Silencing Nigerian rappers is not the answer to cybercrime
'Yahoo Yahoo' songs offer us an opportunity to assess the socio-economic conditions that help proliferate fraud
Nigerian Criminal Code Act, Section 419:
Obtaining goods by false pretences
Cash out by Bella Shmurda glorifies & encourages internet fraud.
— الكظم
(@Erl_Carxeeym) January 4, 2021
Since its October 9 release, Bella Shmurda’s inescapable “Cash App” has amassed as much controversy as it has plays – quite a feat, as it currently has over 25 million stream across YouTube, Audiomack and Spotify. Referencing his dubious mode of income, back when he was still hustling tirelessly to reach this point of success, Bella Shmurda has continued to receive backlash for his casual lyrics which explicitly mention the practice of ‘Yahoo Yahoo’, the ubiquitous term used to describe internet fraud in Nigeria.
In the past four months since the song has been released, internet users have continued to lambast Bella Shmurda for his ambivalent criminality, and the lack of remorse or accountability he shows when putting it on wax for thousands of impressionable “youths” to hear. Alongside comparisons to violence in Hip-Hop, petitions advocating that the Nigerian Broadcasting Commission ban “Cash App” off the airwaves emerged, indicating the double standards many Nigerians employ in praising one genre of music whilst deriding the other for being guilty of the same thing.
Having spent sleepless nights taking risks, he sings on “Cash App”, Bella Shmurda is not afraid to flaunt his newly acquired commas, regardless of the illegal ways in which they are gained. Like Davido on “Dami Duro”, Bella Shmurda is singing about his life experiences with wealth, bragging about the money he’s earned in his lifetime. The difference is, Bella Shmurda wasn’t born to a Baba Olowo, as Davido was; his concerns weren’t spilling Belvedere in the club, getting girls, or trying to fend off money hungry leeches. Featuring Olamide of YBNL (Yahoo Boy No Laptop), Bella Shmurda’s 2019 breakout hit, “Vision2020” provides a lens through which we can investigate the rough road that he has travelled, with no end in sight, that led Shmurda, and many other young Nigerians like him, to allegedly take a left into a life of crime. Singing from his mother’s words, “better get that money, son/we are starving,” Bella Shmurda raises the gender imbalance that places the family’s need at the feet of the “man of the house” and his finances. Telling us he “hustled for six months, [I] no get money,” Bella Shmurda continues into his verse finishing, “I’ve been thinking o, I’ve been thinking o,” illustrating the long-lasting, hopeless desperation that led him into scamming.
Whilst Bella Shmurda’s circumstances do evoke pity, at the end of the day, poverty is not an excuse to defraud innocent people who have their own – financial or otherwise – struggles to face every day. Many Nigerians in his position would continue to work honestly, one can’t condone cybercrime simply because it is a symptom of the government’s failings, as Bella Shmurda is quick to remind us of “Vision2020”. Still, by understanding his motivations, “Vision2020”, “Cash App” and music detailing and inextricably glorifying cybercrime in general, offer us an opportunity to assess the socio-economic conditions in which Yahoo Yahoo proliferates in Nigeria.
Like knife crime is to Drill music, or gun crime was to Gangsta Rap, cybercrime has been the illegal vice attached to the Zanku music trend, right from its onset. Zlatan, who features on “Cash App”, who was arrested alongside Naira Marley as part of an EFCC investigation, and has long since been affiliated with this infamy in Nigerian society, broke out with a verse on “Able God” which outrightly encouraged struggling young Nigerians like him to invest in a laptop and get online (“kuro n’be ‘to ye ko lo ra lappy/ tete connect ki wan na le collect”) – a euphemism understood by all Nigerians to basically mean, “get into fraud.” If we listen to Bobby Shmurda who says, “Run up on that nigga, get to squeezing, hoe,” or UK Drill rapper, A.M whose lyrics narrate, “3-2 shots make man disappear/Bare bluss tings all over the gaff/Leave man’s face all open and that,” it is clear that music not only glorifies crime, but also, in some parts, actively encourages it as a response to one’s own circumstances – be it poverty or disrespect. However, as British Journalist Andre Montgomery-Johnson says in his documentary of Drill and knife crime, titled Terms and Conditions, “there’s so many things that you can look at. The lack of father figures, the lack of economic structure, the lack of activities, the lack of opportunities.”
