Review: ‘Swaguu’ by Seyi Vibez

It’s wryly amusing that the very first words Seyi Vibez utters on ‘SWAGUU’, right on the opener “Volume”, go thus: “Have mercy on me, e no matter my money, e no matter my luxury, I need more money to take care of my family.” There is something almost pre-emptive about that plea. If ‘SWAGUU’ is the record where Seyi begins seriously angling beyond the Nigerian market, perhaps the subtext is that he already knows there will be something to answer for. After the conspicuous materialism of ‘FUJI MOTO’, where both money and luxury seemed to acquire an almost ideological importance, Vibez now seems to be offering a more defensible reason for wanting more of both. 

Amiri Baraka writes in ‘Black Music’ about how easily we “take for granted the social and cultural milieu and philosophy” that produces music. Street-Pop has become the genre it is today because there is something imaginatively alive about it, a quality that captures the essence of that fugitive thing we call soul. It has taken some convincing to get to this point of broad acceptance, because it was not always this way. In 2022, I wrote about some of this when Street-Pop was still being met with a peculiar mixture of contempt and fascination that had followed it for years. There was a certain elitism in the grudging acceptance of the music and the culture that gathered around him. A lot of the unsavory language used to describe the subgenre was really a way of describing the people who made it and, by extension, those who loved it.

 

Yet, the artists responsible for the best of the music kept that soul extant, preventing the genre from slipping sterilely into the echo chambers of middle-brow Afropop culture. Because the majority of Nigerian popular music is built on the need to flex, there is a tendency to enforce those standards of excellence as criteria for performance on a music that, in its most profound manifestations, is completely antithetical to such standards. Street-Pop has been one of the most potent artistic forms available to young Nigerians who had something to say about their lives; artists who felt that impulse went naturally into the music itself. When Seyi Vibez emerged at Afropop’s commercial peak with a style unlike anything before him, he was almost too hot to handle. He had a certain je ne sais quoi that embodied the full expression of everything we love to hate about the streets.

Seyi Vibez’s masterstroke was never simply that he represented the streets—a generation of formidable artists, including Asake, Zinoleesky, T.I Blaze, was already articulating that experience. What set him apart was that he seemed to understand how much could be done inside the form. Loseyi could be prophet, professor, and griot at once, giving language and melody to feelings that often existed ineffably. For young Nigerians constantly waiting for prophecies to become manifest, songs like “God Sent” and “Dejavu” remain channels through which spiritual work is done to us that might not have been accomplished otherwise. He also had the charisma and brio to turn almost anything into quality Pop that could take over the zeitgeist. Now, Seyi Vibez has fully come into his own, and ‘SWAGUU’ finds the fantasies that once animated his music a little closer to reality.

 

Listening to ‘SWAGUU’ for the first time, the first question that comes to mind is: who is this album for? Burna Boy, its executive producer, has already made his feelings about the economics of Nigerian streaming pretty clear. In 2025, he wrote off the significance of topping local platforms, arguing that the money attached to those numbers was too little to mean much. That stance casts a long shadow over Seyi Vibez, an artist who has spent the last few years accumulating the kind of Nigerian streaming numbers most musicians would kill for. If those domestic streams have hit a hard financial ceiling, wouldn’t it be sheer folly to keep squeezing blood from a local stone when he’s already maxed out the territory? The Burna Boy connection makes the play fairly obvious: this is Seyi putting his money where his ambition is, trying to turn the enormous audience he has built at home into a passport for somewhere else.

Even without much of the anarchy and hijinks of Seyi Vibez’s heyday, ‘SWAGUU’ is full of songs that show he still possesses the materials to make some of the richest music of his generation, music that honours the history of his subgenre while adding to the larger story of African popular music. “Volume” is a stellar curtain-raiser, laying down an expectant tone. From there, the record fluctuates, with pretentious missteps like “Back 2 U” sneaked among genuine highs like “Pansa” and “Ilome“. On the latter, Seyi is calm, but do not be fooled by the placidity. The song’s sensual minimalism seems to do very little while quietly doing a great deal, submerging itself in the lush waters of the Niger Delta and its musical memory. Seyi moves between Bini, Urhobo, and Yoruba references over warm Highlife riffs and sharp Ogene accents, while his invocation of “Joromi” binds his modern craft to an older West African sonic heritage.

 

Elsewhere, the dissolute “Akpan Akpari” offers plenty of fuel for Detty December, while the buzzer-beater “Oble (Original)” gives the artist room to reclaim a phrase he authored–one that DJ YK Mule’s “Oblee” subsequently embedded in Nigerian party culture– on “Flakky”. The run from “Alubarika” to “Oble (Original)” is so solid that when we get to the final track, the title track with Quavo, whatever rise the preceding songs have gotten out of you is immediately snuffed out—it is not a bad song, just painfully thin.  In an interview with Apple Music’s Africa Now Radio about the album, Vibez calls it the record that completes ‘SWAGUU’, but completion is exactly what it lacks. Though Vibez molds his cadence around Quavo’s Atlanta Trap flow and staccato delivery, there is virtually no chemistry to justify a collision of styles. “SWAGUU” simply drones on without finesse, bringing the album to an oddly deflating finish

If you can set aside nostalgia for the Seyi Vibez of 2023, ‘SWAGUU’ is a fairly decent portrait of an artist wrestling with the price of his own ambition. The album is heavy with the feeling of old dissolving to make room for the new. The vicious creativity that fuels a Nigerian artist’s debut has always been an unsustainable flame. Truth be told, the Nigerian audience can be impatient and short-winded, but that would matter less if home were not so routinely treated as a mere stepping stone to the real prize: a Euro-American audience with a transient appetite for the exotic. 

Crossing over is a gruelling walk through fire, one that not every artist is able to make through successfully to the other end without collapsing into empty, desperate husks. Seyi Vibez began that walk with the tepid ‘FUJI MOTO’, and ‘SWAGUU’ finds him still working it out, only this time with a clearer strategy and Burna Boy by his side. But the African Giant seems hardly equipped to chaperone another artist through a crossing whose costs he is still tallying himself.

