It is easy to forget just how young Muyeez is when you look at how quickly his career has unfolded. By the time most artists were still trying to find their footing,“Instagram,” released in 2024, had already taken him from freestyles in Abuja to a new chapter operating in Lagos. Two years later, he is making his debut with ‘All Hail Muyeez,’ a title that tells you quite a bit about the young artist behind it. “The album basically is about me as royalty,” he explains. For an artist still so early in his career, it is an audacious introduction, but Muyeez has already seen enough happen around his music to understand why he feels ready to claim his place.
Before “Instagram” changed the tide of his career, Muyeez was freestyling in Abuja and trying to figure out where music could take him. When he looks back at the journey from those early freestyles to opening for artists he once idolised, he identifies those freestyle sessions as the point where things began to move. That period eventually brought him into contact with Seyi Vibez, who reached out while Muyeez was still in Abuja and invited him to Lagos. Their first meeting would become an important part of Muyeez’s transition into a more serious music career, eventually placing him around the Vibez Inc. camp. He remembers those early days simply, describing them as “cool” and “fun” and reducing the experience to two words: “Vibes and Happiness.”
Moving from Abuja to Lagos meant learning how to operate in a city that moved at a completely different pace. Muyeez went from making music in Abuja to being surrounded by a much bigger industry, with new expectations and opportunities coming at him quickly. Even his everyday movements had to change. “One of the hardest things that I had to adjust to was the pace at which I work,” he says. “Lagos is fast, you have to work fast.” That adjustment mirrors the speed of his career itself. Within a short period, he had gone from a teenager making freestyles to an artist working alongside established names, and now to an 18-year-old releasing his first full-length project.
That experience animates much of ‘All Hail Muyeez.’ The album is rooted in his life since the success of “Instagram,” with songs that touch on money, success, his journey and the people who now see him as an example. On“MLM,”the currencies he mentions come directly from the world around him rather than a fictional idea of what success looks like: “The different currencies in the song is actually me just explaining the different currencies I see in real life,” he says.
On “Hero,” he looks back at the road from Abuja to Lagos and thinks about the kids in his neighbourhood who now see him differently. The album’s confidence feeds on perspective. He is writing about a life that has changed quickly, while still attempting to see himself as the same young person who came from Abuja.“Water”was the first song Muyeez recorded for the project and the one that established the pace he wanted the rest of the songs to follow. He was selective about the beats, allowing the instrumental to come first before building the lyrics around it.
larrylanes became an important collaborator in that process, with Muyeez describing the producer as someone who already understands how he wants to sound. “Working with larrylanes is cool because he’s my guy and he always understands the vision,” he says. That familiarity helped give the project a consistent direction without taking away from the different sides of Muyeez that appear across the album.
“Water” also carries a connection to one of Muyeez’s earliest musical influences. Fela Kuti was an unavoidable part of the music he heard growing up, particularly “Water No Get Enemy,”which his father used to play. That childhood familiarity eventually found its way into Muyeez’s own music, with “Water” drawing on Fela’s iconic song. The choice feels personal because Fela has remained an influence throughout his development “Fela was my inspiration when I was younger, and still is a big source of inspiration to me.” It is one of the clearest links between the young artist he was and the musician he is becoming.
Elsewhere, the album leans into the confidence that comes with his new reality. “MLM”celebrates the liquidity around him and“Location” reflects the lifestyle that success has brought. There is also a sense that Muyeez is aware of how young he is within all of this. Being labelled Afropop’s next big hope could easily create pressure, especially for an artist releasing his first album at 18, but he does not see it that way. “I don’t feel a lot of pressure.” Instead, ‘All Hail Muyeez’ approaches the moment with the confidence of someone who believes he belongs where he is.
That confidence is perhaps the most obvious thread running through the album. Muyeez is not trying to present himself as a finished artist, but he is also not approaching his debut with trepidation. The title makes that clear, while the songs give him space to talk about the things that have shaped his life so far. His story is still relatively new, but there is already enough material to draw from: Abuja, the freestyle,“Instagram,” Lagos, Vibez Inc., Seyi Vibez, Fela, his new lifestyle and the young people who now look up to him. ‘All Hail Muyeez’ brings those experiences together deftly.
For listeners getting to know him through the album, Muyeez wants the music to offer a straightforward picture of who he is. He sees the project as a reflection of his life and emotions, but when asked what he wants people to understand about him as an 18-year-old in the Nigerian music scene, his answer is refreshingly uncomplicated. “Muyeez is a cool kid that’s hustling and knows how to sing. That’s just it.”
There is still plenty ahead for that “cool kid”, and Muyeez is already looking beyond his debut. He wants everyone to understand that ‘All Hail Muyeez’ is only the beginning, with more music and more plans still to come. For now, though, he has chosen to introduce himself with a title that says exactly how he feels about his place in the game: he wants to be hailed.
In 2024, when Kaestyle crossed over to the mainstream with the release of his street-resonant hit, “My Dealer,” with Omah Lay, which later earned an additional push with Kizz Daniel on the remix, it changed the game for him and turned a great amount of attention towards his electrifying talent. He would go on to release the ‘Another Style’ EP, which blended several influences, including a feature from American singer and songwriter 6LACK on “Egberi.” The fluidity he expressed from the beginning set the precedent for the genre-hopping feel of his debut album, ‘Stylish.’
As the name implies, ‘Stylish’ has a lot to do with the eclectic fashion styles on the streets of Port Harcourt that now define Kaestyle’s mode of self-expression. He describes it as a city of extremes, shaped by a dichotomy that stretches across daily life. There’s violence and wealth, love and loss, survival and ambition in surprisingly close proximity to one another. That is why ‘Stylish’ transmutes beyond its literal meaning to showcase his range through two distinct genres, R&B and Afropop.
The album is divided into two parts. Side A comprises eight heavily R&B-inflected records, while Side B retains his core Afropop flair across seven cohesive songs, bringing the total to fifteen tracks and a wholesome 38-minute runtime. On the David Hart-produced opener, “Bucket List,” and “See Finish,” his delivery is sweetly reminiscent of early 2000s R&B songs, while on “Cairo,” he interpolates Original Stereoman’s “E Dey Pain Me Gaga” to give it that edgy Southern Nigerian flavour. He taps Port Harcourt duo Ajebo Hustlers on “One Life” and labelmate M3lon on “To Me” to balance the groovy elements of Side A.
Side B comes after the interlude, “Bere,” which finds its melodious appeal in the slow charm of Wizard Chan’s voice. “Eluwa” immediately turns up the heat, with a seemingly Igbo-gospel flair. On “Baba” and “Saki Ofori,” he respectively invites Eldee and Duncan Mighty to bring more experienced perspectives shaped by their individual decades-long careers. Overall, ‘Stylish’ shows the multifaceted strengths of Kaestyle’s artistry.
There’s always been something deeply personal about Black Sherif’s music. Even as his sound has grown and his world has gotten bigger, he’s kept making room for the feelings, ideas, and experiences that make his music feel like his own. With ‘Sun Sherif,’ that feeling is even more obvious. The project takes him back to the kind of music he says he wanted to make when he first started, giving him the freedom to be vulnerable, experiment and most importantly, have fun with it.
Across the six tracks of ‘Sun Sherif,’ there’s no pressure to fit into a particular box. He’s simply making the music that feels most like him. “There’s a freeness to it, like a limitless air around the whole creation and the whole feeling that I put into the album, that’s the air around it,” he said in an interview with Apple Music’s Africa Now Radio. “I am so proud to be honest. Through my journey as a student of music–as a performer, as a dreamer of music–I believe this release of this and the creation and release of this particular tape, does something to me.”
This conversation has been edited for clarity.
What inspired your new project?
This is the type of music I wanted to make when I started making music. When you go back to some of the first four songs that I ever made, they sound like this. ‘Sun Sherif’ sounds like a very arrived version of whatever I wanted to start at that time. I’ve been waiting my whole journey to make a tape like this, with this type of vulnerability, and this type of freeness. There’s a freeness to it, like a limitless air around the whole creation and the whole feeling that I put into the album, that’s the air around it. I am so proud to be honest. Through my journey as a student of music–as a performer, as a dreamer of music–I believe this release of this and the creation and release of this particular tape, does something to me. It makes me very emotional.
How did you allow yourself to be vulnerable in the music?
It wasn’t difficult. I feel like it’s the easiest for me to be vulnerable with the music. I wouldn’t even love the music if I’m not vulnerable there but like how clear I make it this time is just so peak. That’s why I say there’s a freeness to it because it’s not even that I care. It’s deeper than just dropping the music. It transcends into how I’m even, it’s kinda affecting my perspective as a human right now. You know, the type of frequency I’m on.
What does music do for you at this phase of your life?
I get to surprise myself every day, and that’s what this EP is doing for me. It’s bringing me back to why I started to make music. I just can’t wait for where it takes me. Even the whole experience of releasing this, experiencing this outside, experiencing people singing it, going outside to sing it to people, I can’t wait for where that will take me. I want them to understand that I’m really concerned about living well and loving each other. All forms of love and forms of comfort. Comfort as in harmony. That’s what I’m really concerned about: harmony, peace, good living, and loving.
How do you not allow success to get to your head?
I am so aware that in my third year making music. I was on a song with Burna Boy. In my third year making music, I was ranking number one in my country. I still see myself as being in my beginning years. If I go in straight thinking like, “Hey, number one in the country,” and start to try to play my cards as a number one, that kind of throws me off why I am making music. I am somebody that one thing that I look forward to from art is some of the fascination that comes from the simple things.
How did you approach making “Jolie?”
It’s just fun to make. It’s so necessary for me to make that [type of] music, and the delivery is easy. So, that’s to let you know that, “Yo, it should be easy to say, it’s not tough like that.” There are times that I try to think I do not feel it. That’s me lying to myself. That’s me trying to cope. But I just have developed an antidote.
How do you reflect your roots and life through music?
The best card that I can play is to represent myself the most because I am whatever I think I am or wherever I am from. I am the cities that made me. I am the three years that I spent in Kumasi. I am the 15 years that I spent in Konongo. I am the one and half year I spent in Tema. I am the four or five years that I spent in Accra. I am the three months back and forth that I’ve been to Lagos. I am around the world that I’ve been. So, through that, I just represent myself the most. That’s why I believe everything I’m doing is very experimental because I am just representing myself the most. So, whatever comes out of it, whoever goes to read it, whoever goes to listen, consume it, will put their meanings to it. My identity will be seen in the music.
For El Mehdi, making art has always been about creating a space where he could be fully himself. Born in Rabat and raised between Morocco, France and Canada, he grew up navigating the complexities of culture, faith, queerness and belonging, while slowly finding his way back to his Amazigh roots. Music became one of the places where those different parts of him could exist without having to be explained or separated. His debut project, ‘SALAM,’ released this year, brings together Darija, lush instrumentation, layered vocals and Gnawa sounds to explore identity, self-discovery and what it means to reclaim a sense of belonging on your own terms.
That same search for visibility runs through El Mehdi’s work beyond music. He stars in ‘L’Héritier des secrets,’ a Moroccan feature film exploring trans identity, stepping into a story that challenges the idea that queerness is somehow foreign to African or Muslim cultures. For El Mehdi, representation isn’t about proving that queer people exist in these spaces, they always have, but about making it harder to erase them.
“I want to help tell the stories we’ve been made to believe don’t exist in our societies, even though they’ve always been there,” he explains. ‘L’Héritier des secrets’ opens the door to conversations that have long been considered impossible. Some taboos need to be challenged, and space must be made for LGBTQ+ people within Moroccan society and, more broadly, within African and Muslim communities. We spoke to El Mehdi about growing up queer between cultures, reconnecting with his Amazigh heritage, finding the courage to sing in his own voice, and insisting on his place within a culture that has sometimes told him he doesn’t belong.
What was your upbringing like?
I was born in Rabat. When I was young, my family and I lived briefly in the south of France before immigrating to Canada. We always stayed very connected to Morocco and returned every summer. But it wasn’t until the past few years that I started going back on my own and building my own community there.
I grew up in a fairly religious household. I was naturally drawn to the arts from a very young age. I started drawing when I was just two and could spend hours making sand sculptures on the beach while other kids played football. But it was made clear to me early on that becoming an artist wasn’t a possibility. I remember drawing mostly women and my parents took me to a doctor to make sure it was “normal.” For much of my childhood, I believed there was something “wrong” with me. Creating became my refuge. In secret, I built a world where I could exist freely and be myself. Drawing and writing songs felt safe because they were private ways of creating. Singing was different; it meant being heard. It meant being seen.
Another important part of my life is my Amazigh identity. I’m Amazigh on my father’s side, but the language and culture were never passed down to us. They were deliberately set aside in favour of the dominant Arab culture, which was widely seen as superior. I had very little contact with my Amazigh relatives growing up and when I did, we struggled to communicate because most of them didn’t speak Darija and I didn’t speak Chelha. To this day, I find it heartbreaking that I know so many prayers by heart, yet I can’t speak a single word of my own ancestral language. It wasn’t until I got older that I began reconnecting with my Amazigh roots and building relationships with my cousins. What moves me most is that, despite growing up apart, we share so many of the same values and ways of seeing the world.
What musicians inspired you?
There have been many influences from completely different worlds. I grew up listening to Moroccan and Amazigh artists like Najat Aatabou, Samira Said and Mohamed Rouicha. My mother was also very connected to French culture, so there was everything from Dalida to Johnny Hallyday playing at home. But my earliest memory of truly falling in love with music was hearing “Ojos Así” by Shakira for the first time. I remember playing it on repeat for hours. I was also obsessed with pop divas, both Arab and American, like Nancy Ajram, Haifa Wehbe, Britney Spears and The Pussycat Dolls.
When did you start to create music and what has the journey been like?
I started writing songs when I was very young. I would even design the artwork for each one. But I always imagined other artists singing them. The idea of singing them myself felt completely out of reach. One day, I felt the urge to hear what my songs would actually sound like. I asked around and a friend introduced me to someone with a small home studio. At first, I would bring singer friends to record my songs. But the more time I spent in the studio, the more comfortable I became around the microphone. Eventually, I decided to give it a try myself. It was the first time I had ever sung in front of anyone. The moment I did, it felt like I had opened a door I could never close. Looking back now, I realize all those detours gave me the time I needed to build the courage and confidence to sing my own words.
How do you process navigating your Moroccan and Canadian identity?
Growing up between different places and cultures, as many of us do, has given me a kind of duality. On one hand, there’s the richness of carrying multiple perspectives. On the other, there’s the feeling of belonging to several places at once, yet never entirely to any of them. I often feel too Moroccan for Canada and, in Morocco, not necessarily too Canadian, but definitely too queer. For a long time, I thought I had to choose between those parts of myself. But my work exists precisely because I don’t. Morocco gave me my roots, my imagination and my artistic language. Canada gave me the freedom and perspective to reconcile them with my identity. My music lives in those in-between spaces, not because I’m caught between worlds, but because I get to build bridges between them.