Montgomery-Johnson might be speaking specifically in reference to Drill music, but the same can be said about Zanku music. To understand the link between Zanku music and cybercrime in Nigeria is to realise it’s an effect not a cause, existing only because Yahoo boys exist. By simply denigrating Zanku music and focusing on its hardly proven effects on youngsters, we are ignoring the symptom and avoiding the disease that is cybercrime. In our hyper-religious society, with its moral superiority complex, this is of course the easy way out, to make ourselves feel better about condemning yahoo without actually doing anything about the fraudulent practices that characterise Nigerian culture, such as the victim blaming that occurs when prices are unfairly hiked due to client profiling, or the virtue ascribed to those who are able to evade customs officers both home and abroad. Fundamentally, our society has been desensitised to fraudulent behaviour over the years, so there is a hypocrisy in criticising artists singing about their own reality (and, this writer would argue, a sense of problematic culture tourism in consuming a culture which we are not a part of, to which we cannot relate, with judgemental intentions).
Globally renowned for our scams, it is understandable why publicising our prevalent fraud problem is a particular trigger to Nigerians. But it is incorrect to ascribe the blame of our cybercrime notoriety to musicians; fraud has been brewing on our shores far before Olu Maintain put a dance to it on “Yahooze”. For at least a century, Nigerians have been running their scams abroad, with one of the earliest 419 documents dating back to 1920, according to Stephen Ellis’ This Present Darkness: A History of Nigerian Organized Crime. P.Crentsil – “Professor of Wonders” as he signed himself – was a fraudster who would write to foreign countries, including Ghana, describing how his supernatural powers could be used to the benefit of his mark, for a fee of course. Dubbed the “advance-fee scam” Crentsil’s M.O. is a confidence trick, described by the US’ Federal Bureau of Investigation as a scheme which “occurs when the victim pays money to someone in anticipation of receiving something of greater value – such as a loan, contract, investment, or gift –and then receives little or nothing in return.” On the Wikipedia page for “advance-fee scam” it takes only three paragraphs before Nigeria is highlighted as one of the countries in which this type of fraud is most prominent, given as the first and most detailed example.
The “Nigerian Prince” scam is the most notorious iteration of advance-fee fraud, dating as far back as the mid 1900s, with notorious Nigerian conmen, Prince Eket Inyang Udo, Prince Orizu (aka Dr Abyssinia Akweke Nwafor Orizu), Prince Bill Morrison (who was actually a 14-year-old boy) and Prince Modupe coming up as some of the earliest Nigerian Princes. In the mid ‘40s Wayo Tricksters emerged alongside these highly successful “princes” – they were financial scammers who sold victims boxes of blank paper, promising that, with the application of a particular chemical, these sheets would turn into valid currency. However, in the ‘80s, during President Shehu Shagari’s regime, was when Nigerians really settled into our deplorable stereotype.
The Shagari Administration of 1979-83 led by poor example; their corruption and overspending not only brought about economic downturn but also bred a culture of greed, entitlement and crime, naturally resulting in the increasing prevalence of fraud in Nigeria. As ever, during the Buhari administration that followed, things only got worse, and our “whether na legal or illegal” attitude deepened. Coinciding with the growth of the internet, which brought about tools such as translators and voice modifiers (that have only improved over time), and gave out criminals even more access to countries all over the world. Cybercrime boomed throughout the ‘90s, damaging our international reputation and resulting in the formation of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) in 2003, by President Olusegun Obasanjo.