Seyi Vibez is too self-aware to sever his tether to home; instead, he attempts to make compromises, indigenising his foreign ambitions to get the best of both worlds. This leaves him caught in a liminal space, a weird in-between that is occasionally painful to watch and reflected directly in how uneven the album sounds. When Loseyi trusts the strange, specific musical intelligence that got him here, ‘SWAGUU’ cackles into life  and becomes spellbinding; but because he is caught between what he has already mastered and what he believes might exist beyond it, the spell often breaks.

Listen to ‘SWAGUU’  here.

Spotify’s Surround Sound Is Collapsing The Distance Between Performer and Fan

Posted on by Melony Akpoghene

Few records are as etched into our collective memory as Runtown’s “Mad Over You”. Its 2016 release fundamentally recalibrated the cadence of West African Pop and soundtracked an entire era of continental nightlife. Four years later, Tems released ‘For Broken Ears’, a soul-baring EP that served as a watershed moment for Alternative R&B out of Nigeria, setting off a global ascent that shows no signs of slowing down.

Though born from distinct cultural temperatures, both projects remain resonant, drawing in fresh ears while holding firm with day-one listeners. “Mad Over You” keeps transcending from a snapshot of a specific Lagos summer into a cross-generational staple, while ‘For Broken Ears’ is more or less like an open doorway, constantly onboarding millions of new listeners who use it as their initial entry point into Tems’ wider universe. Spotify’s data backs this up: ‘For Broken Ears has introduced nearly 19 million first-time for Tems listeners since 2023. Meanwhile, “Mad Over You” maintains its relentless momentum, crossing 140 million streams to date, with 2026 plays already eclipsing its entire 2025 total.

To celebrate these parallel legacies, Spotify brought its immersive Surround Sound experience to Lagos, placing both artists at the centre of an intimate, in-the-round setup designed to completely collapse the distance between performer and fan and capture how these distinct bodies of work continue to live, breathe and shape listener habits today.

We spoke to Victor Okpala, Spotify’s Senior Artist & Label Partnerships Manager for West Africa, about what the listening data reveals about these releases, why they were chosen for Surround Sound and what their sustained tailwind says about how audiences discover — and return to — African music.

 

‘For Broken Ears’ and “Mad Over You” came out at very different points in Nigerian music. What are you seeing in the data around how people are listening to both records now?

What is interesting is that, despite coming from very different moments, both continue to have a life on Spotify today. ‘For Broken Ears’ is an important early point in Tems’ catalogue, while “Mad Over You” has had years to become part of the cultural memory around Runtown and Nigerian music. With ‘For Broken Ears’, the project has reached 185 countries, and 21.6% of listeners in the January 2022 cohort were also listening to the EP in August 2026. We also have separate discovery data showing that the EP has introduced nearly 19 million first-time Tems listeners since 2023. “Mad Over You” tells a different catalogue story. The song has generated 140.7 million streams to date, including 36.6 million in 2026 year to date, already exceeding its full-year 2025 total. Nigeria remains its leading country, while 81% of streams in the geographic reporting table come from outside Nigeria. The key is not to force the two datasets into the same story. ‘For Broken Ears’ gives us evidence of continuing discovery as well as overlap between two listener cohorts. For “Mad Over You”, we can see substantial current listening and a broad geographic footprint, but this dataset does not tell us when individual listeners first discovered the song. Both are strong examples of catalogue having a life beyond its original release window.

What specifically made ‘For Broken Ears’ and “Mad Over You” the right records for Surround Sound in Lagos?

What made these two performances particularly interesting for Lagos is the relationship both artists have with Nigerian listeners, while their music has continued to travel well beyond Nigeria. The listening data reflects that. With ‘For Broken Ears’, Lagos is the second-largest city globally for streams of the EP. For “Mad Over You”, Nigeria is the leading country and Lagos is the leading city, while six of its top 10 cities by streams are in Africa. 

The two performances also give us different ways into Nigerian music and cultural memory. Tems revisits ‘For Broken Ears’ as an important origin point in her catalogue, while Runtown places “Mad Over You” at the centre of a performance that traces the wider journey of his music. That also connects naturally to the fan experience. Selected Spotify Premium listeners are being invited based on their listening behaviour, so the room is built around people who already have a relationship with this music. The data helps us understand that relationship; the live setting gives some of those listeners an opportunity to experience the artist and the music at much closer proximity. The performances are then captured as full-length films that can extend the moment beyond the room.

‘For Broken Ears’ is nearly six years old, but it still draws in new listeners every day. What does its shelf life say about how music lives on streaming platforms?

I think ‘For Broken Ears’ is a good example of how a project can continue to evolve with its listeners. In streaming, a release does not have to be defined only by the moment it first arrives. People can discover it years later or return to it in a different context. Spotify’s available discovery data shows that the EP has introduced nearly 19 million first-time Tems listeners since 2023, including 4.9 million in 2026 year to date.  Separately, 21.6% of listeners in the January 2022 cohort were also listening to the EP in August 2026. That does not mean uninterrupted listening, but it does show that some people present in an earlier cohort are still present years later. That is what makes catalogue music interesting. A project can take on different meanings as new audiences find it and earlier listeners return to it. Surround Sound gives us a reason to revisit that body of work through a live performance rather than treating its release date as the end of the story.

“Mad Over You” is a decade-defining hit. How are younger listeners, who were probably too young when it dropped, engaging with the song now?

Spotify’s demographic reporting cut shows that around 43% of “Mad Over You” streams come from listeners aged 18–24. That tells us younger listeners make up a meaningful share of current listening, but it does not tell us when or how they first discovered the song. So, I would not frame this as a measured discovery story. What the data does show is that the song’s present-day audience is not limited to people who experienced its original release. Surround Sound gives us an opportunity to explore what the song means to different generations now.

