Bongeziwe Mabandla is walking. Behind him are lush green trees, the street quiet except for the sound of footsteps. It is some days after the release of ‘amaXesha’, the South African musician’s fourth studio album, and he’s momentarily resident in Maputo, the capital of Mozambique. This is the hometown of Tiago Paulo, the longtime producer of Bongeziwe who has produced his last two albums. They are rehearsing in anticipation of some shows the artist would be playing early next month in London.
“This is part of the shows that I’m actually rehearsing for,” revealed Bongeziwe in a recent conversation with NATIVE Mag. “We have, like, two sold out shows, and it’s just an exciting time”. The time is surely prime for Bongeziwe, whose album has been heralded following the release of ‘iimini’ in 2020. Some weeks ago, the musician premiered the soulful “sisahleleleni (i)” on COLORS, delivering an evocative performance while serving skin in a graceful yellow top. It was an extension of the run-up that set the ground for ‘amaXesha’, which is an album that reiterated Bongeziwe’s artistic focus on those shared intimacies of the human race.
“The whole album came about how do you go back to a relationship that didn’t work?” he says. “How do you approach that? How do you try and fix things with somebody that were broken? It’s all about relearning how to trust each other, relearning about the person, trying not to make the same mistakes, finding love again with somebody where there’s a lot of hurt.”
Exploring tensions borne from a romantic affair has been a recurring totem in Bongeziwe’s writing. ‘amaXesha’ pondered those tensions in a direct style as he’s seldom done, weaning bigger lessons from his distinct experiences and those he’s observed in the world around him. Bongeziwe admits that the reason why he thought the album was important because of the relationships he observed around him. “You find somebody who’s divorced, maybe, going back to his significant other, and giving the marriage a second chance. And I just thought about how that process would be – because you’re going against a lot of people who are surprised, who don’t understand it. And people are like, ‘How can you go back’?”
Mabandla considers ‘amaXesha’ a Side-B of the pandemic era album, honing into its themes of positivity and finding new perspectives within the narrative it espoused. ‘iimini’ means ‘Days’ and ‘amaXesha’ translates to ‘The Times’, revealing the progressive scope of Bongeziwe’s ideations. “Both of these concepts are about sometimes, we are living, and we unaware and we just going through our days,” he explains, “not knowing that one day, when we look back our lives we’ll know, ‘Oh, those experiences that I was having, those were the times of our lives’. You know, life happens through time”.
A lot of the writing happened during lockdown, in South Africa, where the artist was resident. “It brought a lot of challenges to the recording,” he says about the album’s creation process during that period. “I’d obviously start off at home and record my vocals and the guitar, and then send it to [Tiago] and we would talk over the phone, and then he would work on stuff, like put drums and bass and send it back to me. After a while, we were in the same space here in Mozambique to record together.”
Tiago, the often mentioned producer who steers Bongeziwe’s sound, was a member of the 340ml band. His former bandmate Paulo Chibanga had producedthe artist’s debut ‘Umlilo’, and one album afterwards, Tiago sought out Bongeziwe. Their first project was the award-winning ‘iimini’, where conceptual sonic flourishes were paired with evocative singing. ‘amaXesha’ parlays that understanding into riveting pieces with electro edges, offering a soundscape that continues Bongeziwe’s movement beyond the Folk tradition, yet retaining a characteristic soulfulness. “When I met Tiago, it felt like a really great match and it happened instantly,” said Bongeziwe.
He doesn’t consider ‘amaXesha’ as “straightforward” as the preceding album, although the careful listener might find sonic parallels. For one, it echoes his philosophy about what an album should do. “An album is about capturing a certain period,” he said. If the atmosphere surrounding ‘iimini’ was the growing career of Bongeziwe, the close relationship he was approaching with Tiago, ‘amaXesha’ is more personal and melancholic. To capture those emotions, the sound moves on similar motivations. Affirming its direction, Bongeziwe says: “It evolves on the experimental side”.
In the period before the 2010s, Bongeziwe Mabandla was unknown. At least, not in the music circles he’s dominating today. Prior to releasing music, Bongeziwe considered a career in theatre. He had grown up in the Eastern Cape, an area rich in Black and musical traditions, but Bongeziwe had plans to stake fresh territory. The world was changing, and belonging within English culture seemed the definitive medium for belonging anywhere of importance. In high school, he went by Bonge.