With a history such as this, it becomes almost laughable to suggest Zlatan or Bella Shmurda are responsible for the cybercrime epidemic in Nigeria. For many years, fraud has been a lucrative mode of income and a well-practiced method of poverty alleviation. With our corrupt politicians looting from innocent people too – albeit for largely different reasons than to the disenfranchised youth – Nigeria’s problems do not begin nor end with “Cash App”, and pretending that shutting out the experiences of an entire demographic will somehow erase the problem, will only insulate the cancer of fraud from real and proper scrutiny.
Ultimately in the “Cash App” music video – where Bella Shmurda, Zlatan, Lincon and Dre Spencer (Mr Loader) rob the Bank of America – the criminal quartet end up trading their ice for prison stripes. Yahoo boys come and go, but unless Nigeria fully evaluates our values, customs and priorities, we’re going to be known as 419ers forever.
Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted his heel against me.
Psalms (41:9)
Featured Image Credits: Audiomack
ICYMI: CHARLES OKPALEKE ACQUIRES RIGHTS TO MAKE A BIOPIC ABOUT SHINA RAMBO, THE NOTORIOUS 90’S CRIMINAL
Afropop is the love child of its many influences
In a reversal of events at the turn of the 2000s, Afropop is profoundly reshaping the texture of music...
Over the last two and a half years, some of Afropop’s biggest stars have denounced the genre to advance their personal agendas. In a wide-ranging interview from 2023 with Apple Music’s Zane Lowe just ahead of the release of his last album, ‘I Told Them…,’ Burna Boy derided Afrobeats for a perceived lack of contextual subject matter. “Afrobeats, as people call it, it’s mostly about nothing, literally nothing,” he said. “There’s no substance to it. Nobody’s talking about anything. It’s just a great time, it’s an amazing time. But at the end of the day, life is not an amazing time.”
Just a few months later, Nigerian music superstar, Wizkid, also disavowed the genre, claiming that he was not an Afrobeats act and that his then-forthcoming album, ‘Morayo,’ would not be an Afrobeats album as he considered the genre – and the classification it infers – too limiting for the type of music he made. Predictably, fans were incensed by both artists’ stances and the casual dismissal of the genre that their statements invited. What was almost lost in the whirlwind of that discourse is that for all the attempts to capture the totality of African music under the loaded ‘Afrobeats’ label, African music has never been just one thing; and, in that spirit, Afrobeats itself has always been all-welcoming of a multiplicity of influences and styles.
From its earliest iteration, Afropop has always been a potpourri of sounds that took influences from various parts of the Black diaspora and distilled them with an African sensibility. The work of early Afrobeats pioneers like Junior and Pretty is a direct descendant of the burgeoning Hip-Hop blueprint of the ‘80s; while the early 2000s popularity of Ajegunle-based rabble-rousers like Daddy Showkey, Danfo Drivers, and African China occurred tangentially to the rising profile of Reggae on a global scale. The mid-2000s to early 2010s saw the arrival of several dulcet-toned singers like Banky W and Tiwa Savage rooted in the R&B and Soul traditions, introducing a slicker dimension to Nigerian popular music. As always, homegrown stars adapted these foreign styles for their own market while continuing to work on a distinctive style that centered genuine indigenous expression and ingenuity.
Over the years, the fruit of those experiments has ripened to produce a scene that’s bustling with life and talent. As the genre has attained global attention, many sub-genres have come to the fore, showcasing the depth of African music on a global scale. If Wizkid’s sonorous melodies and unbeatable charisma made him the sun of Afrobeats in the 2010s, Olamide’s militaristic bars and Pop anthems rooted in their street sensibilities mark him out as the genre’s moon. It was on Oamide’s back that a nascent indigenous rap circuit rested. Taking the mantle of DaGrin, the Bariga-raised rapper who helped institutionalize rapping in Nigerian languages with cult classics like “Eni Duro” and “Voice Of The Street.” Along with the effort of other stars like Reminisce, Phyno, Lil Kesh, and CDQ, the indigenous rap movement gained steam and, recognizing the Nigerian market’s zest for melodies, soon morphed into Street-Pop, a distinct hybridization of local genres like Fuji, Apala, and Highlife.