You released your debut project, ‘SALAM,’ this year, what was it like putting it together?
The songs were written and produced across Canada, Morocco and France. Some of them I wrote years ago. They evolved alongside me, but I also grew with the music. They’re what allowed me to discover and embrace myself. I realized I had the power to transform what had been imposed on me into something of my own. In many ways, they allowed me to reclaim my narrative.
It took time to bring everything together, especially as an independent artist. I’m very romantic in the way I approach art and music. Recording real instruments is really important to me, especially strings. I love layering lots of vocal harmonies and I collaborated with a Gnawa troupe on “SALAM,” “SKIN,” and “El Film.” I also see the visuals as an extension of the music, so I wanted to give them the same care and attention. The EP came together through so many different moments and places, with people from completely different musical backgrounds. Seeing all those pieces finally come together feels incredibly special.
How has the reception been for the project?
I’ve received so many beautiful and moving messages from Moroccans, North Africans and people from the diaspora sharing that they felt seen. Knowing my music can make even one person feel less alone and more hopeful is why I do this. I’ve also been deeply touched to see people from completely different backgrounds connect with the music and visuals. It reminds me that while the work is rooted in a specific culture, it speaks to something universal.
One thing I’ve noticed is that most of the love comes through private messages, while the hate dominates the comment sections. That shows how hate so often feels entitled to occupy public space and shape the conversation through fear. It creates the illusion that it’s the majority, when in reality it’s just louder.
There has also been a great deal of rejection and hostility. I think what people struggle with most isn’t queerness alone. It’s seeing it exist openly within our cultures. I was surprised to encounter that resistance in certain spaces that present themselves as progressive, where queer identities and expressions are often policed or reduced to debates about “Western influence,” as though they were foreign to our societies rather than part of our own diversity. In a way, those reactions only confirmed how disruptive our visibility still is. When the response isn’t outright hate or violence, it’s attempts to intellectualize our existence, question our legitimacy and pressure us to conform, making our belonging conditional. Either way, the result is the same: exclusion.
On the other hand, I was also surprised that some of the strongest support I received, both professionally and personally, came from African media and my Amazigh relatives. The communities I had been taught to feel most disconnected from became the ones where I found the deepest sense of belonging and acceptance.
You released a Darija version of ‘SALAM,’ why was it important for you to do that?
I used to write mainly in English. It allowed me to express myself without worrying that my parents would immediately understand what I was saying. My relationship with French and Darija is different. They’re the languages I grew up speaking at home, so they feel much more intimate and vulnerable. Recording a Darija version of ‘SALAM’ became a way of fully owning what I needed to say without being afraid of being understood. Especially with this song, it felt important to speak directly to Moroccans. At the same time, I’ve often been told that I don’t deserve a place in my own culture, that I should “leave it alone,” that I’m “not Moroccan,” or that I should “stay in Canada with the mental illness I caught there.” Singing in Darija is my way of reclaiming my language and affirming that my identity and my culture are not mutually exclusive. I am Moroccan, and no one gets to take that away from me.
You stared in ‘L’Héritier des secrets,’ the first Moroccan feature film to explore trans identity, why did you choose to get involved with the project?
For the same reason I make music: to help create the kind of representation some of us never had growing up. Even if change can feel distant, every step matters. For I want to help tell the stories we’ve been made to believe don’t exist in our societies, even though they’ve always been there. L’Héritier des secrets opens the door to conversations that have long been considered impossible. Some taboos need to be challenged, and space must be made for LGBTQ+ people within Moroccan society and, more broadly, within African and Muslim communities.me, art and culture are the most powerful ways to create that shift. Telling these stories through familiar faces and cultural references allows people to connect with realities that might otherwise feel distant. That’s what made being part of this film so meaningful to me.
Trans identity is still taboo is many African and Muslim societies, did you feel any apprehension about getting involved?
Definitely. I was very hesitant when I was first approached. But that hesitation and fear were also exactly what convinced me to say yes. Fear is often what keeps us from taking up space. And I know it’s not that simple for everyone. That for many people, it’s genuinely dangerous. That’s also why I see my dual nationality as a privilege I don’t take for granted. If it allows me to speak more freely and help create space for those who can’t safely do the same, then I want to use it.
Lagos has always been a city in motion, but lately, you can really see that energy in the places the city’s youths gather. From skate parks and concept stores to creative houses and late-night spots, a new wave of cultural hubs are giving people somewhere to meet, make things, discover new music and just be around each other.
These are the places where different sides of Lagos’ youth culture keep crossing paths. These spots aren’t just part of the city’s social life anymore they’re becoming part of how Lagos defines itself.
WAF Skate Park
WAF Skatepark has become one of Lagos’ easiest places to catch the city’s skate and creative crowd. Tucked inside the iconic Freedom Park, the concrete park opened in 2024 after years of work from the creative community, WafflesNCream. Since then, it has hosted skate sessions, competitions, film screenings and music events, including Spotify’s Skate Noise with performances from Cruel Santino and Rigo Kamp. – Melony Akpoghene
AMAH Studios
Since opening its doors in late 2024, AMAH Studios, an experiential and experimental penthouse space founded by Daniel Obasi, has become one of Lagos’most vibrant third spaces. They have consistently hosted a range of events like wellness programs, raves, and specially curated in-house events that foster community, connection, and self-expression. – Boluwatife Adeyemi
Sleek’s Matcha
Matcha, a green tea of Asian origin, is gradually finding its place in Nigerian cafés and restaurants as a refreshing addition to the gastronomic experience in the country. Ines Adeogun-Phillips founded Sleek’s Matcha to fulfil a lifelong dream of bringing global cultural experiences to Nigeria. Located in Victoria Island, Lagos, it has grown beyond just a beverage hotspot into a cultural hub where people can interact over matcha’s distinct flavour, music and various communal events. – Michelle Ejiro
F0m0 Lagos
Nightlife is a staple of Lagos’ culture experience, continuously evolving with innovative concepts that merge entertainment and technology. Located in Victoria Island, F0M0 stands out as Lagos’ first AI-powered tech nightclub and entertainment hub. Designed to redefine how the city experiences nocturnal culture, it expands the traditional club experience by integrating real-time generative visuals, adaptive soundscapes, and smart environmental controls that respond dynamically to the crowd’s energy. Beyond the parties, F0M0 has carved out its own little corner of Lagos’ creative and tech scene, bringing together founders, builders, creatives and music lovers under one roof. – Samuel Iroanya
Suudu Lagos
Suudu Lagos has become one of those places where interesting sonic things happen. The Ikoyi space doubles as a boutique hotel and social spot, with a cozy setup. Its music programme has included vinyl nights with Egwu Records, listening sessions, album launches and intimate live shows. – M.A
Homecoming Concept Store
The Homecoming Concept Store is a physical manifestation of the Homecoming brand, which was created by Grace Ladoja in 2017. Designed to drive cultural exchange between local talent and the global diaspora, the retail space, which hosted NATIVE Mag’s Bizzypedia launch in 2025,, now serves as a platform for showcasing the best of contemporary African creativity across fashion, art, music, and design. – B.A
Polygon
Polygon started as a small creative space inside a Victoria Island office building before growing into a bigger campus. Its programming moves through music, art and film, with listening sessions, screenings, exhibitions and conversations happening alongside its other creative projects. It’s become a useful meeting point for Lagos’ younger creative crowd. – M.A
Dirty Buns
Despite building an online community attuned to the realities of our digital world, Dirty Buns has employed a more traditional approach to serving customers through a strict walk-in policy at its Ikoyi store and occasional pop-up events. It does not accept online orders or DMs, and this is one of the qualities that sets it apart. Since 2020, it has maintained a reputable standard with its signature burgers, fries and loaded hot dogs, while continuing to partner with various communities to expand the experience. – M.E
Fantasy Ikoyi
A private members’ club and creative house, Fantasy Ikoyi is redefining contemporary social spaces. Situated in the heart of Ikoyi, it is an exclusive cultural enclave and creative hub where avant-garde design, art, and community converge. More than a traditional members-only club, it’s a dynamic sanctuary where some of the coastal city’s forward-thinking creatives, innovators, and tastemakers connect, collaborate, and experience curated cultural moments in an intimate setting. – S.I
Nahous
Nahous is playing an integral cultural role as a third space to showcase and amplify contemporary multidisciplinary creative work across art, fashion, design and nightlife. Located in Victoria Island at the historic Federal Palace Hotel and Casinos, it invites art lovers to explore exhibitions, screenings and performances while creating room for rich conversations that continue to celebrate African craftsmanship. – M.E
Engine Room
Engine Room is a youth-driven creative space in the heart of Lekki that brings together a community of music, fashion, and nightlife enthusiasts. Doubling as a concept store, it has emerged as one of the most prominent fixtures of the alternative creative scene through its programming and carefully curated offerings – like Damie’s Healing In Saturn and Mar’s SPIN – that create room for experimentation and new ideas to thrive.. – B.A
Beyond Fitness
Beyond Fitness has become a familiar part of Lagos’ new social circuit. Its Victoria Island studio brings together spin, strength training, Barre Pilates, stretch and mobility, with classes that regularly pull a young, plugged-in crowd. Since opening in 2021, it has helped push the idea of fitness beyond the gym, making the workout itself part of how people spend their time in the city. – M.A
On a sunny Saturday afternoon late in July in Porto Novo, the capital city of the Republic of Benin, masquerades come out to commune with natives and tourists. It is the annual Festival Of Masks, a celebration of the West African country’s cultural heritage and indigenous pride that is now in its third year. Year on year, the festival has pressed on with a mandate to reshape the image of cultural expression from the homeland of Vodun, and 2026 would not prove to be an exception. Major streets are blocked off to allow the cultural display to go on unencumbered while allowing spectators soak in the experience.
For Benin, the work of celebrating their indigenous culture is a critical part of the country’s strategy for its 21st century identity. While countries like Nigeria and the Ivory Coast might bank on their propulsive youth culture as hinges for curating its global image, the Republic of Benin is glancing back at its history for inspiration, owning the rich history of the religious and faith system that was part of public life in the country long before the arrival of colonialists. That work of restoration has necessitated the celebration of events like the Festival Of Masks, allowing the country to reinterpret its heritage on its own terms.
That reinterpretation was visible throughout the festival, where the mask was treated as something far more significant than a costume or a mere object of spectacle. In the final procession, the Zangbéto arrived first, with its towering cones of raffia spinning through clouds of its own dust, and behind them came Egungun in cloth heavily laden with embroidery, then Gèlèdè, Kaléta, and delegations from Togo, Côte d’Ivoire, and Nigeria. Chinese lion and dragon dancers moved through the procession too, a first for a festival that had, until now, remained distinctly West African.
Professor Mahougnon Kakpo, President of Benin’s Committee of Vodun Rites, described the invitation as an intentional act, not mere diplomatic courtesy. “Our intention was to show that a mask is much more than an object. A mask is the expression of an identity. It is the expression of a culture,” he said. China’s presence also widened the conversation, showing that the use of masks to carry memory and belief is not limited to one part of the world.
Benin is treating culture as an important part of its development strategy, putting it at the centre of how the country wants to attract visitors and tell its story. Kakpo described religious and cultural tourism as a lever the state intends to pull for economic growth. The Festival Of Masks sits inside that strategy, alongside Vodun Days and a growing calendar of heritage programming, with ambitions that stretch well past tourism revenue. Paired with the festival is an international scientific symposium, drawing historians, anthropologists and traditional authorities into conversation about the history behind these masquerades and what the rituals on display actually represent.
That matters because much of the story of Vodun was once told by outsiders. For most of the colonial period, Vodun was filtered through missionary writing and an European worldview that reduced it to superstition, sometimes outright barbarism. Masks entered foreign museums as specimens, admired for craftsmanship and stripped of the belief systems that gave them purpose. The return of the twenty six royal treasures taken by France in 1892, the construction of the International Vodun Museum, and the Museum of the Epic of the Amazons and Kings of Danxomè are all attempts to close that gap. But bringing the objects home is only part of the work. Benin also has to preserve the people, rituals and knowledge that gave those objects meaning in the first place.
Even the French word masque sits uneasily with Kakpo, and his discomfort is not pedantic. “I only use it because I am speaking French,” he said. “Etymologically, a mask simply means something that covers the face. You put it on, you remove it, and you see the face beneath. That is not what we are talking about here.” Within Vodun, the performer who carries a costume like Egungun is understood to have received the spirit of an ancestor through initiation, and once that spirit manifests, the human voice behind it disappears entirely. What the crowd encounters, then, is a spiritual and ancestral message. Kakpo believes understanding that message requires a level of interpretation that someone outside the culture cannot simply improvise.
Each tradition on display conveys its message uniquely. For example, Egungun allows ancestors to communicate with the living, as Kakpo explains, serving as a beacon of hope. Gèlèdè traces its origins to a Yoruba village tale about a wealthy man who destroyed children’s toys and was forced to make amends. This story evolved into a masquerade that honors justice and the women who protect the young. Buriyan Kaleta and Odigègè each carry their own histories rooted in womanhood and community life. These traditions continue to pass down their lessons with each performance.
Growing international attention has not loosened the rules at home. The Committee of Vodun Rites, responsible for inviting mask societies, overseeing rehearsals and deciding what sacred material can be publicly displayed, maintains a strict line between initiated and shared traditions. This balance becomes increasingly difficult to uphold as the festival garners more global attention. Kakpo recognises the tension between sharing these traditions and safeguarding those reserved for initiated communities. He treats this boundary as something to be protected and not to be negotiated away for a larger audience.
In Porto-Novo, the work of reclaiming Benin’s cultural identity is happening across museums, festivals, scholarship and the communities that have kept these traditions alive. The Festival of Masks is part of that larger effort, giving Benin another opportunity to tell its own story and decide how its traditions should be understood. For a country whose history and traditions have so often been explained by outsiders, there is power in creating spaces where Benin gets to do the explaining for itself.
There are some who maintain that there is hope for Nigerian music yet, and there are others who prove it. For every repetitive charting hit, there is someone out there meshing pidgin with nihilistic Trap, and for every vapid string of lyrics, there is an artist imbuing their music with vulnerability, warmth, and longing. In this latter category, you will find a group of women best described as our generation’s answer to Aṣa. If you haven’t seen them, you’ve heard them: strumming world-worn guitars, reimagining folktales, and singing love songs so dulcet they could give you a toothache.
