferrell Dixon Jr. 

Photography by: Jaden Da Rosa

Briana Wright doesn’t hesitate. Not on stage, where her voice is both a battering ram and a beacon, a mix of raw power and unguarded vulnerability. Not in conversation, where she wields clarity like a scalpel, slicing through pleasantries to get to the core of what it means to exist as a Black woman fronting a rock band in 2024. And certainly not when asked how she has claimed her space in a scene that wasn’t exactly designed with her in mind.

“With my ashy elbows,” she says, not just making space, but owning it.

Wright fronts CLIFFDIVER, a band that doesn’t just defy genre boundaries—it shatters them. Pop-punk, emo, ska—it all folds together into a sound that feels expansive, deliberate, and entirely theirs. Their live shows are electric, full of the kind of cathartic release that comes from seeing someone fully embrace their power. But the road to this moment has been, as Wright puts it, “long and complicated.”

“I started going to alternative shows when I was like 10 when we lived in Branson, MO and as you might imagine, there were not a lot of people who looked like me—both as a woman and a person of color,” she says. “I never felt straight-up unwelcome, but it’s certainly something you notice.”

Yet instead of retreating, Wright pushed forward. Touring outside of her community, she steps into spaces that weren’t made for her and owns them anyway. She doesn’t just exist in these rooms—she shifts their energy. “That friction can be tough, but it’s also a huge source of pride.”

This is the paradox of representation: the crushing weight of being a symbol, countered by the undeniable reality that presence alone is an act of defiance. “For a long time, I believed my voice—who I am, what I am—just didn’t belong in the genre,” she admits. But she never stopped. She never backed down.

That doubt? It didn’t stand a chance. “Thinking back on all the reasons I once thought this wasn’t possible—it just bums me out,” she says. “I’ve always belonged here. And I want other people to know they belong here, too.”

That sense of responsibility isn’t just philosophical—it’s tangible, built into the way CLIFFDIVER functions as a band. They’ve carved out a community, a network of artists who, like them, don’t fit into the traditional mold of the scene. “We recommend each other for work, hold people accountable, and push each other forward. It’s difficult and strange and a lot of fun.”

That tension—between difficulty and triumph, between exhaustion and exhilaration—is where Wright thrives. Her stage presence, which feels almost combustible in its intensity, is fueled by a mix of “good ol’ fashioned adrenaline and gratitude.” She still can’t quite wrap her head around the fact that people pay to see them perform. But they do. And they keep coming back.

CLIFFDIVER’s music is emotionally raw, openly discussing mental health in ways that feel both urgent and deeply personal. For Wright, that openness is a form of rebellion. “I’ve always struggled to be upfront about my mental health, especially because of the spiritual and church-related expectations and trauma I grew up with,” she says. “Joining CLIFFDIVER was, in many ways, a big middle finger to all of that.”

She remembers admiring the band’s honesty before she was a member, telling guitarist Joey Duffy how much she appreciated his openness. So when they asked her to join, she knew exactly what she was signing up for. “It means everything to me to help bust that conversation wide open, especially because I’d always been conditioned to do the opposite.”

That rebellious streak extends beyond the music. Her personal style—best described as “all of the Spice Girls at once”—is a reflection of her broad-spectrum approach to self-expression. “Everything that I gravitate toward tends to be either an extreme of sparkly and sexy or inappropriately comfortable—and I’m happiest when I can nail both.”

As for what’s next, CLIFFDIVER is in the middle of what Wright calls their “biggest shakeup as a band,” going from seven members to five. The change comes with mixed emotions, but also a new sense of purpose. “We’ve been approaching this new season with a lot of excitement towards figuring out who we are now and being able to share it.”

They’ve got new music coming, big tours, and a soon-to-be-announced dream gig that left Wright “broken” when she got the news. And if there’s one thing she wants young Black girls who dream of stepping into this world to know, it’s this:

“TAKE UP SPACE!” she says, slipping into her mom voice for emphasis. Never let the real or the perceived alienation you can expect to feel, take anything from you. We are a renaissance, we are amazing, and we are NEEDED here.

CLIFFDIVER, with Wright at the helm, isn’t just making space. They’re claiming it, expanding it, and leaving the door open for everyone who comes next. Stay tuned to our socials for a special giveaway to followers of both ASLUT and CLIFFDIVER!