Inspired by the work of their forebearers, a new crop of artists have taken Street-Pop to new heights. Zlatan and Naira Marley served as a transitory generation; together with Rexxie, they patented a more melodic take on Street-Pop while infusing a devil-may-care disposition that launched them to the top of Nigerian music. It is fitting that Olamide was the one to hand the baton to Asake, the biggest Street-Pop star of the moment. Similar to the YBNL head’s legendary album run, Asake has released three albums and one extended play in three years, each coming out to a world paying more and more attention to his work. Impressively, Asake has also established himself as a global touring star, regularly playing sold out arena concerts across the world with a music style that is rooted in Yoruba oral tradition.
Asake is not spreading the Street-Pop gospel alone, though. Ikorodu star, Seyi Vibez, has also grabbed mainstream attention for his gritty take on the genre. Initially a divisive figure, his 2023 song, “Different Pattern,” saw him reach a new level of cultural relevance in 2024 and his new extended play, ‘Children Of Africa,’ arrived in February 2025, marking a new era in his career. The yearning for a reclamation of cultural heritage that has created a Street-Pop golden era has not evaded other parts of Nigeria. Shallipopi’s drawling, sprawled-out sound mimics the playful pulse of South-South pidgin while Jeriq, hailing from Nigeria’s South-East, has emerged as one of Nigeria’s most acclaimed rappers. Outside Nigeria, there’s a yearning in Ghana to preserve the purity and history of its Highlife genre, an elemental component of Afrobeats. British-Ghanaian producer, Juls’, ‘PALMWINE DIARIES’ and ‘High Life Sessions,’ both pulsate with the beguiling riffs of the storied genre while the work of Nigerian brother-duo, The Cavemen, is reintroducing Eastern Nigerian highlife to a new generation of listeners.
A youth-led zest for exploration outside the framework of Afropop has also produced a sub-culture that rejects the tenets of mainstream conservatism. Beginning as a band of friends and collaborators who prioritized freewheeling experimentation, Alte music has emerged as one of the most important sonic evolutions of the last two decades. First championed by OG pioneers like DRB Lasgidi, LOS, and Show Dem Camp, the Alte community drew in left-field thinkers and madcap auteurs setting the stage for a new generation of stars to emerge from the depths of SoundCloud circa 2016. In the hands of stars like Odunsi (The Engine), Cruel Santino, and Lady Donli, the Alte experiment reached an unprecedented level of critical and commercial success.
Odunsi’s ‘rare.,’ throbbing with influences from ‘70s Disco and Funk, sits in the canon of great Nigerian debuts and Lady Donli’s ‘Enjoy Your Life’ artfully melded Folk music with Afrobeat and Soul across its 15 tracks. Taken along with the work of producers like GMK and Genio Bambino, these acts built a community that successfully created the blueprint for a sound that reflected the tensions and joys of younger Nigerians who saw life in a specific fashion. It even took flight beyond the borders of Nigeria with a young Amaarae cutting her teeth working alongside some of the most prominent names in the Alte community. The inventiveness and clarity of vision that the community prioritises is evident across both of the Ghanaian-American artist’s albums, ‘The Angel You Don’t Know’ and ‘Fountain Baby.’
In a reversal of events at the turn of the 2000s when Afropop was heavily influenced by outside sounds and genres, music from the continent is profoundly reshaping the texture of music outside its borders. Much like how the Windrush Generation and other immigrants from the West Indies helped to introduce Britain to Reggae, Dancehall and Soca, generations of African immigrants are making music that signals their African heritage, with Afropop as a base influence. The rise in popularity of African sounds has helped UK artists mesh the lingo and sonics from the continent into their work, creating a new genre referred to as Afroswing. Taking influences from Afrobeat, Dancehall, and Grime, Afroswing is distinctive for its use of lyrics from Africa with British rapper, J Hus, credited as one of its pioneers. Songs like J Hus’ “Did You See,” Ramz’s “Barking,” and Not3s’s “Aladdin” signal to the sound of the homeland and speak to Afrobeats’ incredible stride to global popularity as a base reference point for global Black music.