In a country where music enthusiasts lament the unreliability of the live music landscape, these singers emphasize ethereal music experiences and refined vocality. Moreover, they’re blending the modern with the indigenous, incorporating ancestral musicality and language into Jazz, Afropop, and Soul to usher in refreshing possibilities for contemporary Nigerian music.
Read on to discover the Nigerian women artists enriching the scene by staying true to both their hearts and their roots.
Lodù
Nobody loves quite like Lodù. Via her very own label Émilie Records, she has made a name for herself baring her heart to an assortment of lovers through honeyed Afrosoul. While her career began in 2024, most first caught wind of her gift through 2025’s “Ìfẹ́mi,” a Samba-laced number with an earworm of a chorus. Since then, she has remained versatile but forever driven by matters of the heart: “Olówó Orími” sounds like the soundtrack to a marriage proposal, “Moróuntódùn” could ignite a dancefloor, but both are odes to a lucky love interest. With cosigns from Spotify, Apple Music, and Tems–alongside her recently released debut EP Wine & Honey–Lodù is on track to claim 2026 as hers.
Teledalase
If you watched the 2024 Netflix phenomenon ‘Anikulapo: Rise of the Spectre,’ then you have heard Teledalase crooning in Yoruba across the ballads that comprise the film’s soundtrack. Her career didn’t start there, though; her releases from as far back as 2022 point to a sonic pull towards intimacy and ancestrality with inspiration drawn from her Osogbo roots. Her debut EP ‘The ones who didn’t die, Pt. 1’ is remarkably heartfelt and interior, while ‘The Bad Wife has no Tongue,’ released in partnership with EMPIRE, is expansive, featuring vulnerable confessionals alongside Synth-Pop and even Amapiano. Her special voice reemerged this year in the form of “IGBA ENI,” and to the delight of her dedicated following, she has promised that more gems are to come.
Celeste Ojatula
Celeste Ojatula is a dreamer. Think of childhood folktales, fables whispered by moonlight–she embodies it all. She’s been on the scene since 2018, plucking her guitar strings across tracks like “Black” and “Light,” but it was her debut album ‘Alo’that cemented her name as a force in Nigerian Indie music. Via the transcendence of “Oluronbi,” the inexplicable warmth of “Alu Join Join,” and the heartbreak of “Awa’nlo,” Celeste carved out a wistful sonic world, the musical equivalent of a starlit night. Her most recent EP, ‘Our Time in the Sun,’ expands the depth of her artistic universe, showing us that she can conjure up euphoria and light just as well as she can nostalgia. With joyous tracks like “This Side of Love” and “Oya Wa,” Celeste Ojatula has proven that she can be the soundtrack to our sweetest memories.
Ṣẹwà
Not many people can say that they’ve opened for Aṣa at a headline concert, but then again, not many people are Ṣẹwà. The Afrosoul wonder has experimented with genres like Highlife, Jazz, and Fuji across a rich career spanning seven years and two countries (Nigeria and Canada in particular). Early works like “Wahala” and “Láruge” point to both her musical dexterity and inclination towards a sort of Bohemian sound, while the artful “Lagos Lovin” solidified her place as one to watch in Nigeria’s new school of standout talents. 2025’s ‘Detox’was a whirlwind of a debut album, packed with gripping arrangements, Ṣẹwà’s grounding alto, and the soulful admissions of a woman who sounds like she has seen the best and worst of what love has to offer. Having recently released a deluxe version of ‘Detox’and secured a whopping four nominations at the upcoming 18th Headies Awards, including for Best Female Artiste and Best Alternative Song, Ṣẹwà has shown that vulnerability is not a hindrance but instead, a creative superpower.
Faith Martins
Viral hits are often criticized for prioritizing digestibility over significance, but Faith Martins has used her moment in the sun to communicate a powerful message. Anyone who frequents the streets of Nigerian TikTok knows that Faith Martins’ “Dájú” is practically inescapable, but while it’s an unequivocal party anthem, it’s also a grounding reminder to tread cautiously in light of the world’s cruelty. Featuring a girl clad in a lace gele while chanting in Yoruba, as well as soulful talking drums that quickly mutate into log drums, the song’s many promotional clips highlight the allure behind Faith Martins: the ability to straddle the modern and the traditional. Gripped by her addictive breakout, the scene awaits with bated breath for Faith Martins’ next step.
J’Dess
If it’s not clear from listening to the beautifully arranged “Life” or the vocally dexterous “Child of the Sun,” J’Dess is seasoned. Harnessing Afrobeats, Folk, Highlife, and RnB, she’s been on The Voice Nigeria and worked alongside Eastern powerhouses like Phyno and Zoro. Her first single “Chi Efo,” an Igbo-laced track about new beginnings, snagged a nomination for Best Vocal Performance at the 2020 Headies Awards and marked the start of a career defined by equal parts soul and sonic excellence. ‘Ada,’ her debut album, formally introduced listeners to her artistic world, featuring emotive lyricism, Igbo Pop production, and contributions from artists like Waje and The Cavemen. Her newest single “Honey,” a love song filled with warm trumpets and layered harmonies, proves that J’Dess is just committed to ushering in charm and comfort as she was when she debuted as an artist six years ago.
Solana
In a generation defined by an insatiable hunger for both the futuristic and the familiar, Solana and her world of Yorupop have come to offer us reprieve. While most bought their Solana stock earlier this year as teaser clips of “Okunkun” flooded digital streets, she has been active in Afropop for over half a decade, with strong features alongside stars like Joeboy and Victony. 2021’s “Badder” marked the public birth of her creative relationship with Killertunes, and the seamless interplay between her quick lyricism and his bouncy production all but prophesied the chemistry that would define her breakout hit five years later. Three months on from its June release, “Okunkun” has attracted endorsements from Tiwa Savage, Ayra Starr, Diplo, Little Simz, and even SZA, becoming one of the most universally loved hits to emerge from the Nigerian music scene in 2026. Following up with the funky “Dide,” Solana remains dogged in her quest to ensure that “sounds from the West” are consumed worldwide.
After turning heads with “Trouble” in 2025 and following it up with “Billion Boy” earlier this year, Cookie is back with “Party Don Start,” his latest single released today via Oluwe Records. The high-energy single is positioning him as a potent voice among the new generation of musicians rising from Nigeria.
“I love to get turnt at the party. I think of myself at the party like a party starter,” Cookie says on the inspiration behind the record. It’s a pretty straightforward idea, but that’s exactly what makes the song work. There’s no overthinking it. “Party Don Start” is made to get people moving.
Produced, mixed and mastered by OYB, the record sits comfortably between Afrobeats bounce and trap-heavy production Cookie describes it as “an energy-raving song,” andthe song carries that energy from start to finish. Even before its official release, the song had already started picking up momentum on TikTok, crossing 800 creator videos and giving the record a life of its own before it even landed officially. That early buzz says a lot about how quickly the song gets stuck in your head, with its catchy energy that gets everyone moving.
Cookie is pulling from a wide range of influences. Gunna, Playboi Carti, Burna Boy, Rema and Don Toliver all have a little something to do with the sound he’s shaping but “Party Don Start” doesn’t feel like an attempt to recreate any of them. Instead, their influence shows up in the single; the trap influences and the bounce of Afrobeats. That balance is part of what makes Cookie’s current run interesting. He’s still early enough in his career to experiment without having to explain every move, and instead of forcing himself into one box, he seems comfortable letting the music figure things out with him. Each release adds another piece to the picture.
OYB has been a big part of Cookie’s sound so far, and that’s clear on his latest release. From the beat to the final mix and master, he handles the whole record without sanding off the rough edges that give it its character Cookie thekid has already started establishing himself as a live performer. His performances at Chunesday have given him a chance to show what he can do with a crowd in front of him and his energetic performances have left audiences wanting more. With the support of his team and a growing catalogue behind him, Cookie is taking his time, building intentionally, and finding his place within a new generation of Nigerian music.
The first thing that becomes clear when breaking down ‘Popstar – Side A’ is that the album was never designed to stand on its own. It is only one half of a larger body of work, and Taves speaks about it with the restraint of someone who knows the conversation is still unfinished. Released in July, the project has since begun to settle into listener’s hands, the excitement around records like “Uche Jumbo” and “Simone” still palpable, but he is already thinking beyond the moment. ‘Side A,’ as he sees it, is only the beginning. “I needed people to experience the first half before they could experience the whole,” he says. “I’ve also been learning a lot about patience, and that plays a part in it too.”
Patience is not a word often associated with Pop music, particularly at a time when artists are encouraged to move quickly from one release to the next. Yet it comes up repeatedly throughout our conversation, quietly connecting the decisions behind the singer’s project. The choice to split the album. The time it took to finish it. The songs that stayed. The ones that disappeared. Rather than rushing towards an album because it seemed like the expected next step after ‘Are You Listening?,’ he chose to wait until the music felt complete, even if listeners would only hear half of it at first.
‘Popstar – Side A’ could just as easily read as playboy, given how much of the album is anchored in romance and attraction rather than fame itself but he picked its title because it’s simply how he sees himself right now, at this specific point in his career, and he wanted the album to carry that self-image plainly “It’s a very good representation of what the music sounds like and where my head is at right now,” he explains. “It’s how I see myself.”
Getting there was another story altogether. Work on the project stretches back to the end of 2024, long before listeners knew anything was on the way. Over those months, the project changed constantly. Songs that once looked certain to make the final tracklist disappeared. Others evolved until they barely resembled their original versions. Looking back now, he says the earliest version of the album sounds almost unfamiliar. “There were so many songs I thought would make the final cut,” he says. “It kept changing. I’m happy with the way it is now, but it sounded so different before.”
No song reflects this dynamic more than “Chaos.”Although it opens ‘Popstar – Side A,’ it is also the oldest record on the album, dating back about three years. Instead of preserving it exactly as it was, he rebuilt it to fit the worldhe envisioned. “The initial version of ‘Chaos’ sounds so different from what it is now,” he shares. “We had to take what we had before and tweak it so it fit into this project.” Before listeners encountered the romance and confidence spread across the rest of ‘Popstar – Side A,’ he wanted them to understand the emotional space he was writing from. “We start with ’Chaos,’which is a song I made to put the listener in my headspace,” he says. “To let them know where my head has been before we get into anything else.”
That decision shapes everything that follows. “Isn’t It Beautiful,” “Simone,” “Deliver Me” and “Uche Jumbo” carry a lighter energy, moving through relationships, parties and moments of enjoyment without staying in one place for too long. By the closing stretch of the album, the mood begins to shift again. “Preaching,” “Space” and “Take Me Away” become noticeably more reflective because it begins to share space with something else.
“As much as fun is fun, and real life gets very real sometimes,” he starts , “I need to find a way to balance the two so I can be okay in myself.” Looking back at the sequence, he sees those closing songs as part of that search. They arrive after the celebration rather than before it, recognising that both experiences often exist side by side. He never expected listeners to interpret the album exactly the way he does, but he wanted every record to carry its own emotional weight. “I just wanted it to feel like a ride,” he says. “No two songs are the same, each bringing out a different emotion.”
One of those emotions found its way into “Uche Jumbo,” though the song itself began almost accidentally. Feeling bored at home one day, he called producer OG Sterling, who invited him over to the studio. They spent the session working on several ideas, and“Uche Jumbo” emerged.. At that point, there was no connection to Wizkid’s “Don’t Dull.” That came later, after he returned home and began playing the unfinished record for friends. His stylist was the first person to hear the possibility. “At that point we hadn’t even thought about it,” Taves says. “He pointed out that it could go crazy on the song.” The suggestion was enough to send him back into the studio with OG Sterling and Arieenati, where the record took on an entirely different direction.
Back in the studio, the conversation shifted from whether they should use “Don’t Dull” to how they could make it feel natural. The goal was never to recreate Wizkid’s record or lean on nostalgia. Instead, they searched for the part of the song that had stayed with Taves over the years. “My favourite part of ‘Don’t Dull’ is the intro, those drums,” he says. “I needed that same effect on the new song.” Together with his producers, they gradually found a way to blend both records without losing the identity of either one. The familiar rhythm became an entry point into “Uche Jumbo” rather than its defining feature.
Considering the conversation the interpolation has generated, it is easy to assume he was aware of its significance while making the record. He insists otherwise. “I’ve never really thought about it that way,” he says. “I just do things I feel like doing. I don’t think about whether it’s been done before.” Only afterwards did he begin to appreciate that very few artists had revisited that period of Wizkid’s catalogue. “I don’t think anybody has really tapped into that era of Wizkid when it comes to songs you could sample or interpolate. I’ve heard a couple of things, but nothing definite. So it’s a pretty cool thing that we were able to do that.”
The music he listens to follows a similar instinct. Rather than chasing sounds he wants to recreate, he gravitates towards records that put him in the right frame of mind. “It’s not in a direct sense where it’s like, ‘I heard this and I want to try it in my own music,’” he explains. “It’s more that I listen to music that puts me in the right headspace.” More recently, he has found himself returning to contemporary Pop, particularly Post Malone’s ‘Austin’ and The Weeknd’s ‘Dawn FM,’ which he describes as his favourite project from the Canadian artist.
Those influences meet a creative partnership that has become central to the way he works. Across most of ‘Popstar – Side A,’ Arieenati occupies a role that extends beyond production credits. The two have worked together for years, developing a relationship built on familiarity as much as communication. “He understands me in a different way,” he says. “I don’t have to tell him things before he knows exactly what to send or what to do on a song.”
Arieenati’s contribution stretches across arranging songs, recording sessions, engineering and helping shape the final tracklist. Around that partnership sits a wider circle of collaborators, including Spax, Black Culture, Anoop D’Souza, Omzi, Michael Synx and OG Sterling. Michael Synx also engineered several records while producing “Space.” Despite the number of people involved behind the scenes, one part of the process remained entirely personal. “I wrote all the songs myself,” he says. There are no featured artists and no outside songwriters on ‘Popstar – Side A,’ leaving the project to be carried by a single voice from beginning to end.
For all the clarity he has about ‘Popstar – Side A,’ Taves becomes noticeably more guarded when the conversation turns towards what comes next. Asked about Side B, he pauses before answering. “That’s a tough one,” he admits. “We haven’t even gotten there yet.” It didn’t sound like an attempt to protect a surprise, it was more like a reflection of how he wants the project to be experienced. Instead, he returns to the same idea that shaped the album from the very beginning. “It is supposed to be a whole album,” he says. “It just comes in parts. When we get to Side B, it’ll be a whole album, and everybody can experience it together.”