 

Why was it important for Surround Sound to place the artists in such a setting?

From a music and culture perspective, the intimacy matters because the artist is at the centre and fans surround them. Their reactions become part of the performance, especially when the music already carries strong memories and associations. For me, that closer artist-and-fan relationship is the key distinction. The full-length film then gives that specific Lagos moment another way to travel beyond the room.

Lagos is a global music capital, but its listeners also set the pace for what travels. What does the data show about Lagos as both a generator and consumer of culture?

The data in this briefing is stronger on how these Nigerian catalogue stories travel than on everything Lagos listeners consume from elsewhere, so I would not overstate that part of the question. What we can say is that Lagos ranks second globally for ‘For Broken Ears’ in the supplied city data and first for “Mad Over You”, while both stories also reach well beyond Nigeria. That is the Surround Sound connection: Lagos provides the cultural context, and the films let these specific performances travel.

Adey Still Has His Fingers On The Pulse Of Popular Music

Posted on by Michelle Ejiro

Several components make Adey’s story compelling. It could be producing one of Nigeria’s biggest hit songs, “Juice,” having global production credits on Kanye West’s ‘Vultures 1,’ or showcasing his multifaceted talent as a songwriter and singer, with his most acclaimed single “Cigarettes” sitting at almost a million Spotify streams. However, the version of this story that stays with me—and perhaps best underscores his artistic prowess—comes halfway through our conversation. 

As we speak over Zoom on a chilly afternoon in July, tiny raindrops sliding down my windowsill, Adey asks if he can play me some of his unreleased demos, a request I was happy to oblige. Before the demos begin blaring from his laptop speakers, I can already tell his confidence is at its highest, and I wonder if it is a trick question when he asks whether I am a fan. I withhold my response, curiously allowing him show-off his stacked private catalogue, ranging from groovy, sexy bedroom records; to a score I could have sworn was straight out of an Afro-futuristic film; to a distinctly produced song seemingly tailored for The Weeknd, Adey’s voice seamlessly floating on the beat, the lines becoming blurry as to who would have been the perfect fit for the song.  

 

Whenever he pauses to ask if I can pick out an element or two from each record, it becomes clear that he does not just want me to listen, he wants me to be completely immersed in the music the same way he is, our excitement radiating through the screen. I realised then that even if I wasn’t already  a fan, his flex as a man who is aware of his own greatness and deeply committed to his work would have been enough to convert an unbeliever. The only difference is that for Adey, this goes beyond that brief moment; there’s a decade-long body of work trailing behind him, and it certainly speaks for itself.   

Most people might be more familiar with Adey’s production work than the side of him that sings, but by the end of our conversation, his range is unmissable whether as a producer or an artist. He is in complete sync with his creative alter egos and that is the magic that distinguishes him. Growing up, he was exposed to an eclectic mix of influences so varied that it is difficult to trace them back to a single source. But the most pivotal moment in his musical journey came during his second year of junior secondary school, when he discovered on Christmas Day that he could actually make music. 

Ever since, he’s sunk neck deep into his craft, capitalising on his nerdy traits to be an exceptional creative genius, one who’s unafraid to challenge the status quo. His resilience and authenticity continues to drive him above all else. “I always try to learn something new every day,” he tells Native Mag. “I think you always have to strive to be better than you were yesterday. That’s one of my personal philosophies. That’s kind of how I live.”

What initially drew you to music production?

I’ve been playing piano since I was four. That’s always been the foundation. When I got to secondary school, I discovered I could actually make music. I made my first songs on a keyboard, got into digital music from there, and also played in church. That’s where it all started.

You mentioned a particular moment when you discovered you could make music. When was that?

It was a Christmas concert. I found the looping feature on a Yamaha keyboard. You could make little loops and layer things. That’s when I realized I could actually put music together, and it immediately became the most interesting thing I was doing. I didn’t revisit it until A-levels, about four years later, when the technology had caught up enough that I could get software on a laptop and start properly learning.

So let’s talk about one of your biggest records ever, “Juice,” tell me everything about it. 

I had a dream about the song. I was making it for my artist at the time. I was with an A&R, caught a vibe, went on YouTube to listen to some Ghana bounce, and married that with the R&B I was doing a lot of. My artist didn’t like it because it wasn’t what was popping then. I shopped it around, YCee heard it, recorded a demo, we took the good parts and built the song. Then we spent four or five months trying to lock down a feature. Nothing concrete came back. Eventually it dropped and immediately took off.

 

How does it feel seeing it in rotation every year?

I have a lot of good and bad memories tied to it, so I don’t think about it much anymore. What the song was designed to do for people, it did. What it was supposed to do for us on the back end as producer and artist, it didn’t. Bittersweet. I’m happy people enjoy it, but that’s about as far as my feelings go.

Can you elaborate on what it didn’t do?

When a song grows that quickly, a lot of pressure comes with it. If you don’t have the right people around you to advise and guide you, you fail to capitalize, especially on the administrative side. For two years, I didn’t know I could claim streaming revenue or royalties. All that money was just disappearing. Some deals were cut using the song and I was cut out of them. I’m not blaming YCee at all, we’re still friends, and we still work together. But the administration around it really ruined it for me.

Let’s talk about your work with Ye. How did it come about?

Something I always teach people: it doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve done, there are periods where you have to be quiet, listen, and learn from others. So, I sent my sister Mowalola some stuff. She liked it and asked if I could come to Italy. She has been working with Ye for close to 10 years. I never pressured her to play him my stuff. I’ve always let her build herself rather than trying to attach myself to it. This time, she was genuinely interested in getting me in front of him to see if I was useful for what he was working on. She called and I got flown out to Florence within 24 hours.