Nearly a decade out from “One Dance,” the Drake, Wizkid, and Kyla collab that pushed Afropop into a different stratosphere, the genre is in safe hands with several stars emerging across different sub-genres that speak to our past, present and future. It is perhaps more than the pioneers imagined when they were making music all those years ago, but all the roads have led here to Afropop being a global sensation that offers various forms of expression to a watching world. There are no limitations on what can be done within the genre, that sense of open-endedness and possibility was always our strength, and it’s why Afropop will stand the test of time.
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Togo YEYE & VLISCO’s new collaboration is a celebration of Lomé’s thriving creative scene
Togo YEYE is a community we are building for us by
Togo YEYE, a creative duo formed by Lomé-based creative director Malaika Nabillatou and London-based photographer Delali Ayivi, is a conceptual publication that was created to empower and champion Togo’s young fashion creatives. Since its inception in 2021, Togo YEYE has released several personal projects and has also partnered with a number of brands to further its hugely imaginative aesthetic mandate. For their latest collaboration, Togo YEYE teamed up with textile printing company VLISCO to present Blossoming Beauty. Tagged as a love letter to Togo’s creative community, the campaign captures Lomé’s scenic beauty alongside VLISCO’s vibrant prints with the aim of connecting the feminine grace of nature with identity and artistry.
What does Togo YEYE mean?
Malaika Nabilatou: My name is Malaika Nabilatou, I’m the creative director of Togo YEYE. I’m Togolese and I was born and grew up in Lomé. I see myself as a West African creative director and I’m working to be the best in a few years. Togo YEYE means new Togo in Ewe, one of the most popular languages spoken in the South of Togo.
What inspired you to create Togo YEYE?
Malaika Nabilatou: We started this project, my friend Delali and I, 5 years ago. We just wanted to show that Togolese youth are also creative. Togo YEYE is a community we are building for us by us. It wasn’t just a project for Delali and I. It’s become something for the creative scene of Lomé. Lomé is like our studio.
What role does Togolese culture play in your creative process?
Maryline Bolognima: For me, Togolese culture comes first. For example, in the South, there are the people of Anero. If you come, you can go to Anero. In the North, there are the Evals, so if you come to Togo, you’ll learn a lot.
What’s the most exciting part of working as a team on projects like this?
Malaika Nabilatou: I need to tell the truth, we dreamt about this campaign before [it happened]. When VLISCO contacted us, we were like wow. I can’t really explain how thankful we are to VLISCO for trusting us. Because it’s a risk that they took by trusting us, making that campaign here with our team and honestly we are going to keep it in our hearts for the rest of our lives.
Claudia Sodogbe: For me, it is the first big contract of my life that I had with Togo YEYE. I still remember, on the last day of the shoot, I was feeling nostalgic about separating from the teams and the others. It went well in any case, and I’m very grateful to have been on this project.
What has been your proudest moment as part of Togo YEYE?
Malaika Nabilatou: I think the proudest moment I had with this campaign was when I saw the result first on the website. When I saw the story, I was like “wow, we finally made it.”
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The Cathartic Melodies Of Mereba
Ahead of the release of ‘The Breeze Grew A Fire,’ we sat down with Mereba to discuss putting together her...
Mereba exudes a palpable warmth. When she speaks, as she did with me via Zoom one evening in late January, she’s gentle and perceptive, speaking in soft, meandering passages that paint an intimate portrait of the LA-based singer’s mind. Similarly, her stirring discography, which dates back to 2013, evokes a keen sense of serene intimacy. “I’m inspired by those little moments in life where you’re like “Ah that’s really beautiful,”” she tells me halfway into our conversation, making sense of the ethereal quality that her music possesses. “It could be an interaction between two people, it could be something in nature, it could be a memory I have. Those are the moments that drive me to go get my guitar and write a song.”