It is an unusually restrained way to introduce a project in an era that often demands immediate gratification. Rather than treating one part as the final destination, he presents it as the opening chapter of a much longer story, one that asks listeners to stay with the music instead of moving through it as quickly as possible. The decision says as much about where he is as an artist as any lyric on the album. ‘Popstar’ may arrive in two halves, but it was always conceived as one complete statement. Until that final chapter arrives, ‘Popstar – Side A,’ offers the clearest picture yet of an artist willing to let both his music and his audience take their time.
It’s not often you watch a DJ play old and recent releases on vinyl, spinning analog turntables through a rotary mixer, but House House House gave audiences this experience last year in March. In a heady gathering tucked into the rolling hills of Maitama, House and Disco drifted and LEDs flashed through the cool night air. Hours slipped by as people gathered, let loose, and connected and by the end of the night, you were left wanting more.
Part of what made the experience so special was how out of place it felt. In a city whose days are generally unhurried, the nights tend to move at an even pace. While the chaotic Lagos has had a creative ecosystem evolve over centuries of trade and migration, Abuja was built from scratch for the country’s administration. The institutions and traditions that define vibrant urban living in Nigeria’s capital city are still in nascent stages but beneath the current rhythm exists a network of artists and organisers introducing a thrilling new beat.
At the centre of this exciting evolution is G. Rizo (Ihu Anyanwu), an Electronic musician, multidisciplinary artist and cultural organiser who moved to Abuja in 2013. Upon moving to the city, she found no dedicated clubs, no record shops and few places where DJs or listeners could gather around electronic music. Rather than recreating the scenes she had experienced living in New York and Vienna, she observed the city and became drawn to emerging creative communities like the Alté movement, which had artists like Lady Donli, Tay Iwar and Cef already pushing sonic boundaries.
By 2017, Rizo made her first contribution with Hezekina Pollutina Label Night, organised alongside Bantu Collective, a creative force uniting much of Abuja’s artistic community at the time. For the show, she discovered it was easier to find performers than it was to book an Electronic DJ. But almost by chance, one appeared in time for the event. A Syrian DJ named Aldeen played a set that night that came to be regarded as one of the earliest building blocks of Abuja’s Electronic scene.
Later that year, Aldeen launched Bush Bar Sessions. “From there, the House music wave built organically, and in November 2018, I started House House House,” Rizo shares. Initially, the goal was simple: give Abuja’s growing community of Electronic DJs another place to play. “We did not compromise on going fully Electronic, as in no Afrobeats mixed in anywhere,” she says. “There was also a commitment to renting good sound systems. Sound is key.”
As time passed, that mission expanded. The COVID-19 pandemic threatened the fragile, Electronic momentum that had been building in Abuja, compelling House House House to evolve beyond organising parties. They expanded with membership programmes, podcasts, DJ workshops, dance classes, film screenings and, eventually, Udu Room, an artist residency dedicated to fostering original Nigerian House music.
“We’re creating audiences, educating listeners, developing artists and organising events all at once,” Rizo says. “We’re building infrastructure that doesn’t yet exist.” Across the city, other organisers have arrived at a similar conclusion. Abuja’s Electronic music audience may still be small, but it is increasingly willing to embrace experiences beyond conventional nightlife. That belief underpins Ritual, the Techno-focused rave founded by DJ and producer Black Elektronika.“There’s a growing community of young creatives, music lovers and professionals who are eager for experiences beyond conventional nightlife,” he says. “We saw an opportunity to contribute to that evolution.”
Ritual’s first edition, Initiation, was held in June 2023, in a massive warehouse in Asokoro, featuring Electronic music legend Eric “E-man” Clark alongside Adeyi, Mz33, Rizo, and Black Elektronika. For a maiden event introducing a niche sound to Abuja, the turnout and response were encouraging. “What surprised me most was how quickly people embraced the concept,” Black Elektronika says. “People didn’t just come for the novelty. They stayed engaged, connected with the music and really understood the atmosphere we were trying to create.”
Having worked across different cities, Black Elektronika believes Abuja’s youth gives it an advantage. “Lagos has a larger and more mature nightlife ecosystem, while Europe has decades of Electronic music history,” he says. “What makes Abuja unique is its intimacy. The community is close-knit. People are genuinely curious and open to exploring new sounds.”
To outsiders, underground nightlife is often dismissed as little more than partying but rave culture has always created spaces for experimentation, freedom and community. When those values are protected, nightlife extends beyond pleasure-seeking. Rizo believes the city’s creative progress should be measured by more than just the parties but by the presence of dedicated venues, record labels, media platforms, and technical training. Spaces like Mambaah Cafe, Nature Entertainment, and The Glass House have regularly given room for experimentation, while newer platforms like Private Story are giving fledgling DJs an intimate setting to practise their craft.
“It begins with parties,” Rizo says. “But it doesn’t end there.” Black Elektronika agrees. “No single brand or collective can build a scene on its own,” he argues. “When promoters, artists, venues and creatives work together instead of operating in silos, the culture becomes much stronger.” What is already clear, though, is that a handful of artists are laying foundations that did not exist a decade ago. Abuja is still writing its story, and in warehouses, on dance floors and through community-building, Electronic music is claiming a place within it.
After years of wins, big records and the kind of career milestones most artists spend their lives chasing, KiDi is asking himself a different question: what happens next? The Ghanaian star is looking inward with his third album, ‘Where Do We Go From Here,’ a 15- track album about everything that comes after the wins. “Making this album was the pivotal point that taught me that the journey really is the destination because that is where all the fun happens,” he told Apple Music’s Africa Now Radio. “That’s where all the losses, the wins, the ups, and the downs [are]. There will be no destination where we’ll reach and say, “”Yes, enough is enough.” So, we need to find joy in the journey more than pinning our happiness on a destination.”
Across the project, the singer trades the pressure of having it all figured out for a simpler pursuit: finding joy in the process. He sings about heartbreak, ambition, growing older and the dreams we attach to arbitrary timelines, while making room for gratitude, fatherhood and the uncertainty of what comes next. “My biggest dream in life is just to have so much joy,” he says. “Joy means even when things are going wrong, I still show up knowing that it’ll be fine. Joy is within. Joy is a lifestyle. Joy is a way of life, and I feel like if I’m able to get to that place where I find joy, it branches out to every aspect of my life and leaves everything in a flow state.”
This interview has been edited for clarity.
How important is your passion for music?
I wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. If I die and come back, this is exactly what I want to do over and over again. I mean, in everything you do passion is very important. Talent is important, but passion is important because, trust me, there will be mornings where you just don’t feel like getting out of bed. You don’t feel like doing anything. You don’t feel like facing the world. It’s the only thing that keeps you up, getting up every morning, the passion and the love for it, and I’m grateful that I have it in abundance. There are those days where it’s kicking you on the floor, stomping on you, and you’re like, “Nope, this is what I want. I have to keep going.”
How do you reflect on the highs and lows of life?
There’s been a lot of big moments, and there is no journey in life without the big moments and the little moments, and the ups and the downs. The downs make you appreciate the ups more because there will be downs. From the beginning of my career, it’s been one win after another, after another. There’s been some losses, but then when the wins come again, you appreciate them even more. Also, being a father is just a blessing and very rewarding. It’s an inspiration. Sometimes, outside of the passion, that extra battery is being put in my back to keep going because another human is looking up to me. So, that alone in itself is a big inspiration. Of course, the blessings to have children come with the joy of being around and teaching me things. You might think they are just children, but they teach us a lot as well. So, learning along the job, along the way as well because I keep saying that there is no manual on how to be a parent. You will learn on the job. You get thrown into the deep end and you have to figure it out. I’m so grateful to my family and everybody around me for always being supportive and helping me to navigate this.
What’s the inspiration behind the title, ‘Where Do We Go From Here?’
That’s the question I’m throwing to everybody. Where truly do we go from here? Because at every point in anybody’s life, no matter what you do, no matter what field you’re in, no matter what stage of life you’re in, at one point or another, you have definitely asked yourself, “What next?” After you graduate from high school, you’re like, “What happens next?” You graduate from uni, college, what happens next? After your first job, there’s always the need as humans to ask ourselves where we go from here. What do we do after everything we’ve achieved? This is what I’m asking right now, and this is a journey that I had to be on in making this album, because I used to be that person that I’m always like, “Okay, so if I achieve this thing, then I’ll be happy.” Then, I’ll get it and then I’m like, “Is that it?” Then I want more, it never stops. You know, we always want more. It’s insatiable. We always want to get more. Making this album was the pivotal point that taught me that the journey really is the destination because that is where all the fun happens. That’s where all the losses, the wins, the ups, and the downs [are.] There will be no destination where we’ll reach and say, “”Yes, enough is enough.” So, we need to find joy in the journey more than pinning our happiness on a destination. One of the symbolism that we use for this is the paper plane. When you throw it, it just goes with the wind, flows with the wind, and it goes exactly where it’s meant to be. So, that uncertainty is why we have to open up our minds and hearts and just be and just allow ourselves to be a vessel.
How did you end up with the songs that made the album?
Trust me, I’m not going to wish that process on my worst enemy because it’s tough. It’s a tough process. As creatives, we are very attached to our work. We are insanely bonded with our work, and having to let go of some songs that you feel sends a message or says something is a very damning task. But again, in the spirit of where we go from here and letting go, there are so many meetings we had where it was a back and forth. I was like, “You know what? I’m letting go and trusting that whatever 15 songs we narrow it down to will be powerful,” because every song we recorded is powerful. I’m so happy [with] my whole team helping me narrow this down to 15 amazing songs.
Why did you open the album with “Crazy World?”
“Crazy World” was such a perfect opening to the journey I wanted to take the listeners on because the song basically says, “You know, we go out every day into the world to go and hustle, work, play, do everything, come back we go, we come, we go, we come every day and people go and they don’t come.” It’s just a part of our lives that can easily be overlooked because we go every day and we come, and we think it’s supposed to be natural.
It’s just a song saying this world is really a crazy world, and I don’t take anything for granted. I’m grateful for the protection to go and come and be able to even live my dream.
What was it like collaborating with Sarkodie on “IDK?”
I’ve basically listened to Sarkodie since I was in high school. To grow up, be in the industry, learn a lot from him, and get the chance for him to be on my record is just surreal. I remember somebody passing a comment about how people don’t make yearning music anymore. So, I was happy when this song came up. We were like, “Yes, real yearning is back.” Every now and then people just wanna talk about sex. It’s good to talk about all the other things you wanna talk about but it’s nice to have the yearning, crying in the rain, begging for your girl and being vulnerable.
What about “Signature” with Lasmid?
So the real meaning of the song is that we’re singing about hickeys. Hickeys is me saying, “I’m going to put my signature on you,” and when you’re walking around everybody’s going to know that somebody’s in your life. But I didn’t want to sing it too on the nose like, “Hey, girl, I’m gonna give you a hickey.” So I was like, “I’ll give you my signature.”
What inspired “Lord Knows?”
“Lord Knows” is a song about coming of age. When we’re young, we all had dreams and plans of what we wanted to achieve. We all said, “Oh, by 25, I’ll be married with kids, and I’ll be a millionaire, and I’ll own this and that and that and that.” This song is me saying, “We’re trying.” The Gen Zs and millennials are all growing and some of them have not even started achieving their dreams. Some of them are in the process of achieving their dreams. So, this song is basically me saying, “Lord knows I’m trying, and I’m not putting any time on my dreams. No matter what life has for me, we’ll still come to pass.” Don’t let the biological clock, time, and all those things chain you. Everything that you wanna do, just do it at your own time and own pace.
How about “Babylon?”
“Babylon” is one of them heartbreak songs that isn’t actually a heartbreak song. Usually, when a girl leaves you, she expects you to crumble, and she expects your whole life to come to a standstill and nothing to happen for you. This song is basically saying, “Everything happened, but guess what, it’s over. And then I’m living life la vida loca, and I’m fine, and I’m good. I’m not about to keep running it back like how they used to do it.” So, this is just a liberating song about, “You left, it’s fine. I’m still thriving, and I’m still happy, and I’m still living life.”
Why did you choose to close the album with “Dreams?”
This is actually the first record I made for this album. When I started the process of making this album, “Dreams” was the first ever song I wrote. That was when I was still in my head trying to figure out which direction I wanted to go with this album. It was reflecting me, basically saying, “I feel like I’m not doing enough. I feel like there’s so much more to me.” I just poured out my heart out there, making that song opened up the whole album. Every song on the album, even the ones we didn’t pick, have to give gratitude to “Dreams,” because it definitely set the ball rolling for this album.
What are your dreams now?
I’m on a journey to just find joy. Not happiness, but joy. I’ve just realized that happiness is like any other emotion like anger and excitement. They come, they go. If I’m on a constant quest to search for happiness, I will never be happy. My biggest dream in life is just to have so much joy. Joy means even when things are going wrong, I still show up knowing that it’ll be fine. Joy is within. Joy is a lifestyle. Joy is a way of life, and I feel like if I’m able to get to that place where I find joy, it branches out to every aspect of my life and leaves everything in a flow state.
In an ever-evolving industry dominated by mainstream giants, our dedicated monthly column uNder continues to serve as a vital platform for discovering authentic and exciting talents bubbling below the surface. For years, this column has been committed and continues to be dedicated to amplifying these unique voices and untapped potential of niche artists who offer a distinct alternative to the status quo.
For our August entry, we have a talented cast of inductees that stretch the imagination of what music from the continent and Black diaspora can aspire towards. In Lodu, Reespect, OSL1NN, and N4T, there’s a rich tradition of reimagining genres while putting authentic African expression on display. In dreary times like this when artificial intelligence is increasingly making an incursion into the music creating process, there is a profound need to celebrate these acts who keep proving that artistic expression is still tethered to the human experience.
Reespect
For Fans Of: Little Simz, Sampa the Great, and Doechii.
Reespect could rap a line of Python code—a nod to her Computer Science background at FUTA—and somehow make it sound like the coldest bar of the year. Her voice is big and resonant; she has the chops to make serious rap and the personality to make it entertaining. She doesn’t need to choose between being the rapper with something to say and the rapper you actually want to hear again.
With the Nigerian rapper, conscious rap is in the DNA: womanhood, desire, and the occasional existential spiral, but she gives those subjects much more room to misbehave. One minute she’s bar-heavy and locked into a pocket; the next she’s singing, flirting or taking a completely ridiculous left turn. Her writing drifts between vulnerability and whatever oddball concept she’s currently fixated on. On 2023’s definitive “Bad,” she beams in with the poise of a lyricist who knows her pen is lethal. Then “Great Silence” completely shifts gears, dropping into a foggy, 3 a.m. R&B-Rap spiral to dissect an impossible relationship. She keeps returning to a composed posture after spending her verses explaining, in vivid detail, every reason she’s actually unravelling.