The move to Johannesburg would change Bongeziwe’s life forever. There he was supposed to become an actor, but found that “the training wasn’t as intense as I thought it would be,” as he said in an interview with Music In Africa. He was rather immersed into the world of art and music, where pro-Black ideologies had the philosophical edge on young people such as himself. That was when he decided to create art under his full name, and also to sing in his native Xhosa. “It was very black conscious music,” he says about the Jo Burg music scene. “Growing dreadlocks, claiming their culture and their language back. I wanted to be part of that because I knew it was very powerful; it was also very important. So I was super influenced by that”.
Having attended English schools all his life, this re-education was important in the new phase of Bongeziwe. He credits artists such as Simphiwe Dana and Thandiswa Mazwai for sparking the necessary flame of cultural reclamation, while seeing himself as working in the tradition of artists who’d casually release an album entirely written in Xhosa. “It was a statement,” he said.
Prior to signing a record deal, Bongeziwe worked with the aforementioned Chibanga of 340ml. They had created ‘Umlilo’, capturing the multifaceted sound of the artist. He had, after all, listened to artists such as Tracy Chapman, Asa and Lauryn Hill, whose solo work and as part of The Fugees taught Bongeziwe to translate his music with more intentionality. “[Chibanga] had taken the record to different labels in South Africa and there were times when I would almost sign to one, and then it wouldn’t fall through,” he says, “And then I had heard about SONY Music, and there were interested, and I think I heard in June, and only got to sign the contract in March the following year. So it took a long time”.
Behind the scenes, Bongeziwe mastered his craft. ‘Mangaliso’ was released five years later, in 2017, and was a calculated risk at broadening the perimeters of his sound. Emerging from the griot tradition did not mean he couldn’t build on their peculiarities; although estranging some section of his fanbase, the album proved a critical success as it was awarded the South African Music Award (SAMA) for Best Alternative Album. ‘iimini’ won in the same category three years afterwards, which would mean all eyes would be on Bongeziwe when the prestigious award comes by this year.
The more important acclaim for Bongeziwe is bound to be genuine musical connection, however. And that, he has lots and lots of. Early this year, when I really got into his music, I had searched for a live performance to watch. Finding one of “isiphelo (#untitled)”, he had recorded the video during the pandemic, a time when actual human connection was necessary but scarce. Mirroring the powerful emotions on display, the majority of comments on that YouTube page affirmed the transcendental pull of Bongeziwe’s music, whether in memory of a departed one or as a touchstone of a life-changing moment. Even something as commonplace as a breakup, which the song is actually about, becomes illuminated under Mabandla’s careful, soul-wrenching singing.
Perhaps this quality can be attributed to Bongeziwe’s connection with theatre, establishing close emotional honesty in his songs. This can be traced also back to the music he listened to at the start, how resonant those messages of love and life were. He had distinct taste from the start; not being necessarily drawn to popular stuff. “I liked that about myself,” he said, “That I was not listening to what everybody was listening to. I found my kind of music, and that was a major thing for me. It made me individual”.
In the South African music scene which is right now studded with talent, Bongeziwe sticks out like gracefully. During the course of our conversation, I brought up Lloyiso, an R&B singer who this magazine recently covered. Mabandla affirms he’s met the musician not long ago; and while a collaboration might be possible in the future, right now he’s promoting the stunning collection that is ‘amaXesha’. Each time offering fresh perspectives to listeners, Bongeziwe’s approach to writing embraces a practical dedication that renders it rich narrative quality, making him, truly, a most competent purveyor of the times.
“You know, I try and find topics that move me,” he says, now pulling on a strand of his hair. “I try to write about things that are important to me, that changed me and are important to how I live my life. If something really upsets me, I’ll go write a song about it. If something really makes me happy, I’ll go write a song about it”.
From working her way out of London’s Myatt’s Field, Tanika is now setting her sights on the bright lights...
Across a career that's in its second decade, Tanika has proven to be a force in her own right, holding her...
Across a career that’s in its second decade, Tanika has proven to be a force in her own right, holding her own on collaborations with Black British stars like Stormzy and Wretch 32, as well as popular record producer Naughty Boy–working with the Grammy-nominated beatmaker on his acclaimed ‘Hotel Cabana’ album.
Following a stint as an actor, she returned to the studio in 2021, releasing a new extended play, ‘333,’ in 2023. The project carried all the hallmarks of Tanika at her tantalising best: lilting cadences, well-paced narratives, a songwriting that reaches for the heart of the matter.
On her latest song, “Fst Fwd,” she’s growing into her own and stepping into a new era. In many ways, “Fast Fwd,” a hypnotic, sultry anthem, is landing just in time for summer revelry. Produced by her longtime collaborator, Naughty Boy, her silky vocals land effortlessly on the mid-tempo instrumental and pulsates with her desire for her love interest.