There, I met Ye and a lot of his regular collaborators. I immediately understood my role there was minuscule. My objective was to make myself as useful as possible, sometimes carrying equipment, contributing to conversations, watching others work without constantly saying “I can do this or I can do that.” I was with them for about six months, assisting here and there. I became friends with Bump J, who’s a very close friend of Ye. He loved Afrobeats, so we were always writing together. Eventually one of those songs ended up on ‘Vultures,’ I got credited for it. But that wasn’t really what I wanted to take away. It was just the first step.

What happened next?

Two years passed, then he called me again—this time to Mallorca, Spain, to work on an album. He brought me in as an engineer. The first person I met was Tony Williams, his cousin, who’s done vocals on ‘Graduation’ and ‘College Dropout’— he’d been with Kanye as long as Kanye’s been making music. I started recording with Tony, and because I’m musical, I’d give him feedback on harmonies. He noticed I wasn’t just an engineer and asked what else I did. I told him I produce. We started making stuff together and kept working.

One day Ye was having a meeting upstairs—fashion-related, I wasn’t involved. I was downstairs in the basement making something. Someone came in to close the door so nobody could hear me. Then from upstairs: “Yo, turn that shit up.” It was Kanye. He asked who was making it and told them to bring me up. I went upstairs, played him what I had. He said, “Okay, you’re no longer an engineer. You’re in production now.” That was exactly what I wanted. He immediately started repurposing the beats I was making for different projects, gave one to Christian Combs, gave one to Tony and said we should finish it together. That’s how we made a bunch of songs. One became “Souls Outro,” a Christian Combs featuring Ye record. Another became “Mission Control,” which is on Ye’s album.

 

Do you think more collaborations will happen?

I think so. I have to be careful. I don’t want to exploit the relationship. I want to be useful and ready when called upon, not forcing myself into things. I have to play a long waiting game, and it’s very difficult because the temptation is always there to message him directly or message his people asking if they need beats. For me, it was never about money. The real challenge is: can I meet the standard of one of the greatest producers of all time and contribute meaningfully? That’s what I’m setting myself against.

What would you say is his creative process? What stands out?

There are certain instruments he doesn’t like, and certain instruments he loves, and you have to give him more of what he loves. You figure that out over time and start skating the line between what you do well and what he wants. There’s a lot of push and pull. It’s a new challenge every time, and I always look forward to it.

As someone who’s contributed to music both locally and internationally, what separates the two soundscapes, and how do you add your own touch?

Honestly, the main thing I’ve noticed is that people here don’t listen enough. They come in with their own experiences and assume those trump yours, and it creates friction. When that happens, I mentally check out. I’ve actually stopped working with a lot of Nigerian artists because of it. I want to work with people I can learn from and who are willing to learn from me. It’s a push-pull thing. But ego is too prevalent in the industry, and it’s frustrating.

Can you break that down?

People are not willing to listen and learn and I can’t work with somebody I can’t learn from and is not willing to learn from me. I need to understand your sound, and you need to draw on my experience. If that exchange isn’t happening, I’d rather refund your money and go home. It’s happened several times this year already. 

When you are in the studio, what’s your actual production process like?

I start by listening to what you’ve been doing to get a feel of your range, your vocals, and where you’re comfortable. Then I start building around that, and I’ll push the envelope a little to see how far you can go. If you can’t get there, I pull it back. I like that collaborative nature. I’m not just making beats in silence while you sing. I’m heavily involved in songwriting, melodies, and arrangement.

 

“Cigarettes” is approaching a million streams on Spotify, but most people only know you as a producer. How do you balance both sides?

I’m very selfish when it comes to my music. I make songs to listen to in my car, genuinely just for myself. That’s why I don’t really promote my releases. I have a bunch of songs sitting together as an EP. I don’t know yet if I’m going to drop them. I’m secretive about that side because I’m never going to perform those songs. I don’t want to. When friends come over, I play them. Last week I went to a club specifically to hear what one of the songs sounded like on a big system. Went up to the DJ, gave him 40k to play it. He loved it, and ran it back about 20 times. That’s the artist’s side of me, it’s a shadowy figure. Someone who doesn’t really exist in the physical world. Just a digital ghost trail of songs somewhere.

So far in your journey, what’s been the most challenging part, and what kept you going?

The work with Ye was definitely the hardest stretch. I was doing runner duties, getting snacks, setting things up. I’ve clearly passed that level, but it’s what I needed to do to get my foot in the door, regardless of my sister’s relationship with him. Mowalola’s relationship with Ye is not my relationship with Ye. All she could do was give me access. What I did with that access was up to me. I found myself at the bottom of the food chain and had to fight my way up. I made it. I didn’t let pride get in the way, and that was the best part.

What are some personal philosophies or quotes you live by?

I think you always have to strive to be better than you were yesterday. That’s one of my personal philosophies. I always try to learn something new every day. Your day isn’t wasted because you didn’t do anything. Your day is wasted because you didn’t learn anything. I’m very well researched. I could be watching a video about solar panels, watching a video about fridge repair. It might not be relevant to what I’m doing, but I’ve learned something new, so I feel a bit more accomplished. That’s kind of how I live.

What key changes in music production do you appreciate over the past decade, and what do you wish hadn’t changed?

I like that production is more accessible now. Tools like Splice, pre-made loops, let people without formal music knowledge sketch out ideas. Anyone can have a hit song now; there’s no real barrier to entry. I appreciate that, even though it’s a double-edged sword. The flip side is that respect for the craft gets diluted. But I can’t knock it, because I’ve seen people with no theory knowledge put loops together and make something almost as good as what someone trained for years would make. What I do wish had stayed the same is that the high barrier pushed people to really develop. Knowledge is pressure, and that pressure produces craft. Now, someone can bypass all of that and still compete, which is interesting, but also means some people overestimate themselves because of it.

What do you think music production in Nigeria will look like in a few years?

I think there’s a reset coming. The bar from audiences is currently very low, artists can go up and say almost anything over a good rhythm and it lands. I’m hoping for a reset that brings back real skill in production, writing, and delivery. More of the same isn’t what I actually want to see. I’m hoping for a shift in the soundscape.