That range runs through the album ‘Mood Swing Finale,’ where she moves between different moods and collaborators. “Limelight,” “Twinkle,” “Far Away,” and “Green Light” all pull in different directions, but Reespect’s writing keeps the project tied together. ‘R Is for Romance,’ released in February 2026 sees her lean into the absurdities of modern love, creating a project that is equal parts sexy, funny and deeply candid. Highlights like the poetic “I” has Reespect fully in her lover bag, while “Wicked Sexy” flips a love gone sour into a boppy, tongue-in-cheek tale.
Over the last couple of years, she’s synthesised that same unpredictable vocal dexterity and midnight psychodrama, holding together ambitious world-building with the kind of freewheeling control that appeases hard-nosed Rap heads while captivating the open-minded crowd. She also carries the genre’s rarest cheat code: a relentless curiosity, flooding DSPs with project rollouts, sudden genre turns and distinct visual universes. Call her the queen of Planet Lukukul, call her one of the smartest pens straight out of Nigeria, call her proof that Nigerian Hip-Hop can be expansive, but it’s impossible to ignore the sheer radiance of Reespect.
Lodu
For Fans Of: Asa, Sewa, and Celeste Ojatula.
Early this year in February, a day before Valentine’s Day celebration, Lodu’s first single of the year, “OlowoOrimi,” arrived as a scintillating romantic record and quickly became a viral TikTok sensation. Thanks to its alluring reference to Yoruba dowry culture, a special tradition in which a man pays a woman’s bride price before marrying her, the song found a natural place in weddings and romantic moments. “OlowoOrimi” literally translates to “the one who paid my dowry,” but it is much more than that; it serves as a symbol of male desire and devotion, and its meaning resonated widely with listeners.
But before “OlowoOrimi” gained attention and nudged Lodu into the spotlight, she had slowly begun building a career with the release of her debut single, “RunOff,” in 2024, a song about wanting to elope with a lover. She followed it with “Baby” later that year and “Ifemi” in 2025, further proving that, with only a few records in her catalogue, she was already prepared to make a statement as an emerging Afrosoul artist.
This year, she hasn’t taken her foot off the gas, releasing three singles ahead of her debut EP, which arrived in July. ‘Wine & Honey’ is a seven-track project, and right when her voice comes through on the opener, “Lolufe,” the intention behind the project becomes clear. She is inviting listeners into the Lodu experience, inspired by ideas that came together in the privacy of her flat. The rest of the tracks seamlessly meld into one another, and the project ultimately comes together as a unique experience.
Lodu has also remained physically active throughout the year. Aside from her growing online community, she has shown that she is a compelling performer through several appearances at IRL events, while also making numerous wedding moments more special with live renditions of her songs. Lodu is indeed curating a career on her own terms. That authenticity may be what keeps her around for a long time, as she continues to add her own flavour to Afrosoul’s evolving soundscape.
OSL1NN
For Fans Of: Blxckie, Destroy Lonely, and Zaylevelten.
There’s a certain freedom that comes with being an underground artist. Without the pressure to fit neatly into genre strictures, artists can experiment, take risks and slowly figure out what their sound actually is. In South Africa, OSL1NN is one of the young artists making the most of that freedom. Across his releases, OSL1NN has developed a sound that sits somewhere between Trap, Rap and the more unpredictable corners of the internet’s current music landscape. His music is atmospheric but never too polished, often leaning on hazy production, repetitive melodies and a delivery that feels deliberately detached. It’s the kind of music that makes more sense the deeper you get into his catalogue.
His earlier projects, ‘Tweak Pack’ in 2023 and ‘ENDLESS’ in 2024, introduced the foundations of that sound, but ‘JAIVA’ feels like a clearer picture of where he’s heading. Released in 2025, the four-track EP moves quickly, but each song adds something to OSL1NN’s growing world. On the title track, he links up with Jacky, while “TOP 7” ringsin MAYAH for one of the project’s more poignant moments.There’s something especially interesting about the way OSL1NN approaches collaboration. Rather than letting a feature completely change the direction of a song, his guests feel like extensions of the world he’s already building. That quality carries into “Jaiva 2,” released in 2026 with MfanaTouchLine and Jacky Carpede, where he revisits the sound without simply recreating what came before.
Right now, OSL1NN is still finding his footing, and that’s part of the appeal. His music doesn’t feel like it’s trying to prove that he has everything figured out. Instead, it captures an artist experimenting in real time, pulling from the sounds around him while slowly creating something that feels distinctly his. He’s coming up in an underground scene where trying something different can matter just as much as getting everything perfectly polished. With each release, he’s becoming more comfortable moving between sounds and finding his own pocket. If he keeps pushing in this direction, OSL1NN could become one of the names shaping the next chapter of South Africa’s Alternative Rap scene.
N4T
For Fans Of: Jim Legxacy, Lancey Foux & onoola-sama.
There’s a restless energy that runs through N4T’s music. Emerging as one of the most exciting names in the Black British music scene, the South London rapper-producer of Ghanaian and Jamaican descent draws on a diverse range of influences, bringing together Afropop, UK garage, and bass-heavy club rhythms with contemporary Hip-Hop sensibilities. The result is a bouncy and fluid sound that reflects the rich, multicultural fabric of London’s vibrant underground music scene.
N4T officially began releasing music in 2022, initially experimenting with Grime and UK drill. His debut project, ‘D Day,’ introduced an assertive rap style shaped by heavy religious themes, spoken-word poetry and introspective storytelling, establishing the foundations of his artistic identity. While the project’s production and delivery often lean towards a muted, restrained sound, N4T’s palette has continued to expand, gradually developing into a more intricate fusion of styles. In a recent interview with Dazed, he revealed that Slawn’s Bobo Cafe, the now-defunct creative hub, played a significant role in helping him build the confidence to pursue music seriously and find his own artistic identity.
That confidence became increasingly apparent on 2024’s ‘ADHDTV,’ a 16-track project that found N4T taking on greater creative risks. Tracks like “SHENGYENG,” “GOGO,” and “TINGATINGATALES”exemplify his willingness to bring disparate influences together, creating eclectic backdrops for his sharp, introspective writing. Rather than settling into a defined formula, ‘ADHDTV’ marked a clear step forward, revealing an artist increasingly comfortable with experimentation. His latest album, ‘GHANAMUSTGO,’ pushes that progression further. It roars and gyrates like an agitated sibling to ‘ADHDTV,’ expanding N4T’s sound even more while turning his attention more deeply towards his West African roots. The title draws from the phrase associated with the 1983 mass expulsion of Ghanaians and other West African nationals from Nigeria, but N4T reclaims and reinterprets it on his own terms. Rather than looking backwards, he transforms the phrase into a declaration of ambition as he digs deeper into his cultural roots.
Following the release of his album, ‘OUT OF SIGHT – OUT OF MIND: VOLUME 1,’ in June 2026, YCee appeared on the Afropolitan podcast. During the episode, the rapper went on to spotlight what has been the centre of major internet discourse in Nigeria ever since; the olodo uprising. In a viral video, YCee talked about an olodo uprising, a phase to describe the rise of anti-intellectualism in Nigeria. Anti-intellectualism here refers to the subtle numbing of knowledge or critical thinking in Nigerian popular culture.
Per the rapper, the olodo uprising was triggered by the nation’s leaders not prioritising important matters, such as education, alongside the inability of our society to recognize academic excellence, instead choosing to pay more attention to short-form or brainrot content. This argument by YCee sparked major debates about the state of education and literacy in Nigeria.
An olodo is a Yoruba word that refers to an individual of low intelligence or reasoning. In essence, the olodo uprising is the prominence and preference of lowbrow discussions and content, especially those regularly seen on social media platforms such as TikTok, YouTube and Instagram. Some examples include random TikTok challenges and livestreams that show off crass behaviour. Although this discourse gained significant traction in June, this is not an evergreen matter. It has always been a systemic issue, with its roots buried deep in Nigerian society.
There are a multitude of reasons for this phenomenon. The most blatant one is the “It’s not that deep” mentality that a lot of Nigerians have. When confronted with serious issues that require critical thinking and discourse, it’s often brushed to the side and deemed unimportant. This is also connected to the constant desire for entertainment mostly in the class of short-form content. Some argued that it was caused by Nigeria’s failing educational system while others said that in an economy that doesn’t always value those with degrees, making entertainment content is one of the only ways to get by.
When the Afropolitan podcast episode with YCee went viral, it was expected that it would bring about intellectual conversations. While it did, there were also some people that made it clear that there truly is an olodo uprising. Rather than challenging his point of view, they instead chose to compare his net worth to Peller, a Nigerian streamer who YCee mentioned as one of the forerunners of the olodo uprising in its present iteration. This not only goes to show how Nigerians often have misplaced priorities, but also how there’s an infatuation with wealth. The hustle mentality is a major aspect of Nigeria’s societal culture. In a country where the majority of its population, around 63% as of 2022, are multidimensionally poor, the people are forced to find any means to survive.
The government has a big role to play in the olodo uprising. In 2026, the Nigerian government allocated 6.1% of its budget to education, which doesn’t even come close to the 15-20% benchmark set by UNESCO. In a country where ludicrous amounts of money is set aside for personal luxuries for our leaders, the educational system is barely an afterthought. It’s not only evident in the system itself, but also the state of our infrastructure. Poorly equipped classrooms hinder the learning experience, teachers are constantly going on strike and millions of children are out of school.
There’s also the reality of what exactly we deem worthy of recognition in Nigeria. In an ideal country, stellar academic performance and intelligence will yield employment and financial security, but Nigeria is far from ideal. Instead, short-form content on social media is praised as the best way to make it big. It can only be described as a systemic failure when those who put in the work during their school years are unable to sustain themselves whilst being an internet sensation is more likely to get you millions.
Despite all this, there seems to be a glimmer of hope. According to the Tix Index 2026, educational events averaged the highest prices of about ₦69,906 in the entire events economy in 2025. This reflects a shift in purchasing behaviour of the average event goer. When compared to music & performance events, it’s clear that they’re also leaning towards events that support learning, growth and the value they attain from them, not just entertainment.
One of such events is the Education Career Summit 2.0. It’s geared towards equipping students with the necessary skills, knowledge and connections needed for success in their learning institutions and professional endeavours. There’s also the Digital Higher Education Africa Summit, this event aims to incorporate learning institutions with technology that can transform how people learn in Africa.
The growth emergence in technology & science event listings also shows a motivation to attend programmes based on their purpose, not just prices. They’ve seen an order surge of 414% in recent years. One of such events is the Arewa Tech Fest taking place in Lagos on October 21. This programme aims to accelerate the interconnectivity of Nigeria’s innovative and tech-based landscape, providing a platform that allows for networking and long term partnership.
The growth in educational events alongside tech programmes not only shows a shift toward more purpose- and connection-driven events despite the cost, but also creates the space for learning and the development of Nigeria’s technological ecosystem to flourish. They may not be able to rival the dominance of the top events alone but together they’re making a real difference.
Although this shift is a positive sign for Nigeria’s intellectual landscape, we’re still a ways off from making significant progress. The olodo uprising isn’t restricted to social media; it, in fact, takes on many forms. It occurs when there’s a refusal to challenge our own societal norms and way of thinking because it’s just people catching cruise; when voters choose to elect candidates based on tribal sentiments and not merit; and when we choose to harbour the mindset of “It’s not that deep” which only fail to help our society progress.
Although the olodo uprising may be seen as a coping mechanism that helps people ignore Nigeria’s hardships, it can only relieve us for so long. Conscious ignorance among Nigerians does more harm in the long run than comfort. However, the gradual rise of the aforementioned educational events across the country offers a glimpse into a better future and perhaps renewed hopes for the condition of our failing system.
For decades, the Nigerian and South African music scenes have enjoyed a creative bonanza despite the tensions between their countries. From “Coolest Kid in Africa” and “Soweto Baby” to the more recent “Isaka,” the exchange has become almost instinctive. Last year, Ciza, Thukuthela and JAZZWRLD brought Tems and Omah Lay onto the remix of “Isaka,” sending a South African 3-Step record into Nigerian clubs. On “I Know Who I Be,” from his latest album, ‘Oriade, Davido was joined by Lesotho-born producer JAZZWRLD and South African producer GL_Ceejay. Similarly, Nigerian virtuoso Firstklaz has continued that historic partnership with “Tsammani,” another collaboration with JAZZWRLD.
In recent weeks, however, the relationship between the two countries has reached another period of tension. Amid renewed xenophobic violence and reported attacks on Nigerians and other African nationals in South Africa, Chidimma Adetshina, the Nigerian-South African beauty pageant winner, is fighting deportation in a Cape Town court. Nigerian senator Natasha Akpoti-Uduaghan has called for reciprocal treatment of South Africans. In music, Tyla’s Lagos date disappeared from her 2026 world A-POP tour after calls for a boycott, while Ayra Starr’s performances in South Africa became entangledin visa complications involving members of her team.
The incidents are separate, but together they reveal something new. The old arguments about immigration, belonging and xenophobia have begun to enter the one territory where Nigerians and South Africans have usually managed to meet without much difficulty: pop culture. Can Nigerians still welcome South African artists to their country when Nigerians are being attacked in South Africa? Should musicians be made to answer for the actions of their compatriots? And if the anger becomes strong enough, can a musical relationship built over decades survive it?
So far, it has.
That is because Nigeria and South Africa have created something in music that neither has managed quite so easily in politics. Their artists have borrowed from one another, their audiences have grown accustomed to one another, and their industries have become commercially entangled. What began partly as political solidarity became collaboration, then influence, and eventually something closer to interdependence.
Now, xenophobia is testing how much that history is worth. The intensity of the present anger is partly explained by its proximity to the music industry itself. Earlier outbreaks of xenophobic violence—including a video in which the leader of the anti-migration group Operation Dudula called for non-South Africans to leave public hospitals, and the controversy that followed when news of Adetshina first broke—produced boycotts and diplomatic quarrels. But the latest dispute has begun to reach the cultural spaces where the two countries have long felt most comfortable with each other. On social media, the argument is no longer simply about individual attacks. It has become a question of whether cultural exchange itself should continue.
Tyla’s missing Lagos date became the clearest symbol. A concert is ordinarily a simple transaction: an artist arrives, an audience buys tickets and, for a few hours, the politics outside disappears. But the boycott calls made the concert political. The question was no longer whether Nigerians liked Tyla’s music. It was whether welcoming a South African star amounted to accepting what Nigerians believed was happening to their compatriots in Tyla’s home country.
That distinction matters. A South African musician can be an individual artist and, at the same time, arrive carrying the nationality of a country whose treatment of Nigerians has become a source of anger. The old separation between the person and the country becomes harder to maintain when nationality is the thing that travels with the artist.
