From Invisible Hitmaker to “Cancelled Queen”: The Explosive Rise and Self-Sabotage of R&B Star Muni Long

The journey of Priscilla Renea Hamilton—better known to the world as Muni Long—is not just a music story; it is a modern Greek tragedy played out in the harsh light of social media. It’s a dizzying narrative of two decades that saw her go from a talented church girl to a millionaire ghostwriter for the world’s biggest pop stars, then to an R&B superstar who finally claimed her spotlight, only to seemingly set fire to her entire career in a matter of months. Muni Long’s tale is a paradox: the writer of universal anthems about love and stability became a figure of cultural controversy and personal chaos, leaving a fanbase asking whether they supported a misunderstood genius or a self-sabotaging diva.

The Ghost in the Machine: A Decade of Invisibility

Born on September 14, 1988, in the small, tight-knit community of Gifford, Florida, Priscilla Renee Hamilton’s destiny was always intertwined with music. Surrounded by a singing mother and a trumpet-playing biological father, music was the foundation of her home. By the age of nine, fueled by the structure and discipline of her U.S. Navy stepfather, she wasn’t just participating in talent shows—she was dominating them. The promise of a star was clear, but the path she took would make her one of the industry’s best-kept secrets.

In 2006, as YouTube was democratizing stardom, a teenage Priscilla Renea began posting covers and original songs from her bedroom in Florida. The response was immediate, and soon, Capital Records came calling, signing the 18-year-old as the next big thing. However, her debut album, Jukebox, released in 2009, failed to ignite the charts, peaking at a dismal number 166 on the Billboard 200. Capital Records was confused; they couldn’t define her sound. But they did notice one thing: Priscilla could write hits for other people.

This realization led to an offer that changed everything, trapping her in a gilded cage for the next decade. Priscilla Renea became one of the most prolific and invisible hitmakers in music history. The list of chart-toppers she penned is staggering: Rihanna’s fan-favorite “California King Bed,” Pitbull and Kesha’s global, multi-platinum smash “Timber,” and records for Ariana Grande, Fifth Harmony, Selena Gomez, Chris Brown, Demi Lovato, and Mary J. Blige. She was making six figures per hit, with publishing royalties constantly rolling in, accumulating wealth for herself while creating magic for everyone else. Yet, her name was buried deep in the credits.

Years later, Muni Long would describe this period as “suffocating,” a time where her own dreams “died in the background.” She was watching artists she wrote for accept awards and grace magazine covers while she was back in the studio, the uncredited architect of their success. By 2015, Priscilla Renea was burned out and felt like a ghost.

The Manifestation of Muni Long and the Viral Magic

In a move that seemed financially insane to everyone around her, she walked away from the ghostwriting money and Capital Records in 2018. Her independent album, Colored, released on her own label, was critically acclaimed but commercially ignored, selling barely anything. At 30, she was broke again and deeply questioning her decision. Her husband, music producer Masimba Chabanda, whom she married in 2014, remained her rock, constantly assuring her, “Your time is coming.”

The turning point came in 2019 with a radical act of reinvention: she killed Priscilla Renea and rebranded herself as Muni Long (pronounced “Money Long”). It was an aspirational name, a declaration rooted in manifestation—a way of speaking her success into existence. For two years, she slowly built the brand, performing small shows and releasing music independently with no label pressure.

Then came late 2021, and everything changed with one song recorded purely for artistic expression in her home studio. That song was the slow-burning, vulnerable R&B ballad, “Hrs and Hrs.”

A classic major label might have rejected it as too slow, but Muni released it independently in November 2021. At first, engagement was modest. Then, Tik Tok discovered it. Couples began using it for relationship videos, and the sound went instantly viral. The song exploded, jumping from number 99 on iTunes to number one in three days. Streams rocketed to a million per day, and “Hrs and Hrs” peaked at number 16 on the Billboard Hot 100. Def Jam Recordings signed her immediately. At 33 years old, after a decade of invisibility, Muni Long was finally the star.