Joined on the song by her fiancé, Kida Kudz, they make an interesting duo and replicate the synergy they had on “Nobody,” off Kudz’s 2021 ‘Top Memba.’ Distinctively marked by use of neon lights, the video for the song captures the effervescence of romance that Tanika hums about throughout the song.
From working her way out of London’s Myatt’s Field to becoming a star with millions of streams, Tanika is now setting her sights on the bright lights of superstardom. Ahead of the official release of the single, we had a brief chat with Tanika about her career, the influences for “Fast Fwd,” and working with KIda Kudz on it.
Her answers, which follow below, have been lightly edited for clarity.
How would you describe where you are in your career right now?
I’m just enjoying the journey.
What does the release of “Fast Fwd” signify for you?
It signifies love.
Why is Kida Kudz a fit for the song? (
To be honest, we didn’t plan to do another song together. I have worked on two records with him before (“Nobody” and “Tasty Time” ) but we never thought to shoot a video for it.. “Fast Fwd” felt like a real testimony of our present moment in the relationship.
You’ve worked extensively with Naughty Boy and he’s helped with “Fast Fwd,” what’s your relationship like and why does it work?
Naughty Boy knows me very well. We’ve known one another for over 10 years, so he knows what fits me musically. We gel. I think him knowing me and being a fan of Kida’s music made it all work. Naughty Boy does his listening before he makes a beat for you. A lot of producers don’t really understand the importance of knowing the artist musically but he does.
What were you aiming for with the video?
To be honest, I’m aiming for nothing. I’m just enjoying the journey. It’s been a very long road and I know I still have a long way to go.
Dutch textile brand Vlisco recently unveiled its latest campaign ‘The Garden Of Sisterhood,’ as part of...
Dutch textile brand Vlisco recently unveiled its latest campaign ‘The Garden Of Sisterhood,’ as part of its women’s month celebration. The campaign, which looks to extend Vlisco’s rich legacy in African fashion and its ongoing celebration of creativity and cultural storytelling, takes inspiration from Congolese musical icon Fally Ipupa’s latest single, “Mayanga.” The song’s accompanyingmusic video was shot in the Ivory Coast, and seamlessly balances Ipupa’s signature soulful Rumba music with intricate floral motifs and soft, elegant colour palettes that celebrate the strength and individuality that blossoms through community.
In addition to Fally Ipupa, Vlisco also tapped up Ivorian fashion designer Loza Maléombho and Nigerian director Daniel Obasi to contribute to ‘The Garden Of Sisterhood’ campaign. Maléombho’s unique designs and Obasi’s striking storytelling helped contribute to actualising Vlisco’s distinct aesthetic and vision of merging heritage, creativity and fashion.
In a statement discussing the collaboration with Vlisco, the Congolese superstar described it as a beautiful experience. “They understood my vision of working with talented artists and honouring the beautiful women who wear Vlisco fabrics. By creating exclusive designs for me and the remarkable women in the cast, Vlisco really brought our artistic vision to life, harmoniously fusing music and fashion,” he said.
Similarly, Marlou van Engelen, the creative director of Vlisco, expressed that it was an honour working with Fally Ipupa. “His song ‘MAYANGA’ perfectly reflects our admiration for the women who shaped us, inspire us, and mean so much to us. For us, it’s not just about fashion; it’s about the stories told through our beautiful prints. And I believe the best stories are always told together,” she said in a statement.
Having worked across every area in Nigeria’s sprawling music scene, T.G Omori’s lore has taken on an...
There are two types of producers in the industry: those who approach the art with a keen sense of...
There are two types of producers in the industry: those who approach the art with a keen sense of business—they know how to sniff out opportunities, and are generally aware of industry-wide trends and currents—and those who set the tone, who set the standards. The latter group is the animating force of the industry, TG Omori says in a 2022 interview with Korty EO. During the interview, he’s slouched in his seat, framed against the backdrop of a grand piano, wearing a bandana, dark shades, and a silk Hawaiian shirt—the first few buttons undone to reveal a glistening silver chain. In the intervening moments—fractions of a second—before Korty responds to the loaded assertion he just trotted out, the air is thick with balmy anticipation and nervous excitement “Which group do you belong to?” She asks, lancing the tense air that had inflated sharply like a balloon. “Me? Which group do you think I belong to?” He fires back, his mouth drawn into a smile.