Yet this relationship was never built on neutrality. It began, in part, in politics. During apartheid, Nigeria’s relationship with South Africa was shaped by opposition to the white-minority government and solidarity with those fighting it. Music became one of the places where that solidarity could be heard. In 1978, Sonny Okosun released “Fire in Soweto,” turning the popular uprising into a song that travelled beyond South Africa. Soweto was no longer simply a place in a distant country. It had become a symbol of a struggle that many Nigerians understood as their own.
The Nigerian state backed that solidarity beyond speeches, supporting South African exiles, offering scholarships and assisting people whose own government had restricted their movement. Nigeria and South Africa therefore entered the post-apartheid era carrying a history that was already unusually intimate.
When apartheid ended, the familiarity did not. It simply found new modes for expression.For Nigerians who came of age in the early 2000s, South Africa arrived through television before it arrived through the airport. DStv brought channels such as MTV Base and Channel O into Nigerian homes, making the continent’s music feel like one long neighbourhood. Nigerian audiences encountered South African House and Kwaito; South African audiences watched Nigerian Pop become increasingly difficult to ignore. There’s also a case to be made for movies as we both exchanged characters as shows like ‘My Flatmates,’ ‘The Johnsons‘ and most memorably MTV’s ‘Shuga.’
No one had to announce a cultural exchange. Children simply grew up hearing the same songs, watching the same videos and learning the names of artists from countries they might never have visited. By the time Nigerian and South African musicians began collaborating with the frequency they do now, much of the cultural groundwork had already been laid by the audience.
The music business followed. Labels, distributors and promoters began treating Nigeria and South Africa not as isolated territories but as two of the continent’s most important music markets. For Olusola Adenusi, Distribution Manager at Mavin Records, that commercial relationship has become too important for politics to simply switch off.
“At the end of the day, despite the global expansion of Afropop, we still need each other’s territory,” Adenusi says. “Nigeria, South Africa, and Kenya are some of the leading countries on the continent when it comes to music consumption. As an artist, you can’t say because of politics, you don’t want to push your music over there. It is ultimately to your own detriment.”
It sounds cynical in the face of xenophobia, but the music business is rarely sentimental. A record needs an audience. A touring artist needs a market. A label wants its songs heard. Politics can make a border hostile without making the audience on the other side disappear. And the exchange has never been one-way. Nigerian Pop did not simply arrive in South Africa as a finished product, nor did South African music remain something Nigerians consumed through television. The sounds began to change each other. The clearest example is Amapiano. Its arresting log drums and airy rhythms were absorbed by Nigerian producers and reshaped around Afrobeats’ melodies, vocal styles and songwriting. The sound became so deeply embedded in Nigerian Pop that arguments over whether Nigerians were borrowing, adapting or appropriating Amapiano.
But the argument itself revealed how far the sound had travelled. A South African genre had become part of Nigeria’s musical vocabulary.The exchange had already been happening in individual records. Nigerian superstar, Burna Boy, appeared on a remix of Master KG’s “Jerusalema,” helping to bring a Nigerian presence to a song whose roots remained unmistakably South African. AKA, DA L.E.S and JR joined Burna Boy on “All Eyes on Me.” Wizkid worked with DJ Maphorisa on “Soweto Baby.” Davido teamed up with Nasty C on “Coolest Kid in Africa.”
Taken together, these were more than meetings between artists from two countries. They were signs of a musical language becoming shared.By the time “Isaka” was remixed with Tems and Omah Lay, the traffic had become almost circular: a South African 3-Step record could travel north, acquire Nigerian voices and return to the continent with a larger audience. For Nigerian producer Timi “Timmy” Adetiloye, the reason is almost instinctive. “Personally, the relationship has stood strong because, foremost, the African element, but also, both countries share a similar energy,” he tells NATIVE Mag. “One prominent thing between both countries is that they both love to dance. There’s a resonance in both sounds, and the history in collaborations as well has also strengthened that bond.”
There is perhaps a simpler way of putting it. The two countries have spent so long listening to each other that influence has become difficult to trace back to its source. A South African rhythm can arrive in Lagos, acquire a Nigerian accent and return as something neither side can outrightly claim.
That is why a musical rupture would be more than another cancelled show or angry exchange online. Nigeria and South Africa are no longer merely borrowing from one another. They have built shared audiences, commercial routes and musical vocabularies that neither side can easily replace.
So what, exactly, would either country lose? The answer, according to music journalist Tomide Marv is both. “We both get great value exchange out of each other, creativity-wise,” Marv tells NATIVE Mag. He is less romantic about what keeps the relationship alive. “The creative/music industry loves money I don’t see them letting that fuck up the business.”
There is a blunt truth in that. The relationship has survived partly because it is useful. Nigerian audiences consume South African sounds. South African artists find audiences and a new lease of life in Nigeria. Producers collaborate across borders. Labels distribute music across both territories. The business has developed its own reasons to keep moving, even when politics gives it reasons to stop.
But usefulness is not reconciliation. Marv does not believe music can repair the deeper wounds between Nigerians and South Africans. “Music seems like it has that power, but no,” he explains to NATIVE Mag. “There must be dialogue that goes beyond beats and drums and rhythms and melodies.” Governments, he argues, have to create a path for a conversation that may take years to repair what has been damaged.
Perhaps this is where the music relationship becomes most revealing. It has not erased xenophobia. It has not made Nigerians safer in South Africa or settled the arguments over immigration and belonging. What it has done is keep the two countries in contact when politics has repeatedly given them reasons to retreat from one another.
The artists keep collaborating. The audiences keep listening. The markets keep meeting. Politics may give Nigeria and South Africa reasons to turn away from each other. Music, stubbornly, keeps giving them reasons to return.
Coming off the heels of “Forlorn,” his first single of the year, HIGHBREED is back with an emotive two-pack single. Although he only just started building his public catalogue, the few singles he’s already shared including the 2023 “CASAMIGOS” and his latest single, “Cyanide/Damage,”all have a soothing, aurally-pleasing feel to them that makes one want to leave his voice on loop.
One distinct trait that’s consistent about him is how he leans into the dark side of the human emotions in his curated social profile, almost always appearing in black and white filters, adding a touch of mystery to his personality. That mystery also reflects in his sound. On “Cyanide/Damage,” he explores the yearning feeling of unrequited love, knowing the situation no longer benefits him but he still feels completely stuck in love with his muse. His voice reflects the weight of both his affection and heartbreak.
“Cyanide” specificallyunderpins HIGHBREED’s production prowess. Self-produced by him, with additional production credits from Eskay Yilchie, they opt for lucid melodies to shape his delivery and it lands perfectly. “Damage” on the other hand is equally soulful, but was enhanced using more guitar and gospel-influenced organs as major elements of RyFy and Eskay Yilchie’s production.
Fusing Alternative R&B references with Neo-soul “Cyanide/Damage” is solid proof of HIGHBREED’s ability to make luscious music that broadens the range of music that can come out of this region, especially because he’s reimagining the soundscape from Ebonyi.
‘Cocoa Hue’ is one of those titles that instantly piques interest. What does the wordplay mean? What correlation is there between the elongated oval fruit and the various shades of colour? The twelve tracks comprising DOTTi The Deity’s sophomore album brilliantly quell the mystery, presenting the title as a symbol of his innate artistic identity and the multifaceted, colourful attributes he embodies, much like how cocoa can be processed into different flavours and textures.
Ever since he rose to the spotlight with his hit single, “Forever Sweet,” a romantic record that has become a staple at Yoruba weddings since its release in 2022, and after emerging as the winner of the maiden edition of the MTN Y’ello Star music competition in 2021, his diligent approach to broadening the scope of his craft has brought him to a new artistic expression on ‘Cocoa Hue.’
Following the buzz around “Forever Sweet,” his six-track EP, ‘For You Knew Me,’ arrived, but it was on his debut album, ‘Madam Dearest,’ that he tied together the romantic musings of his breakout single into an elaborate celebration of love. He captured the mundane on “Big Shirt & Boxers” with rapper Reminisce, explored relatable moments of desire on the Wizard Chan-assisted “Hello Sisi,” and further leaned into romance on the title track, “Madam Dearest,” featuring Falz.
Now, he is drawing from his personal experiences to showcase another side of himself, two years after demonstrating to the world that he could translate their emotions into melodious tunes. On the album opener, “Yeske,” he dives straight into Afropop, taps Fuji legend Adewale Ayuba for the head-bopping “Jaiye,” melds seamlessly with multi-instrumentalist Made Kuti on “Tout Est Compris,” and lets former Big Brother Naija winner and rapper Laycon leave a groovy touch on the closer, “Otolorin.”
Moving freely between genres, whether Pop, Folk, Afropop or Fuji, ‘Cocoa Hue’ is a deliberate refusal to be confined by a singular definition of who Dotti The Deity can be. While ‘Madam Dearest’ established his ability to translate the familiar emotions of love and desire into music, ‘Cocoa Hue’ broadens the picture, revealing an artist astutely exploring the different facets of his creativity.
Long before Tix came into existence, its founders Folayemi Agusto and Nosakhare Oyegun were building EatDrinkFestival into one of Lagos’ most anticipated annual food and drink events. The founders have successfully run the food festival for the past decade, steering it from a boutique pop-up event in Ikoyi to the country’s largest annual culinary festival. As the festival grew, so did the challenges of managing attendee details, payments and ticketing. Those frustrations ultimately inspired the creation of Tix, a self-service ticketing solution built to make organising events and selling tickets online effortless.
Six years and more than two million event attendees later, Tix has found itself in a unique position to observe Nigeria’s commercial event economy from the inside. Every event discovered, ticket purchased, and attendee checked in contributes to a broader picture of how Nigerians engage with live experiences.
“Tix sees the commercial event economy from the inside. We see the categories gaining traction, the months where pricing power peaks, the locations where events cluster, and the ways economic pressure changes but does not erase demand for experiences.” — Folayemi Agusto, CEO and Co-founder of Tix
That unique vantage point now forms the foundation of the Tix Index 2026–the first of its kind–which draws on three years of proprietary data from 2023 to 2025 to map the evolution of Nigeria’s experience economy. Across six chapters, the report examines the market, economics, people, infrastructure and opportunities shaping the country’s events industry.
The findings of this Index offers a fascinating picture of how Nigerians are choosing to spend their time and money. While music and performances stood out as the industry’s biggest category, expanding by 105% between 2023 and 2025, the diversity of ticket sales across other categories like arts and culture and food and drinks, both of which also grew by 148% and 320% respectively, paints a clear picture: Nigerian event-goers are actively investing in experiences that foster connection, creativity, personal development alongside entertainment.
According to Agusto, most of the conversations online are about key moments or reactions to specific events. What has been missing is a complete picture of the market itself. Who is showing up? What experiences are they willing to pay for? How has their behaviour changed? Where is activity growing?”.
These are the questions the index aims to comprehensively answer and to bring these insights to a wider audience, The NATIVE is collaborating with Tix to turn the data from the Tix Index into a series of feature stories that contextualise and explore the places, trends, and cultural forces shaping Nigeria’s event economy.
Grammy Award-winning musician, Manana’s, album, ‘it really isn’t what it is,’ opens on “No!” with the sort of intensity that crashes into focus the message that the Eswatini-singer is trying to pass: things aren’t always what they appear to be. It’s a deliberate attempt at puncturing the curated reality that modern day life has warped many to believe as a standard. “I think social media and the world of the internet has kind of created this thing where you always have to have your packaging, not just of your professional life, but of your personal life,” he explains to Apple Music’s Africa Now Radio. “Everything has to be packaged well. So oftentimes, things aren’t what they are.”
Across 10 songs, the singer’s buttery vocals float languidly over delicate R&B instrumentation as both an invocation and honest approximation of where he’s at right now in life. Songs like “Talking Stages,” “Sun Sets on Beautiful Days,” and “No More” reveal a sensitivity that allows him to parse emotions without being consumed by their manifestation. “I think it’s an age thing.” he says about the inspiration for the project. “I was telling the guys as we were making this project that this is my favorite project I’ve ever made. Typically, when the album comes out, I’m not able to go back and listen to the music. I can’t really stand it actually once it’s out, but I’ve actually been listening to the project more or less every day since it’s been out and I’m realizing that not just the music, like the genre specifics and sonics of the project, it’s also the content.”
This interview has been edited for clarity.
How has your journey with music been?
A school was touring Eswatini and my mum literally just said to me, “Don’t you think it’d be nice for you to audition?” I didn’t think much of it. I auditioned, got in, and the next year, I was there. When you’re auditioning, it doesn’t really feel like something big is happening. It just felt like another day. If I’m honest, the journey of music didn’t feel like a career journey even at that time. Even at the College of Music in Cape Town at UCT. I think I probably had an existential crisis in my final year because studying the arts, a lot of us do well, some of us don’t make it, but a lot of us do well, and then you get to fourth year and it’s like, what’s next? I think even at that point, I wasn’t necessarily confident that I’d be able to build a career out of music.
What did writing with Sauti Sol do for you?
I think after my first writing camp experience with the Sauti Sol brothers, that’s when I was like, “Okay, cool, this is something that I feel like I can make a living out of, and I feel like it’s something that I can do.” After being in a room with them–they’re extremely kind and extremely open–they made me feel comfortable in the space. So, it wasn’t like I was this nobody who was there to work with legends. I think that’s actually what made me feel like, “Okay, cool. This is a space that I think I could work in.“
What inspired your album title, ‘it really isn’t what it is?”
I always tell people that obviously when you listen to my music, there’s a lot of intense love, there’s a lot of intense heartbreak. I think in our minds, we wish those things didn’t all happen at the same time, but often they do. I think we’re able to experience joy and still be grieving or or pain and have something joyous happen. I think social media and the world of the internet has kind of created this thing where you always have to have your packaging, not just of your professional life, but of your personal life. Everything has to be packaged well. So oftentimes, things aren’t what they are.
Why did you feel this was the right time for this body of work?
I think it’s an age thing. I was telling the guys as we were making this project that this is my favorite project I’ve ever made. Typically, when the album comes out, I’m not able to go back and listen to the music. I can’t really stand it actually once it’s out, but I’ve actually been listening to the project more or less every day since it’s been out and I’m realizing that not just the music, like the genre specifics and sonics of the project, it’s also the content. I think that “Remember Me,” funny enough, [is a] trick that a lot of us like using, but as much as the song on the surface feels like it’s about a romantic relationship, it’s actually more existential. We were in the studio with some friends, we just had one of those weeks where it just felt like we were wasting our time and we were like, “Who would remember me if I had to leave the world today, who would remember me?” That’s kind of where the song came from. That’s why it feels so intentional and so intense emotionally. I know it’s not necessarily like a happy way to end the project, but I think it’s very introspective and I think it’s an interesting way to end the project.
Why did you start the project with “No!”?