How Asake’s Style Has Evolved Over The Years 

Posted on by Naomi Kuete

From old singlets and Ankara trousers to locs and military style-inspired tailoring, Asake’s fashion has evolved alongside the man behind the music. Before the designer clothes and multiple fashion week appearances, there was Asake in a changing room, pulling on an old white singlet. In 2022, NATIVE Mag caught up with him for a cover shoot at the beginning of what would become a career defining run. 

At the time, he tried on a pair of Ankara trousers from Lagos skate brand, waf., telling his stylist Momo Hassan-Odukale: “I like to wear old singlets.” It was a simple statement that said something about the artist: He knew what he liked. That instinct and an ensuing spontaneity with his looks informed by the things he liked would become one of the most recognisable parts of Asake’s image.

 

When he broke into the mainstream with the ‘Ololade Asake’ EP in 2022, his style was rooted in the same environment as his music: oversized clothes, sneakers, jerseys, and other staples of Lagos’ streetwear culture. Most noticeably, though, were the twisted locs. It lended him a certain casualness. He didn’t arrive looking like someone trying to manufacture a Pop-star identity from scratch. 

‘MR. MONEY WITH THE VIBE’

By the time ‘Mr. Money With The Vibe’ arrived, the circumstances around Asake had changed, So had  his wardrobe. His outfits became louder and more intentional. Oversized trousers, statement accessories, sunglasses and bright colours began appearing alongside the streetwear that had defined the previous era. His locs became another layer of the experimentation, appearing in different colours and arrangements. The appeal of his new look was having luxury sit beside Lagos streetwear without one cancelling out the other. He could look luxurious while maintaining the air of authenticity that allowed people to connect so easily with him. 

 

‘WORK OF ART’

Asake had become more interested in his image, developing a more visible interest in fashion. His clothing became more experimental while the locs, which by now had become an integral part of the artist’s visual identity, had become increasingly sculptural. At Paris Fashion Week 2023, Asake appeared at shows including BOTTER and Sacai, wearing a futuristic cobalt-blue look, silver sunglasses and statement footwear at one appearance, then a more restrained all-black look with a heavy chain at another. 

Speaking to PAUSE Magazine that year, Asake called Fashion Week “phenomenal,” explaining that he loved looking good and wearing good clothes and that being there allowed him to meet people who shared that interest. He also described fashion and music as two different expressions of the same person: both were elements of who he was, even though they could exist independently. In 2024, Asake cut off his locs. It was a simple act that kickstarted a major visual epoch. His signature locs had followed him from the beginning. They had been twisted, dyed, and sculpted, but they had remained the most consistent feature of his appearance. The timing is significant because this happened as Asake entered the ‘Lungu Boy’ era. Instead of replacing the locs with one new signature, he started moving through different hairstyles: box braids, cornrows, shorter hair and eventually an afro. His appearance was becoming more difficult to predict.

 

There were also tattoos. By this point, Asake’s body had become another part of his visual identity. The large “ASAKE” tattoo across his neck was particularly striking, but its story was more personal than simply wanting to look different. In his 2024 GQ profile, Asake explained that he got the tattoo during a period when he was feeling discouraged about his music career. He had been tired and questioning whether he wanted to continue. The tattoo was, in his words, a way of giving himself no other option but to keep going. He also had “Stay Real” tattooed across his hands. Beyond fashion, some of his tattoos are reminders of the person behind the music.

‘LUNGU BOY’

Lungu Boy arrived with an Asake who looked markedly different from the artist on his first two albums. The locs were gone. His hair was shorter. The tattoos were more visible. The styling was edgier. But the connection to home remained. Asake’s fashion has always had room for Nigerian references, whether through native fabrics, traditional silhouettes or the way he mixes them with contemporary streetwear. His early stylist Swazzi has spoken about that balance, including his use of African designers alongside international brands.

“MILITARY”

By 2025, the changes to Asake’s looks were more spontaneous than ever before. He moved through braids, lower cuts, coloured hair and other styles before eventually appearing with a clean fade and, later, a completely shaved head. At the 2025 Grammys, another version of Asake appeared: dressed in a custom military-inspired outfit created with his friend PDF. When asked about the look, he had a simple explanation: “I’m in my military time.” It was an authentic Asake answer.  Later that year, ESSENCE asked him about the continuous hair transitions and what they meant. Again, he framed the changes around evolution and growth rather than presenting them as a rigid fashion strategy.

 

‘M$NEY’ AND THE FREEDOM TO CHANGE 

By the ‘M$NEY’ era, the question was no longer what Asake’s signature look was. There have been too many. The clothes have followed the same pattern. There are still oversized silhouettes and streetwear references, but they now sit alongside luxury pieces, experimental styling and looks that would have been difficult to imagine on Asake in his early days.  Yet, the basic instinct hasn’t changed. In his interview with GQ in 2024, Asake recalled that even as a child he used fashion to stand out, describing it as “putting pieces together, trying to be different among everybody.” 

Although it is tempting to divide Asake’s fashion evolution into neat eras, he doesn’t exactly dress in neat eras, with each defined by completely different style directions. Rather, the styles overlap. The old influences—streetwear and his interest in exaggeration—keep returning. What seems to not change is his willingness to let go of something once it becomes too familiar. That is why the 2024 haircut feels like such an important moment. Not because we can say with certainty that cutting his locs meant he was leaving one version of himself behind. Asake hasn’t made any public statement to that effect. 

It matters because the locs had become so deeply associated with him, and he chose to remove them anyway. His career has grown. His hair has moved through phases. His clothes have evolved. But the person putting the pieces together hasn’t changed as much as it might seem. Asake has always wanted to look like Asake. Perhaps that is the real thread running through all of his fashion eras: not one signature outfit or neatly distinct eras, but the freedom to keep becoming.