Music video production, is at its heart, an art form that is significantly beholden to the vision and whims of the music artist and label executives. Music video directors—rightly—have to walk the tightrope between sufficiently distilling the essence of a song into a video and managing the desires and whims of an artist and their representatives. The problem, however, is that in between all of this, there’s often little wiggle room for the director to execute his ideas significantly. The result is often a situation where the music video director becomes diminished from an artist to a little more than an artisan. TG Omori, however, has in his long career railed against this. There’s no doubt that like his peers he has to straddle the demands of the song and the vision of his clients, but he does this without effacing his distinctive creative language. He has a fluency in packing his work with heady joy, a joy that pervades and steadies Nigerian society despite the many challenges it’s faced with.
TG Omori stumbled into music video direction by chance. He had been struggling as an actor, begging directors for roles as an extra—his skits and sketches from this period are still available on the internet—when it dawned on him that achieving success as a performing act was incredibly difficult. He noticed that a lot of upcoming actors were struggling to get by and often had to abase themselves in the process of currying favors with directors. The role of film director slowly started to worm its way into his heart, driving a wedge between him and his acting aspirations. Finally won over, he made the pivot to filmmaking, eventually settling on music video direction on account of its relative ease.
His early works lack his distinctive style, instead taking inspiration from directors before him. Consider YCee’s “My Side” which he directed in 2018. The video opens with YCee perched atop a high-rise building. The colors are muted, contrasting his current works which generously deploy bright hues and saturated lighting. There’s a gorgeous scene where YCee is framed against a wall with slits. Shafts of light stream in from behind him, creating a transcendent portrayal of an animated silhouette enveloped in light. The entire video evokes the elevated minimalism of Moe Musa. Think of the opening scene where YCee saunters atop a high-rise building, it’s a motif that has been deployed countless times by Nigerian directors, but something about that scene—the minimalism of the setting juxtaposed with dynamic camera movements—brings to mind Moe Musa’s video for Olamide’s “Bobo.”
While his early works lack his signature–the distinctive exuberance we’ve come to know him for–they hold kernels of what would come to be. Even in the muted ambiance of “My Side,”we see an early iteration of the pristinely dynamic camera movements that sweep through his oeuvre. In the video of Olamide, Wizkid & ID Cabasa’s “Totori,” released in 2019, his directional language starts to take form. He was contracted at the last minute to film the video—he had less than a day to come up with a concept, marshal his crew and steward the logistical aspect of the shoot, and yet in this pressure cannon, a gem was formed.
The video contains just one main scene—one of the few vestiges of the shoot’s hurried nature. We see Wizkid and Olamide encircled by an energetic crowd. A circle of dark bodies sways to the beat, handkerchiefs flailing in the air. We also see the flamboyant lighting that has come to define TG Omori’s work. There are light sources outside the frame but the scene itself is illuminated by a clever array of light sources. Moving headlights cut through clouds of smoke, LED lights and tungsten bulbs of varying colors suffuse the atmosphere with warm iridescence. The effect is the feeling of being transported to a rave. What’s perhaps most striking about this video is that, having been hastily formulated, it contains a single scene, and yet not one minute of it feels boring or repetitive.
Having worked across virtually every area in Nigeria’s sprawling music scene T.G Omori’s lore has taken on an almost mythic quality over the years. However, nowhere is his impact more pronounced than in the Nigerian Street-Pop scene. Today, Street-Pop has largely ridden itself of its underground status. Artists like Seyi Vibez, Shallipopi, and Asake imperiously lord over charts in the country, each boldly raising the banner of their respective cities and hoods. But this wasn’t always the case. In Afropop’s early days, Street-Pop was relegated to the margins, sneered at by industry gatekeepers for its brash flourishes, even though the mainstream routinely tapped it for inspiration. By the early 2010s a new generation of Street-Pop acts—Olamide, Phyno, and Reminisce amongst others—would elevate Street-Pop’s profile to historic heights. But it still maintained an insidiously tense relationship with the mainstream.
The first signs of an industry-wide shift–the shift that has blossomed into Street-Pop’s hegemony today–arrived in 2019 at the height of the Zanku movement. The addition of “movement” underscores just how significant Zanku was. On one front, it’s the title of Zlatan’s titular 2018 hit and an acronym for the phrase “Zlatan Abeg No Kill Us.” But it’s also used to denote a distinct flavor of Street-Pop characterized by skittering drums, cascading percussion, and a laissez-faire style of delivery—heralded in late 2018 by Street-Pop folk heroes like Zlatan, Chinko Ekun, and Naira Marley.