I think intensity is a great way to open a project. It feels like if you’re sitting in a room and you’re talking, and then someone opens the door with a dramatic swing, like a whoosh open. I think that’s what the song feels like for us. We’re introducing certain tender topics but the way to open the door is with drama and an announcement of the arrival of the project. So that was kind of the reason why I started so intensely. I also think the subject matter is–some of it is tongue in cheek but a lot of it is–relatable on this more serious side. If you’re in a relationship with someone, especially in our context, if family gets involved and people love the person you’re with, and then things don’t end up working, then you keep on getting phone calls from people in the family and asking you all these questions. So, it was kind of a little bit tongue in cheek, but also relatable content as it were.
What inspired “Talking Stages?”
I think I am probably the opposite of that. I love peace. I love calm. So for me, this back and forth situationship vibes is just like yuck. So even the pre-chorus where we say, “You say I’m way too much and I overwhelm you with my love,” is hilarious because a lot of people use that excuse as like, “I’m not ready for this, you know, it’s quite intense,” and all that kind of stuff. When you know, if you’re the one that’s fully in love, it just feels like you’re being played with. I think for me that’s where this came from. Just like from a place of peace to be like, “Yo, dude, just let’s clarify what this is. No more situationship vibes, otherwise we’re gonna move it to the side.”
How much does R&B shape your approach to making music?
Growing up in our house, my brother used to sneak what we called musical contraband. Obviously, in our house, it was Hillsong and Gospel music. My brother would sneak in Musiq Soulchild, D’Angelo, and Maxwell. That era of music I think was heavily influential growing up. It’s taken a while for me to actually breathe that into the work we’re making. We felt like we have the ability and the desire to push that sound a little bit this time around. Obviously, back then, there’s all kinds of stories told in that music. There’s promiscuity, there’s love, and there’s heartbreak.
What experience brought about “Sun Sets on Beautiful Days”?
It’s literally that. We were thinking about the fact that in our heart of hearts, we just don’t want nice things to end, but everything does. I think the picture of sunsets on beautiful days, especially after you’ve had a great day. You’ve been chilling with your family. You’ve maybe started at brunch somewhere, and then someone is like, “Oh, let’s go catch a movie or whatever..” You do that, and then you go chill at someone’s place at the end. It’s always like you’re trying to make the day extend, but it just doesn’t happen. I think that kind of is a good imagery for a relationship that you don’t want to end. “I know the sun sets on beautiful days too, so I try to replace you” as if the next day is starting and something better would come. But after Sunday comes Monday. That’s how I was trying to paint this.
What qualities do you look for in a woman?
It’s tough to describe, but I think for me it’s being a bringer of peace. I’m from Eswatini, so it’s actually a trait that I feel like a lot of people in the region have. A lover of peace and a bringer of peace, that for me is number one. If you’re able to be that person, I think that’s amazing.
How did you approach making “No More” with Lusanda?
It’s funny. The verses have what some would call a complex backbeat that plays along with the chords in that section. Then there’s a much simpler backbeat in the hook. That contrast is kind of in the lyric as well, where in a relationship you can kind of beat around the bush and say things and all that kind of stuff, but at the end what, what the hook says is, just simply put, “I don’t care about you no more.” I can try and euphemize and go round in circles trying to get to this thing, but the reality of the matter is I actually just don’t mean this. It’s simply put. I think the correlation in the beat and the lyric is a good partnership.
What role does nostalgia play in “No More,”whether it is more about missing a person or just missing who you were when you were with them?
I think it’s a bit of both. I think nostalgia, oftentimes, it’s ambitious and I think aspirational, if that makes sense. You remember the person you think you were and hope you were more than what actually was. I think that’s why the memories are sweeter. So, that’s why even the song has a certain sweetness to it. You kind of have this fondness of the meeting, the fondness of even the shock of seeing the person with someone else. The memories always have a sweeter taste to them because they’re hopeful and ambitious and hopeful.
What was it like collaborating with Nasty C on “Alright?”
When he recorded this verse, we were at a friend’s place and there’s a studio there. He locked himself in the room, recorded himself and we ate dinner after that. He chilled for a little bit and then walked out. When we played that verse the first time, everyone in the room was emotional. It was like my goodness, it was like his verse was like a prayer. It was like a confirmation of what everyone obviously was feeling and what everyone wants to hear. There’s boundaries to sticking around and there’s levels to it. He captures that boundary very well to say that, “When things are bad, when things are good, I’m gonna be here,” in that verse. That’s one of my favorite verses ever, honestly.
How did you approach making “Remember Me?”
This song is one of the heavier ones that I’ve ever written, and it’s one of the realer moments I think we had creating this project. We were all in a bit of a weird funk the week we created this. This was an expression of that. One of the producers and the gentleman who makes the project as well has a special attachment to this song because I think it expresses how we all reckon with the concept of legacy and what all the work that we’ve done will amount to and the people that we are will amount to. So, this song honestly felt like the perfect way to end the project.
BoyPee is opening 2026 with “For You,” a glossy Afropop cut that finds him leaning into romance, movement and a little bit of luxury. Produced by Izzybeatzz and co-produced by ELVEES BEATS, it’s an easygoing love song with enough bounce to get people moving.
After turning heads with his massive breakout hit “Ogechi” — which truly blew up after a remix with Davido — BoyPee showed he was far more than a one-hit wonder. His follow-up track “Constantly” pulled in over 80 million streams, proving his knack for making songs that stick. He has spent the last year staying busy, jumping on features, and taking his live show across the UK with a five-city tour. The run even saw him share the stage with Flavour at London’s O2 Indigo.
Now, “For You” brings all that built-up momentum together. It’s a lavish love song about treating someone special to the finer things in life: think red Chanel bags and sunset views. But beyond the catchy hook and highlife grooves, the track showcases another side of his talent: dance. It gives BoyPee space to show more of himself. 2026 is already looking like a year where he gets to have a little more fun with it.
The painful history of apartheid in South Africa extends further beyond the headlines that made the news across the world throughout the second half of the 20th century. From 1976 to 1994, Transkei, a nominal republic in the Southeastern region of present-day South Africa, existed independently of South Africa, cutting off a generation of men, women, and children from their communal heritage. Still, the region continued to shine as a beacon of South Africa’s present and future, providing some of the most revolutionary figures in the country’s history.
It is a convoluted legacy that South African singer, Makhanj, is passionate about and paying tribute to on her debut album, ‘Transkei.’ Across 13 songs that reverberate the multidimensional pulse of Amapiano, the singer explores identity, womanhood, and how home can mean many things for a heart that yearns for its familiarity. “As much as I’ve moved around a lot, I have to start in the beginning,” Makhanj told Apple Music’s Africa Now Radio about the name of her album.
For all the thorny history of Transkei, Makhanj is running towards ease and resolution in several parts of her intriguing debut album. It’s an honest summation of her relationship with her ancestral heritage, finding the beauty in the struggle and the strength to work through what imperfections might exist. “I just wanted to shine a light on the positive element, because there is so much to be proud of, even in that time,” she says.
This interview has been edited for clarity.
What do you think about your upbringing?
I always say I grew up in South Africa because I ended up moving around a lot. But, yes, being from Mthatha is honestly such an honor because so many great people come from there. Nelson Mandela. Thandiswa Mazwai. Just even the Transkei region. I feel like as Xhosa people, we’ve added so much in general, like as a country, as a continent, we just continue to add so much to each other but it always starts in a particular place. So, being from where I’m from, people that are so proud of where they’re from, are proud of their language, that are determined to just make a change in some way, shape or form, like I just really wanted to. Firstly I’m from there, of course as you’ve mentioned, but I just wanted to be very intentional about tapping into that and just letting people know that I’m a product of many things but this is where I’m from.
How did coming Transkei help overcome your inhibitions and preconceived notions from the industry?
I love history. I think anyone who studied law, let me not generalize, but for the most part we’ll say we like language and we like history. For me, it was so important because I’ve traveled around so much of South Africa, and I always knew I was gonna make it. I still believe there’s still so much that I need to do, and accomplish. For me, it was always like, “Which hood are you gonna rep?” I also grew up in Durban for a long time, and so it was a thing of what’s my hood? Who am I repping when I’m out there? I was like, “As much as I’ve moved around a lot, I have to start in the beginning.” Obviously we know the history of the Transkei: There is good, but there is bad, but there is so much good involved there. I think people focus on the fact that we were removed from South Africa, and then now we were brought back. There’s a whole lot of conversation around why that happened, and many things can be right and many things can be wrong at the same time. I think what I wanted to focus on is the fact that this thing that was supposed to set us back as a people, there’s so much that we ended up accomplishing in those bad times.
Even with the people that came out of there: Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, Thandiswa Mazwai, and Oma Madikizela from the Transkei region. Just the contributions that the people from there have made, it is so easy for us to focus on why that thing happened, what was going on there, and we forget the things that these people overcame and how far they’ve come in terms of not only just this region but the people that they ended up working with. The people from KZN, the people from the Western Cape, the people from Gauteng. We all came together, we worked together, but they all started somewhere. I think for me, I just wanted to shine a light on the positive element, because there is so much to be proud of, even in that time. In the space that I was in, I was coming from the background of being heavily known as a featured artist. There was so much that I had to overcome beyond what other people are saying, that maybe they prefer me when I work with this particular person. People always have a lot to say, but before you listen to other people, you have a lot to say about yourself in the first place. So, I wanted to go back to when they termed Transkei as Transkei, and they did what they did there, and we still overcame that. I come from this place, so I can overcome whatever inhibitions I have for myself and whatever other things other people are saying about me, and I’m gonna do it in this album. I know it’s still early days, but I feel like I’ve done that. That was really what I was trying to achieve with that. Like, shine a light on the positive elements, but also remind ourselves that you can overcome things, you will overcome things, you can do hard things.
What’s the significance of “Amandla Am” as the album intro?
[It’s about] reclaiming your power. It was just a reminder of the conversations you’ll have with God or the conversations you’ll have with your mom, who is your earthly custodian essentially. And she just is like, “Whatever things that you are believing that aren’t what God is saying about you, get rid of that quickly.” The Bible says the same power that rose from the grave lives in me. So, it was literally just a reminder of that. Like, “Girl, stop playing small. If God is in you, then what are you doing believing nonsense?” It was very important for me to start it like that.
What was it like working with Babalwa M?
The great thing is Babalwa is a really great friend of mine. Like we are colleagues but we are good friends. So, we tend to work together a lot. I didn’t even ask her to be part of this project because she has so much going on in terms of music, like great things as we all know and we see. She was like, “I’m gonna be in that project whether you like it or not.” So I was like, “Okay, girl.” We’re always around each other with Stixx. It was just easy to work with her. I think for me, because we have had such great songs in the past, I was really just thankful that she took me seriously and Stixx took me seriously, and we came together and we just made this full circle.
How did you make “Baleka?”
I think that was actually supposed to be one of the last songs, and then I think the one that ended up being the last one is “Kukuwe” and “Anduyiki,” the last two, which are bonuses. The intention for “Baleka,” was for it to be the last song because it was basically a combination of going, “Okay, I’ve seen the things that have hurt me, I’ve seen the things that have made me feel a way. Let me run away from those things and run towards what is for me.” Anything that is rejecting me, let me not hold onto it, because that’s when the hurt comes. Just run towards the things that are for you because sometimes you really can blame 1,000 people, but you’re really just hurting yourself by holding on. So, just running away from what you’re used to, what’s not for you, and running towards everything that is.
How about “Phepha Abanje?”
So for me, it was just like too many things are happening around you. You can’t control all of those things. Focus on what you can control. There’s people in your path that are there to help you, and there’re people that are in your path there to do the opposite. It’s very important that you sit down and you realize it, and you let it go, and you get to where you need to go. So, essentially kind of the same tune throughout, but I love that song. Working with Atmos was incredible.
How did you approach making “Mzala?”
I was actually writing about someone I care about deeply. It’s genuinely a thing of just failing forward and failing quickly. Like, do the thing because we like to think too much about things sometimes, and I’m not saying be willy-nilly about stuff, but sometimes just do the thing, and if it doesn’t work out, do another thing until it does work out. Just stop the thing of procrastinating because it takes you longer to get to where you wanna be and to do the thing that you wanna do. As much as I was speaking to my cousin, I was also speaking to myself. I just want people to feel like, “This is our time. Our time is right now.” There are so many people that are in your way, don’t be in your way as well. You are the first person to get out of your own way before you point the finger at someone else.
If you could sit beside anyone for this album and have them listen to it, who would that be?
Dead or alive? I definitely would love to hear what Zahara had to think about this. I love Thandiswa Mazwai as well. Siphokazi, I love her so much. She sang one of my favorite songs, “Amacala.” My mom loved that song. Zolani from Freshlyground. I say all of these people because those are the people we listened to when we were driving to and from Mthatha when we were coming from school in Durban and then we had to drive back home for the holidays and things like that. So, I would definitely want to sing those songs for those people because they influenced my mom’s playlist and really influenced the kind of music that I make.
Without a doubt, ‘Mushin 2 Mo’ Hits’ is a classic Afropop album, and Wande Coal is an Afropop legend. These declarations require that you discard both the title of Wande Coal’s third album, ‘Legend or No Legend,’ and the late appearance of ‘Mushin 2 Mo’ Hits’ on streaming platforms in October 2022, coming over 13 years after this stunning debut album first appeared in the collective consciousness of Nigerians.
In essence, ‘Mushin 2 Mo’ Hits’ represents two locations and a direction of travel. Those coordinates start with Mo’ Hits, the independent record label incorporated in Nigeria in 2006. Jointly owned by Don Jazzy and D’Banj, London returnees who relocated to Lagos ostensibly to make their fortune from the remains of the moribund music industry left in the wake of Nigeria’s post-military Fourth Republic.
Political dawns–especially the kind following a national-scale austerity and a visceral near-death experience on a personal level–often stimulate citizen optimism and cultural production. In the interregnum between international record labels checking out of Nigeria and the brain drain of A-list contemporary musicians like Mike Okri, Adewale Ayuba, Esse Agbesse, and Evi Edna Ogholi abroad, Hip-Hop from America, spewing from the radio, held the fort, capturing both the attention and imagination of the Nigerian youth.
When D’Banj arrived on the scene with his French harp, the charisma and aura he displayed were reminiscent of Fela. His 2005 debut album ‘No Long Thing’ was followed by a sophomore record ‘RunDown Funk U Up.’ All records were produced by Don Jazzy, a then-quiet multi-instrumentalist, styled and mannered like an Italian mob boss. Jazzy was a child prodigy, the son of a music executive, who mimed Blackky’s “Can I Have a Dance” at early ‘90s children’s parties. As a young adult, Jazzy played the bass and keyboard for London-based Juju bands led by Jide Chord and Solek. Jazzy also produced songs on UK R&B upstart Lemar Obika’s debut album ‘Dedicated’ and for music collectives Big Brovaz and JJC. Indeed, he and D’Banj were briefly part of the 419 Squad.