The ultimate vindication arrived on February 5, 2023, at the 65th Annual Grammy Awards. Muni Long won Best R&B Performance for “Hrs and Hrs”. Crying and thanking God, she had defeated established stars and claimed her first Grammy—not as a writer, but as the artist. The dream had materialized.

The Ashes of Success: From Grammy to Cankles

Success, however, brought visibility, and visibility brought scrutiny—a scrutiny Muni Long was seemingly unprepared for. In a dramatic reversal of fortune, 2025 became the year of the controversy.

The first, and most damaging, moment occurred in May 2025 during a TikTok live session. When a fan trolled her, Muni Long did not ignore them. Instead, she unleashed a verbal tirade that stunned the Black community—her core demographic. She suggested that “It’s only ever black women that say they don’t like my personality,” before escalating the attack to include their family members, mentioning “raggedy mommy and your aunties with them ashy cankles.”

The internet exploded. The consensus was immediate: the star had just insulted the very people who championed her rise. Articles and think pieces declared the situation unforgivable. But instead of offering a sincere apology, Muni Long doubled down in a six-minute TikTok video, suggesting Black women were projecting their own insecurities onto her. The damage was done; her relationship with the community that elevated her was fractured.

The controversies continued to pile up. In August 2025, she took on a beloved R&B classic, calling Life Jennings’ 2006 hit “Must Be Nice” trash and referring to Jennings as a “haten assa” for writing it. The R&B community, often protective of its legends, swiftly sided with Jennings, who reminded Long that he had paved the way for artists like her. While she eventually apologized, the perception of her as combative and arrogant was solidifying.

Compounding the chaos, during her July 2025 performance at Essencefest, one of the biggest celebrations of Black culture, technical issues plagued her set. The sound cut out and speakers distorted. Following the disaster, Muni Long did not attribute the failure to common festival glitches but publicly accused Essencefest producers of sabotaging her. Industry insiders suggested her paranoia was showing.

The Irony of Love Lost and the Search for Answers

Amidst the public chaos, perhaps the most poignant blow came on a personal level. Just days after the black women controversy, in August 2024 (a slight chronological shift in the original video’s timeline, perhaps), Muni Long quietly announced on Real 92.3’s The Cruz Show that she and her husband, Masimba Chabanda, had separated after nine years of marriage.

The irony was not lost on her fans. The woman who had built her phenomenal comeback on the bedrock of “Hrs and Hrs”—a beautiful, vulnerable ballad about unconditional, enduring love—was now single and seemingly bitter. Her cryptic explanation—”I don’t have time for drama, I don’t have time for nonsense”—created even more drama. This was the man who had believed in her, the one who supported her through the broken indie years, and the father of her child. Her separation, coupled with her increasingly defiant and combative social media presence, led many to connect the dots: was she going through a public breakdown, or was she finally revealing who she always was beneath the soft R&B exterior?

By October 2025, Muni Long’s career presents a complicated picture. Her net worth sits comfortably at $4 million, and “Hrs and Hrs” continues to stream millions of times per month, cementing its status as a modern classic. However, her relationship with the Black community is severely fractured, and she is culturally cancelled by many. Radio play has decreased, and collaboration offers have dried up.

The narrative gained a new layer of complexity when Muni Long opened up about her private health struggles, revealing she lives with Lupus and is autistic (neurodivergent). These realities may offer context for some of her communication challenges and perceived erratic behavior. However, as the industry motto suggests, disclosure does not erase impact.

Muni Long insists she has no regrets, maintaining that she would “rather be authentic and divisive than fake and universally liked.” She went from being the invisible writer to the celebrated artist to the most divisive figure in R&B, all at a speed few have ever witnessed. At 37, the question remains: Can she redeem herself, rebuild the fractured bridges with her community, or will she continue on her current path, watching her hard-won success plateau? Her story is not over, but the second act has proven to be the most shocking, dramatic, and emotionally devastating of her career.