The 34-year-old singer, songwriter, producer and instrumentalist has been writing songs for as long as she can remember. Growing up between Alabama, North Carolina and Pennsylvania, as well as an unintended one-year stint in her father’s native Ethiopia, ensured that Mereba picked up a wealth of influences that would go on to inform her richly diverse and understated sound. After years living across multiple cities, she finally settled in Atlanta where she became a staple in the city’s indie music circuit. “There, I met my peers who I made music with and are still my peers to this day. People like J.I.D, 6LACK and my crew. We all were just coming up during a really rich time of music there so that was a big part of my journey,” she reminisces fondly.
In the years that Mereba lived in Atlanta, she released 2013’s ‘Room For Living’ and ‘Kotton House Vol 1,’ two extended plays that neatly outline the foundations of the balmy and eclectic style that she would perfect years later, leaving ample room for her soothing vocals and evocative songwriting to shine. She also joined Spillage Village, a musical collective that comprises others like Earth Gang and JID, contributing to various releases like ‘Bears Like This Too Much’ and the critically acclaimed ‘Spilligion.’ Following her time in Atlanta, Mereba moved again, this time to Los Angeles, where she signed her first major record deal and released her debut album ‘The Jungle Is The Only Way Out.’
Since the release of ‘The Jungle Is The Only Way Out’ in 2019, Mereba has continued to hone her unique sound, continually experimenting and ironing out the rich textures of her temperate style on subsequent releases like 2021’s ‘AZEB.’ Ahead of the release of ‘The Breeze Grew A Fire,’ her first project in four years, we sat down with the LA-based singer to discuss the story behind her well-received debut, her various influences as well as the process of putting together her highly-anticipated new album.
This is your first album in about five years. How are you feeling?
I feel really excited. I’m definitely excited to give my music back to the world again. I’m also ready for connection, performing the songs, and sharing these new stories.
You’ve been making music for a long time now, but do you still feel any nerves before a major release like this?
I don’t know if it’s nerves. I think I feel anxious about the fact that the music is being released and people are going to hear it. But I guess I’m anxious in a good way for them to hear the music, to get to experience what I’ve been toiling away at and what I’ve been excited about for a while. It’s more like a good anxiety.
I think the first time I came across your music was in 2019. I heard “Heatwave” with 6LACK off of your debut album ‘The Jungle Is The Only Way Out.’ I believe that album was sort of a breakthrough moment for you. Can you tell me a bit about how it came together?
That album coming together was quite a journey. I started ‘The Jungle Is The Only Way Out’ years before it came out. I had left Atlanta and moved to L.A at this point. I didn’t know so many people when I just moved and so I was kind of starting over in certain ways. I was writing a lot of songs that felt really powerful to me but they were sonically different from what I used to make before. I was also learning how to produce, I was in Ableton learning how to make beats and just produce my music. Because I didn’t know so many people, I couldn’t outsource some of these things so I was just experimenting on my sound on my own.
Over the years, the community that I was a part of in Atlanta, everyone started finding their way in music but we still stayed closely in touch even though I had moved to L.A. I featured on a song with J.I.D and that kind of got me back into making music properly again because at that point, I was working random jobs, my car got taken and I had to start taking the bus to work. I was living a completely different life. It was my friends that put me back in the zone. They would invite me to sessions and just remind me that I wanted to do this music thing. Then I started putting together songs I had made over the years like “Sandstorm” and “Heatwave” with 6LACK which we made way before the album came out and even my solo songs like “Black Truck.” Most of the songs on that album had come from that period where I was struggling but knowing I was meant for music somehow.
How many years did it take to put your first album together?
I’ll say about four to five years. They say you write your first album for your whole life. “Highway 10” is the first song I made on that album. I made that song in 2014 and the album came out in 2019. In the years before the album came out I was signed to a bad record deal and I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t release music. All I could do was just create and that ended up forcing me to just hone in on my sound.
After your debut, you released an EP titled ‘AZEB’ two years later. Listening to that project, it felt lighter than your debut which was a lot darker and more melancholic. Do you remember what headspace you were in when you made this EP?