BLNDE IS STAKING HER CLAIM ON ‘BLNDE FOR PRESIDENT’

Posted on by Michelle Ejiro

After attracting mainstream attention with her viral hit single “Omo To Sexy” released in 2025, fans of Afropop singer, songwriter, and rapper BLNDE have patiently been anticipating new releases from the artist. Following the track’s success, she scored a remix with veteran Popstar, Tiwa Savage, and released another single, “UPGRADE,” early this year to keep her newfound momentum going, while actively teasing her upcoming body of work. 

 

After months of running a faux presidential campaign with the tagline “Vote for me?”  BLNDE’s debut studio album, ‘BLNDE FOR PRESIDENT’ has arrived. The 7-track project is the perfect response to fans who have been waiting to see what more the artist has to offer. It sticks to the familiar theme of the singles that had come before it, imbued with self-praise and bouncy, danceable beats. The album opens  with “VIP,” where she proclaims herself  the “most influential”, echoing similar sentiments expressed on her 2023 debut single, “S.B.B.” 

On “CHAUFFEUR” she converts the coordination of her movement from location to location and the kind of energy she brings into a room into alluring music. The following tracks, “MISS ME,” and “RINGA” continue to lean well into the confident persona that BLNDE embodies in all of her music. The tail end of the project  comprises her previously released singles including  the sexy, IT-girl anthem, “OMO TO SEXY,” and the revving “UPGRADE,” where she sings about her money-centric lifestyle and the unbreakable bond she has with luxury. 

 

Throughout the17-minutes runtime of  ‘BLNDE FOR PRESIDENT,’ BLNDE stays true to the poised, unfettered style of music that propelled her to popularity and that recognisable cadence that she maintains on the album will certainly appeal to fans who have been clamouring for more music. 

Listen to  ‘BLNDE FOR PRESIDENT’ here. 

Iteoluwa Akinsete’s Performance Of  Kenny G’s “The Moment” and Asa’s “Jailer” Carried The Weight Of Intentionality 

Posted on by Wale Oloworekende

Although the bassist is one of the least singularly visible members of a live band, much of the rhythm the audience perceives travels directly through the bass guitar’s low-frequency range. In contemporary live performances, especially in genres such as Amapiano, Afrobeats, and high-energy African gospel, the instrument links raw percussion and harmonic structure. It responds to the drummer and helps drive the sound’s physical movement. 

This interplay took centre stage on September 19, 2026, at TEDxWibsey, hosted at the Bradford Arts Centre, where Iteoluwa David Akinsete performed as an accompaniment to Samuel  Ogundapo (Dayo Sax). The segment’s success relied on the dynamic interplay between bass guitarist Iteoluwa David Akinsete and his wider ensemble. A common arrangement would have been to make Iteoluwa Akinsete a background accompaniment, but instead he functioned as a co-architect of the set as they worked through inventive performances of Kenny G’s “The Moment” and Asa’s “Jailer.”

The performance opened with smooth phrasing inspired by Kenny G, deliberately utilising familiar jazz aesthetics to draw a diverse auditorium into a shared emotional moment. Akinsete’s performance recontextualised the music, grounding a mainstream smooth-jazz framework inside a distinct African sonic heritage that brought the performance of “The Moment” alive. His position in the group acted as a stabilising anchor, holding onto the low-frequency bass necessary to keep the key players aligned.

At turns across the performance of the song, his execution provided the critical artistic weight of the set, dictating the shift in cultural energy as well as carrying the emotional undertone of the performance through strings. His ability to move from steady, ambient room-filling resonance to sharp, syncopated African pocket-playing provided its physical drive. Without that structural anchor, the performance risked remaining a pleasant interlude; with Akinsete establishing the rhythm, the set became a compelling demonstration of cross-cultural adaptation and artistic dialogue.

By the time that Asa’s “Jailer” was broached, Akinsete’s groovy basslines took on a place of more distinctive prominence. The basslines percolated as the rhythmic undertones shifted, bringing a sense of relief to a charged performance. The performance demonstrated how a lead bassist can hold the dynamic centre of an intellectual assembly, driving rhythmic movement while maintaining the clarity required for a seated, attentive audience.  

Throughout Akinsete’s performance at TEDxWibsey, he demonstrated how an essential band member operates as a cultural and technical bridge. By bringing the rhythmic complexity of Western and African live arrangement onto a TEDx stage, his work shows that consistent technical discipline and stylistic adaptability enable an instrumentalist to articulate complex ideas and establish a clear artistic identity across global cultural networks.

Interview: Jabulile Majola’s ‘Ipasi’ Will Find You Where You’re At

Posted on by The Native

If you look past the tenderness and soul-searching rumination of Jabulile Majola’s ‘Ipasi,’ it’s clear to see that the Pietermaritzburg-born musician is writing towards the heart of uncertainty. After years of doubling down on a sense of certitude that played out in his approach as a rapper, a pivot to Afro-Folk has seen him embrace life as a mysterious living thing that we don’t always have a handle on. Starting with 2025’s ‘Isitifiketi,’ Majola has been working towards a journey of endless self-discovery. 

“What I’ve learned mainly is the fact that there’s certain questions that we ask, but sometimes you will never actually find the answer,” he said in an interview with Apple Music’s Africa Now Radio. “As you grow older, your perspective towards those questions will change. I think you will go through your whole life and you will never figure that out, but your perspective about what you initially asked would have changed.” Less concerned with universal truths, ‘Ipasi’ was intended to function as a document of identity, mapping out how grief, love, and passion changes the human consciousness and what comes through after these experiences. 

For Majola, it was the passing of a sister that sent him down a journey with language and emotions, ultimately inspiring this orchestral suite of 11 songs that reflect the singer’s ability to bend his voice around even the most anguishing feelings, all in service of acknowledgment if not resolution. “It’s not an aspirational vibe,” he says about his sophomore album. “It must get you exactly where you’re at with your life and it must connect you to that reality. It mustn’t take you away. It mustn’t make you escape and all of those things, because there’s something that is very beautiful about staying within the tension if you are struggling.”