Arriving in Lagos with D’Banj in 2005, Don Jazzy’s credentials as a producer preceded him. His production was cutting-edge, showing an unusual range and expertise across Black Diaspora music. He was comfortable spinning fast-paced Juju rhythms on “Mobolowon” and pairing Boom Bap with the kind of synth bombast that would give both Pharrell and Timbaland pause. Just listen to D’Banj’s“Run Down (Funk U Up)”—two decades post-release, and not a single note of his exuberant production has aged.
In 2007, Mo’ Hits released ‘Curriculum Vitae,’ an anthology album by Mo’ Hits All Stars, comprising D’banj, Wande Coal, Dr SID, D’Prince, and Kayswitch. Produced entirely by Don Jazzy, it was a statement-making album, full of energy and showcasing musical talent, to disrupt the scene’s sonic status quo. It was clear then, as it is now, that there were two exceptional talents on that album: Don Jazzy, orchestrating plays behind the production console and the newbie in the studio booth, Wande Coal, whose vocal range across the album was outstanding. Coal, in particular, was featured on most songs and was soul-stirring on his standalone record, “Ololufe.”
The question, for many, though, was who exactly was Wande Coal?
Then, he was a little-known, cherubic-faced, dark-skinned lad in a red shirt, vigorously breakdancing in the video for “Why Me,” the lead single from D’Banj’s sophomore album. His breakthrough song “Ololufe” was an unusual love song for its time. It opens with plaintive piano chords; Wande Coal hums a melody before deploying his beautiful tenor. His first words establish the kind of love song it would be: the love-drenched, falsetto-topping, crying-in-the-rain variant. The “my-girl-wants-to-leave-me-and-I-can’t-bear-it” type of love song, but not the American-sounding type, depicted with a music video, where a singer strips himself on a green screen transformed into a desert in the final version, crooning to emphasize his rippling muscles. There is something more urgent and less theatrical about this song, something of a final plea. A lover is on the cusp of leaving a relationship that the singer cherishes.
This song–its persuasive lyrics, pitch, apologetic yet reconciliatory mood, even its spare melody–are all in service of a need: this elevator pitch to convince this lover not to leave. “Ololufe j’owo mayi lo,” the apologetic chorus begins and ends in Yoruba while the verses are delivered in crisp English. The switch from English to Yoruba in the chorus gives pause but also adds to the song’s mystique. Wande Coal’s words in Yoruba translate to LL Cool J’s refrain, “Baby, don’t go,” from the 2002 duet with Jennifer Lopez, “All I Have,” which in fact samples Joe Thomas’s “Stutter.”So, there is still an undertone of American influence here.
“Ololufe” was a massive radio hit. It was clear to every listener that they were witnessing a pure expression of God-given talent. His impeccable vocal abilities stoked anticipation for his debut album, but Mo’ Hits had another record in mind: D’Banj’s third album, ‘The Entertainer’, comprising songs like“Mo Gbono Feli Feli,”,“Suddenly” and “Fall in Love.” As always, all ten tracks were produced by Don Jazzy and gestured toward Afrocentric production. Delirious Palmwine highlife guitars and an abiding African sonic vocabulary subdued his flair for heavy American Hip-Hop influences.
Even then, D’Banj was on his last legs as Mo’ Hits’ frontman. He had lost his French Harp, embracing, perhaps too keenly, the sex-symbol status bestowed upon him by his teeming fans. D’Banj hoped to scale his reach from entertainer to entrepreneur. Koko, a phrase from “Tongolo,” his debut, was given to his different enterprises: Koko mobile and Koko mansion being the more prominent examples. All in all, D’Banj’s exciting run would serve as the precursor for the emergence of Wande Coal.
Mushin is a densely populated suburb located on the Lagos mainland. It looks inconsequential but holds a place of pride in Nigeria’s music history. A slummy residential area congested with tenement-style low-rent houses, humorously called “Face Me I Face You,” its most abiding fixture is the rail tracks running from Oshodi down to Yaba enroute to the Iddo terminus.
On those rail tracks at Idi-Oro, the mutilated remains of musician Israel Njemanze, vocalist of highlife band Three Nights Wizard, were deposited by his band members who murdered him in the 1950s. It was before Nigeria’s independence from British colonial rule, before the reign of Juju music in South-West Nigeria in the mid-sixties, when aspiring Juju superstars King Sunny Ade, Chief Commander Obey, and Apola King Idowu Animashaun all resided in Mushin. It was also before Fuji emerged from Were/Ajisaari, modernized from its Islamic origins toward secular music pioneered by Sikiru Ayinde Barrister, who at some point also lived in Mushin.
In the 2000s, Mushin was even more densely populated with negligible social amenities and little government oversight. Agberos–state-sponsored thugs–were agents of social justice and transport workers, enforcing order violently on danfo and okada drivers. Landlords of dilapidated houses were answerable to their pockets, hiking up rent prices as they wished. Drainages were clogged with plastic waste and sewage, but life flowed. The muezzin woke the faithful (and inadvertently everyone else) for Fajr before dawn.
Music from the stalls blared into the humid noons, with the latest Fuji live albums from upstarts like Obesere, Sunny T, Pasuma and Remi Aluko playing on repeat. This was the Mushin Oluwatobi Wande Ojosipe knew like the back of his hands, the Mushin he came of age in, the Mushin from which Mo’Hits discovered him, the Mushin from where he would be freighted into stardom. By calling his debut album ‘Mushin 2 Mo’Hits,’ he was tracking the journey of music stardom that his older peers travelled.
In 2007, Kennis Music’s hegemony on contemporary Nigerian music was under attack. Kennis Music’s biggest star, Tuface, released his second and final solo album with the outfit, ‘Grass to Grace,’ an outstanding record, no less, but lacking both the alchemy and reception of his debut. Paul Play Dairo, also formerly of Kennis Music, produced and recorded ‘Hitsville,’ a detour from his gospel-leaning Highlife standards to dancehall-tinged Afro-R&B songs. P-Square released ‘Game Over,’ their third album, produced by J-Martins, consolidating the massive gains from their phenomenal sophomore album, ‘Get Squared’. Timaya would also release his debut album ‘True Story,’ produced by K-Solo.
One year later, 9ice released his outstanding ID Cabassa-produced second album, ‘Gongo Aso.’ K-Solo and Timaya teamed up for his second album, ‘Gift and Grace.’ Singer, songwriter, and producer Terry G, with mannerisms reminiscent of Reggae’s sonic architect Lee Scratch Perry, was on the rise with his vibrant production. As was Don Jazzy, who had single-handedly produced Mo’Hits All Stars’ ‘Curriculum Vitae’ in the previous year and D’Banj’s ‘The Entertainer’ in 2008. It was game over for Kennis Music as every singer, producer and record executive scrambled for the top dog position.
Wande Coal had courted and teased an audience with his vocal pyrotechnics on the Mo’Hits All Stars’ ‘Curriculum Vitae.’ There was rumbling in the grapevine that a Wande Coal album was on the way, which made it all the more exciting for pundits trying to guess the album’s sonic direction. Would we expect an R&B crooner with the strongest vocal performance in Nigerian male music of his generation or a Pop star who would keep the dancehalls busy?
“Bumper to Bumper,” the lead single of ‘Mushin 2 Mo’Hits’ cleared all doubts. Wande Coal rejected the Afro-R&B straightjacket and instead aimed for the Afropop canon. In retrospect, it was a good bet to hedge, to think beyond the plush comfort of spewing competent, soulful love songs and reach for the elusive alchemy that Pop music demanded. Looking to the Western canon, Wande Coal merged all the possibilities of American Pop music with a Nigerian sensibility. Like the American rapper-turned-singer T-Pain, Wande Coal was also a disruptor, but Autotune would not be his superpower; melody was. Wande Coal brought an incantatory verve to his songwriting, something close to melodious rap, powered by a frenzy that made stardom inevitable.
Arriving in November 2008, “Bumper to Bumper” made the mechanics of dance its central thesis. In fact, it is a dance instructional advising how to position yourself and your partner on the dance floor, which, in Wande Coal’s reckoning, is packed like Lagos roads at rush hour. Jazzy’s production glides over Wande Coal’s staccato dance instructions. What stands out beyond the graphic sexual innuendo is that the metaphor is authentically anchored to citylife.
It is this kind of inventive and playful language that makes ‘Mushin 2 Mo’ Hits’ stand out. On “You Bad,” Wande Coal sings: “Talo l’omo before they call me gbomogbomo,” Gbomogbomo is a child kidnapper in Yoruba. Of course, Wande Coal was not alluding to children; a beautiful lady was in his line of sight, and he intended to court her by announcing his intention, which he confidently assumed aligned with hers. The fluid performance with language also powers the subversion from which the song title is also derived: bad is good or bad is the new good.
In “Who Born the Maga,” Maga, a term popularised by the online fraud Yahoo, describes his detractors, real and imagined, who attempt to hinder his career progression and successes with Mo’ Hits. Nothing is exempt from his wordplay, not even songs sung in primary schools at lunch break, which he borrows from in “Se Ope” or “Ten Ten,”a playground game similar to hopscotch popular with girls. On every song, Wande Coal’s lyrical improvisation matches Jazzy’s edgy, forward-thinking production, steeped in a West African ethos without being unduly folksy. Across 16 songs spanning 64 minutes, they are both relentless, outperforming each other at every turn.
Wande Coal’s thematic concerns swing from sociopolitical commentary on “Se Na Like This”to unbridled euphoria about his future on “That’s What’s Up” to evangelical thanksgiving on “Jehovah,” but always return to his primary preoccupation: professing love to pursue sex. From the album’s opener, “I Know You Like It,” he teases, “I know you like/I know you like the way I give it to you baby.” Similarly, “You Bad” pays homage to diverse body types embracing body positivity while hinting at sex.
“Kiss Your Hands,” featuring rapper Ikechukwu, stands out as a song about serenading without immediately demanding sex. Wande Coal coasts on a high falsetto, edged by heavy, precisely-patterned percussion, courtesy of Don Jazzy’s production. Kissing hands is a Western gesture, no doubt, but Wande Coal pursues it beyond its immediate symbolism. In retrospect, “Kiss Your Hands” is the most foreign-sounding record on ‘Mushin 2 Mo’Hits.’ This is remedied by a remix of the song featuring Ghanaian duo R2Bees, released shortly after the album’s launch. This Afrocentric version was the toast of the dance floor, an ace up the sleeve of disc jockeys to date. From its dramatic start to its thorough-going coda, Wande Coal is at his most irreverent. Somewhere between rap and toasting, he delivers improvisational lyrics rooted in the spirit of a breakaway freestyle.
‘Mushin 2 Mo’ Hits’ showcased Wande Coal’s range as a pop singer. He could conform within genres, and he could let conformity slide in the right environment. He could falsetto like Michael Jackson or sing-rap like T-Pain, if he was attuned. But every time he performed, his idioms and ethos were ultimately Nigerian—as was his primary audience.
In the 2000s, the equivalent of a music album going platinum on the Obafemi Awolowo University Ile-Ife Campus was every stall in New Buka playing that album at the same time. It was not unusual in 2009 to walk past different stalls at New Buka, each playing different tracks from Wande Coal’s debut album throughout the day, creating a choral loop of listening to every song on the album at the same time.
Every New Buka stall obtained copies of the albums from music stalls that sat on wheelbarrows at Lagere, Ile-Ife. Those CD albums travelled from Alaba Market in Lagos, where pirates copied them and later became legitimate through an unusual union between musicians, record labels and their former pirates. Strange bedfellows no doubt, but it was exactly what was needed at that phase of the genre’s development. Contemporary Nigerian music leveraged the pirates’ business model for mass reproduction and distribution, submitting their creative work for a sizable advance.
In 2009, Afrobeats was two years from being so named. Music blogs were fast becoming an alternative way of releasing music. Product placements and brand endorsements were providing alternative income to Nigerian musicians, as was revenue from touring locally. Mo’Hits had an advantage in their impressive roster of talented musicians but an Achilles’ heel: Don Jazzy. No matter how hard he worked, he found it difficult to produce more than one album a year. After Wande Coal’s ‘Mushin 2 Mo’ Hits’ came Dr SID’s joyous ‘Turning Point’ in 2010, which was even more fluent in the contemporary Nigerian-speak of ‘M2M,’ with Don Jazzy surpassing himself with exquisite production. At the time, it would have seemed impossible to improve, but Jazzy outdid himself in the early 2010s, the twilight era of Mo’ Hits.
In 2011, a young man of slight build who grew up in Surulere, a few miles from Mushin, would release his debut album, ‘Superstar,’ which reinterpreted the zest of Wande Coal’s ‘Mushin 2 Mo’ Hits’ for a younger audience, with an emphasis on catchy sing-along melodies. If Wizkid is the first apostle of Wande Coal, he is neither the last nor the most pious. Oxlade, Victony, and Fireboy DML, though from a younger generation, wear Wande Coal’s influence to varying degrees. All united by the irreverent exploration of the falsetto in animating earthy Nigerian lyrics and slang. None of them can deny the influence of Afrobeats’ vocal priest, Wande Coal, or his seminal dissertation, ‘Mushin 2 Mo’ Hits.’
Fireboy DML’s global breakthrough song, “Peru”, perhaps best expresses Wande Coal’s Afrobeats vision. Playful, earthy and surprising, it relies on relentless exploration of a melody with a joyous lyrical bounce. Fireboy DML pays proper tribute once again to Wande Coal on his record, “Wande’s Bop,” explicitly named for him. Around the same time, Ayra Starr, signed to Mavin Records, released the single “Jazzy’s Song” on her second album, which interpolates the melody of Wande Coal’s “You Bad.” Both “Wande’s Bop” and “Jazzy’s Song” complete the loop of Mo’ Hits’ legacy: Wande Coal’s ‘Mushin 2 MoHits.’
Ultimately, Wande Coal became an independent artist and released an underwhelming sophomore record, ‘Wanted,’ in 2015. His fourth album, ‘King Coal,’ has just been released to mixed reviews. The jury may be out on his entire body of work, but it is indisputable that ‘Mushin to Mo’ Hits’ was a debut full of light, delight and talent, and Wande Coal’s professional relationship with Don Jazzy on the record is one of Afrobeats’ most enduring legacies. It told several stories at the same time: the indestructible nature of talent; the relentless joy that music expresses; that music could be both a relic of time and a time machine; and that great beginnings can sometimes just be that: great beginnings.