I was definitely feeling a lot lighter when I was making ‘AZEB.’ I felt like I had shed a lot of the weight that I carried during all those years of uncertainty. I was in a much more hopeful place when I was making one-half of the project. The other half was made during the early days of the pandemic so it was like a mix. Songs like “Rider,” “Beretta,” and “My Moon,” those songs represent beautiful, light type feelings to me while some of the other songs like “News Come,” and “Another Kin” are more intense lyrically and sonically.
Let’s talk about ‘The Breeze Grew A Fire.’ How did you land on that as the title for your second album?
The making of that title was different from how I titled my other projects. It didn’t come to me right away and I decided to not force it, I believed it was going to come eventually. So the making of this album has always felt very gentle. In contrast to what I had been through for so many years, I felt like I was in a much softer space creating this album and this feeling of a breeze just kept coming to me. It was also kind of like springtime going into the summer and the idea of a breeze became so prominent that I was going to title the album breeze. But as I continued on the journey of finishing it, it felt like the album was saying something a bit more. I realized that the album wasn’t just about all these gentle feelings and relationships I’m singing about like friendship, family, and my son but these things also inspire me to live with purpose, conviction and to have a spark in me. Things that make people “strong” are inspired by these little moments and experiences that we have and less by the force of trying to make a fire forcefully.
You co-produced “Phone Me” and “Counterfeit,” the lead singles for this project and you’ve also produced a lot of your older stuff as well. I’m curious to know how taking the reins on the production side affects your music-making process in general.
I got really into producing during that period when I felt lost in life. I got into Ableton, playing the guitar on my computer, sampling my voice and just experimenting. So songs that I produced from ‘The Jungle Is The Only Way Out’ like “Sandstorm” and “Kinfolk,” were me experimenting a lot with learning how to produce. With this new album, the first two singles were heavily produced by my co-producer Sam Hoffman. When he sends me things that I like, I’ll add things to them and it could be the opposite as well where I produce a song and I’ll have him or another friend add something to it. That process is personal because I could completely be in my world and get the feelings that I want to convey out through production as well as writing the song out lyrically. When I unlocked that part of myself, it felt like my whole life that’s what I’ve been wanting to do. To be able to make the music arrangements and compositions come to life.
A lot of the time I would start with a simple beat or drum loop and I’ll build chords over it with my guitar. I experiment with writing when it’s bare and then fill in the production as I write the song. They’re a very interwoven process.
I’ve read that you’re heavily influenced by legendary acts like Stevie Wonder and Lauryn Hill. Are there other acts that inspire you when it comes to the production side of music specifically?
That’s a great question. In certain ways, I’ll say it’s the same people that I look up to because most of them produce. Interestingly enough, what I love most about these musicians is that they are very involved in the sonics of the music they’re making. So the people that you mentioned, like Stevie Wonder who mentored me and encouraged me to continue on the path of producing my music versus being a singer who works with a producer. I feel like it’s important to the language of an artist to at least know how to contribute in some way to the sonics of their music.
I’ll say Quincy Jones is the blueprint for me just because of the span of work that he did. He’s the concept of producer I’d like to work towards in my life.
Do you have a favourite memory from creating ‘The Breeze Grew A Fire’?
There are a few. There was a time when I made this song on the album called “Hawk.” The song is dedicated to a really dear friend of mine who passed away unexpectedly in 2021. It was not easy to write and when I first wrote the song, it was sad, slow and reflective of the whole situation. I listened to it after I made it and I started thinking about my friend and the things that he liked. He was a very expressive and hilarious person who loved dancing and dance music. At that moment a light bulb went up and I felt like the song needed to be more of a dance song because I wanted to make something that he would love and not something he would think is corny. It was a really beautiful moment musically and personally.
If there’s one thing you would like your fans or listeners to take away from ‘A Breeze Grew A Fire,’ what would it be?
I hope it brings a sense of comfort and warmth. I also hope it tells a clear story of what matters to me. I just really hope it makes people feel better, that’s really it. I think it’s one of those albums where it’s a personal album for me and I think it’s meant for personal moments too. I hope it lives in people’s lives in comforting ways.
Listen to ‘A Breeze Grew A Fire’ here
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