When culture critics reminisce on the Zanku era, the focus is usually on the artists who spearheaded it, but T.G Omori’s contributions to that period of Street-Pop’s ascendancy are impossible to ignore. While the artists shaped the sounds and dance steps that defined its grassroots appeal, it was T.G Omori who gave it its distinctive aesthetic. His early collaborations with Zlatan—most notably on “Shotan” and “Bolanle” offered a template for how the videos of the era could be presented on screen: hyper-stylized yet rooted in the whimsical chaos of street culture. His use of slow motion, jump cuts, and dynamic tracking shots turned what would otherwise be yet another ephemeral trend in Afropop’s dynamic history into a cinematic experience that embodied the feeling of the era.
His video of Naira Marley’s “Soapy” is especially telling. Arriving in the wake of Naira Marley’s arrest by Nigeria’s anti-graft agency, the Economic and Financial Crimes Commision (E.F.C.C.), the video very cleverly satirizes the experience, framing him, as well as others who were arrested alongside him—Zlatan and Rahman Jago, amongst others—as heroes as opposed to criminals. It’s important to grasp the significance of this. Street-Pop acts had always been treated with suspicion. There almost seemed to be a tacit consensus that regardless of their success or status, they mirrored an unsavory part of society, and so they deserved the asterisk that seemed to loom over their every move. The arrest of Naira Marley and his posse only served to further strengthen this narrative. TG Omori’s video, however, spun an alternative narrative, a hagiography perhaps, from this fraught situation. The video opens with annotated mugshots of the group, their names tacked onto each mugshot. Through TG Omori’s lens, prison becomes transformed from a place of despondency to a sanctuary where friends happily muck around, regaling themselves with games and bubbly dancing.
TG Omori’s influence in shaping emerging sonic movements extends beyond the Zanku era. It’s impossible to recount Asake’s rise without considering the video director’s input. 2022 marked Asake’s singular and meteoric rise to fame. His music blurred the boundaries of genres, creating an amorphous sound spread across the continent with intensity. His ascendancy also broke the boundaries between Street-Pop and mainstream Afropop, marking the dawn of a new era. TG Omori played a pivotal part in Asake’s early days, crafting a freewheeling visual aesthetic to match Asake’s disposition for subversion. In the video of Asake’s “Peace Be Unto You,” we see his freewheeling ethos at its peak. The song’s themes span faith, hustle, success, and street credibility. In the hands of a lesser director, the video would have followed the familiar script of a grass-to-grace narrative. TG Omori, however, rejected that cliché in favor of a more abstract approach.
Each of the themes explored in the song is distilled to a representative scene, the scenes are then cleverly stitched into a brilliant whole. The opening sequence sees Asake on a motorcycle, a formation of riders trailing behind him. As he rips through the freeway, doting fans wave and scream in adulation. Watching this scene, one is tangibly enveloped in the feeling of street credibility, the sense of ascendancy, that Asake explores in the song. It’s poignant and symbolic, conveying the essence of the song in a manner that would be difficult to achieve with a literal narrative. Similarly, the video of Seyi Vibez’s “Shaolin,” TG Omori’s inaugural work following a health-induced break, defies any discernible narrative logic in favor of a freewheeling approach. The video’s boisterous energy almost seems like a bold assertion of his continued reign; as if to say “I’m back like I never left.”
In August of 2024, through a series of heart-wrenching videos, as well as tweets, TG Omori let the public in on his health challenges. In a tweet, he revealed that his only brother gave him a kidney, so he could live again. He revealed that the transplant failed and, later, brought on thoughts of mortality. In one harrowing photo he posted on his Instagram stories, he’s hooked to a life support machine, the words “I don’t want to die” superimposed on the image. In the intervening moments, prayers and well-wishes poured in from all corners of social media. In recent months, however, he appears to be in better health and has fully thrust himself back into work, with “Shaolin” being the first of many projects he has lined up.
Eight years after his directorial debut, he remains not just relevant, but the frontman in an industry that’s as cut-throat as it gets. It’s uncommon in Nigeria’s music scene—for a video director to maintain this level of dominance for nearly a decade into the game. It’s his fidelity to subversion and his unique perspective on the art of videography that has earned him his position as Nigeria’s foremost video director. To watch a TG Omori video is to be transported into a world of his creation: where the sun pulses with exuberance, foliage throbs with palpable life, streams of light vibrate with saturated colors, and the streets are perpetually packed with graceful black bodies. It is a world where, regardless of the tyranny of fate, joy manages to always streak through.