How did you gravitate towards music? 

I was born in Pietermaritzburg, but three days after my birth my mother disappeared without a trace. Four months later, I was then adopted into a children’s home that was run by my father, whose name is Angus Buchan, and he’s an evangelist. So, I grew up in the children’s home with 26 other siblings and I think the most vivid memory I have of is when I fell in love with the music at around seven years old. At seven I already knew that this is something that I really wanted to do without a shadow of a doubt.

What role does faith play in your career?

I’d say faith was definitely an anchor. I’d say faith was also very much based on questions. When I talk about questions, I talk about asking the questions from an honest place. From a place that is willing to actually understand and change where you need to change. So, there’s a humility within believing. There’s a sense of approaching everything as opposed to arriving. Even the question of salvation or the perspective of salvation is not necessarily arriving at an answer.  It’s actually the beginning of asking questions that continue to push you further and further into the likeness of Christ. 

How did grief lead you back to your mother tongue?

 I always knew that I could speak my mother tongue and I always knew that I could imagine it in that way as well. But what I found about the mother tongue is that, at least for a good perspective, you can’t really hide within the language. It just is what it is. There is not so much colourful language that you can dress it up with to hide that actual emotion. It’s just like you crying straight up. So, for the longest time, I stayed away because it was hard to actually be vulnerable. It was hard to actually bring out the real emotion to be yourself.  With my sister’s passing, it was just this idea of like, “Okay, what else do I have to lose?” Another thing is that because of how we were raised, I know Zulu and I’m Zulu but I’m not all the way there. I don’t pretend that I’m more Zulu than I am. But the one thing that I know for sure is that it’s Zulu because I grew up around people that really spoke isiZulu the way they did. I have massive respect for the language as well, that’s why I was very intentional about how I’m gonna write the songs. I’m not gonna just use the everyday Zulu or the Joburgified Zulu. I wanted to really go as deep as possible with it. 

What changes had to happen in your life in order to be able to make ‘Ipasi’?

It was how I viewed hope. It’s how I viewed myself as well.  What I’ve learned mainly is the fact that there’s certain questions that we ask, but sometimes you will never actually find the answer. As you grow older, your perspective towards those questions will change. I think you will go through your whole life and you will never figure that out, but your perspective about what you initially asked would have changed. And maybe you will say to yourself, “Oh, I shouldn’t have asked that question.”  Or your question by that point in your life will actually change into something else. Something that is less demanding, something that is more open to actually learning even way more than you had initially asked for, Those things for me have really shown me I’m growing. I realized another thing that changed for me is realizing that I will not figure it out. My father is almost 80 now, he’s still asking questions and figuring this life thing [out]. To me, that is scary because I’m in a position in my life where I’m like, “Yo, I haven’t figured out anything.”  I thought by the time I’m 31, I would know all of these things. Sometimes we put so much pressure on ourselves and you’re like, “Yo, I can’t believe I haven’t figured all of these things out.” But then you get a person that’s almost 80 that is like, “Yo, I’m still figuring it out.”  I think it’s such a reassuring thing and that’s what life is really about. Life is so beautiful because we are still children, to some degree.

How has pursuing your dreams cost you in terms of belonging?

When you pursue your dreams, one thing I noticed is the fact that you will find that there are many other people that are pursuing their dreams. Then there’s also a lot of people that are afraid to pursue their dreams. I noticed that you become a lone wolf when you pursue your dreams, honestly. Some of us wanna pursue our dreams, for various reasons, but some of us actually, are too afraid to do that. Most of the time, 90% of us will not actually go for the dreams.  It’s always gonna be that 10%, and the 10%–it’s not that they become ostracized or excommunicated from the group–but it’s just that they are different from everyone else. I noticed that for me, the cost of me pursuing my dreams forced me to be disciplined. I can’t explain how the force worked when I was disciplined, I just knew that there’s certain things that I can’t do if I want to be alive to see this thing come to fruition. There’s certain routines that I started to adapt. There’s certain ways of thinking that I had to let go of because you believe in yourself when you leave school, and then life tells you with, “Hey, this whole hyper-motivation stuff where it’s like you can do anything, it’s not true.”  There’s a lot of things that can stop you, actually.. You start to realize, hey, I’m gonna work hard and all of that stuff. I’m not knocking down people that work hard. But I do believe that you are also in God’s mercy, in that not everybody will get to that point where they realize everything they’ve ever dreamed.

Some of us live 10% of our dreams. It doesn’t make it less, it’s just that’s what God allowed. That’s what God allotted. You are paying rent too. So, like, there’s certain things that are gonna happen that are beyond your control, whether you like it or not. That is the cost of following your dream. It’s knowing, some of us, we pursue the dream, and just the night before we reach that dream, we die. It doesn’t mean that your life was meaningless. It just means that was your lot. That’s what the beauty of life is. That’s what equalizes everybody. I think the cost for me was knowing that I might never reach my dream, and I need to be okay with it. That’s the cost. Now that I’m growing older, that’s why I have a problem with hyper-motivation where it’s like, “Nothing can stop you. You can do it, you can get there.” I think to myself, “I can think of many things that can stop you.” The point is the fact that there’s a divine agency that has given us our lot in terms of what we get to live. At the end of the day, we are not so independent and fully in control. Once we realize that, I think we pursue our dreams humbly, where we’re like, “You know what?  I have this dream, hopefully it can link with God’s will for my life, and that’s where I get to live my dream.”

Do you go with the flow and how does that affect your songwriting?

I was talking to someone yesterday, and then I was saying to them that the most difficult part of recording the album was the fact that there’s certain songs that I thought I hated, but it’s not because I hated them, it’s the fact that I wasn’t content with it.  I had written the song. I had the initial feeling that I love this song. But now I’m like, “I’m an artist. I’m supposed to be writing five songs a day.” Then I neglect the very song that came from a pure place because I feel like I need to be doing so much. I’m not even enjoying what I’ve just done. We rob ourselves of these moments to actually be so connected and be present with what we’re actually doing because we feel like there’s more that I still need to do. 

If ‘Ipasi’ were a film, who is the man we meet in the opening scene and who is he in the final scene? 

In the beginning of the album, “Umuzo Okhanyayo (Libo),” basically is a song [about] a blind man speaking. A blind man obviously can be a sailor as well who’s lost at sea and all of that stuff. There’s a part of the song where it’s from the scripture where Jesus spits on the ground and then takes the soil and puts on the blind man’s eyes and all of that. It’s basically talking about how the first person the blind man saw was the person who loved him enough to make him see. I don’t ever want to be a person that says, “I can see,” yet I’m blind or “I am not sick,” yet I literally need the doctor. I think that’s the most dangerous place that we can be. We used to do this in class, because we didn’t want to be looked at as dumb, where the teacher’s like, “You understand?” You’re like, “Yes, ma’am.”

You will never get help and that comes from pride actually. It is pride. It’s ego, it’s pride. So, the first song is like a humble thing where I know I can see physically, but I can’t see. Help me see because I have questions. It’s also about asking the questions honestly enough. Throughout the album, I’m going through the album as this person that is seeking, and this is the crazy thing.  At the end of the album “Ububele Bakho (Nala),” I’m basically saying, “I have  found love.” I’m talking about what this love has done to me. In the beginning, I was seeking for this love, I was seeking for this hope, I was seeking for comfort, I was seeking for direction. At the end of the album, I’m saying, “I have found kindness. I have found kindness.” There’s a part where I say, “I have found kindness that has opened the doors of my heart. I have found kindness that has extinguished the year, my years of famine.” It’s brought abundance in my life.  It took me from the dirt, it took me from the dirt and made me a human being. 

How do you navigate identity and change?

The reason why I went from ‘Istifiketi’ to ‘IPasi’ is because it’s still the same person, but he’s changing. He’s growing, his perspective is expanding, and all of that. I feel closer to becoming, but I know that I’m okay with where I’m at. You have to be because you don’t know what the future holds. I think if I’ve become very comfortable, oh, I feel like I’m becoming something. I do believe that you can become something, and everything that you become gets tested.  I’m okay with where I’m at and whatever change comes in my life.  When the tides change and I’m shaped in a different way, then I have to be okay with that because I don’t govern that process as well.

What do you hope ‘IPasi’ achieves?

Someone asked me what I would like to achieve with this album and all of those things, and I didn’t have an answer for a while, but what I realized is that I really would like this project to get to people exactly where they’re at in their lives. It’s not an aspirational vibe. It must get you exactly where you’re at with your life and it must connect you to that reality. It mustn’t take you away. It mustn’t make you escape and all of those things, because there’s something that is very beautiful about staying within the tension if you are struggling. For me, it’s like [I want] this album to find you where you are and keep you there so that when you come out, you are a different person than you were when you went in there.

These Extended Plays Have Broadened Afropop’s Imagination Over The Past Decade

Posted on by The Native

Some of Afropop’s most defining musical statements have come in deceptively small packages. Across the last decade, the EP format has given artists a compact space to experiment and capture pivotal moments in their careers without the weight of a full-length album. 

From career-launching debuts to impressive collaborative projects, these are 15 of the best Afropop EPs from the last 10 years. 

‘Last Daze of Summer’ – Maleek Berry – September 2016

When it was released in September 2016, Maleek Berry’s ‘Last Daze Of Summer’ marked a giant leap for African music, settling on a fluid blend of African rhythms and Western-facing sonic styles in a way that would come to be a critical part of the genre’s evolution just five years down the line. It wasn’t innovation for novelty’s sake, though; on songs like “Kontrol,” “Let Me Know,” and “Eko Miami,” Maleek Berry proved he could stand with the smoothest of Afropop’s operators. – Wale Oloworekende. 

 

‘Chemistry’– Falz & Simi – October 2016

A decade ago, Simi and Falz struck gold with their undeniable sonic chemistry, which began with the success of their 2015 single, “Soldier.” Falz’s faux-Yoruba accent and comic, Hip-Hop-inflected lyrics fused seamlessly with Simi’s alluring, silky vocals, creating a project so convincing that their collaboration quickly evolved from praise for their talent into dating rumours. – Michelle Ejiro.

 

‘WAR’ – Odunsi The Engine & Nonso Amadi – April 2017

Early on in his career, Odunsi The Engine had a clear affinity for R&B; from his cover of Donell Jones’ “This Luv” to his breakthrough single “Desire,” the genre played a defining role in shaping his early musical identity. So it made perfect sense that he teamed up with Nonso Amadi for this breezy four-track EP in 2017, a near-perfect project that feels like a time capsule for the burgeoning alternative R&B scene of the late 2010s. – Boluwatife Adeyemi.

 

‘Make E No Cause Fight’ – Boj and Ajebutter22 – May 2018

For years preceding the release of ‘Make E No Cause Fight,’ Boj and Ajebutter22 had struck a partnership that just worked, blending distinct parts of their worldviews for songs that ruminated on everything between the modern manifestation of romance and 21st-century living. The release of ‘Make E No Cause Fight’ turned those disparate dispatches into a well-honed statement on tracks like “24” and “Yawa,” while “Tungba” continues to be a cult classic from 2018. – W.O.

 

‘SoundMan Vol. 1’ – StarBoy ft. Wizkid – December 2019

Arriving out of the blues in late 2019, this seven-track sampler is the blueprint for the lush, mid-tempo space Wizkid later perfected on ‘Made in Lagos.’ Working as a chill curator, Wizkid recedes slightly into the background, casually letting room to producers like Kel-P and guests like Black Jerzee and Chronixx to stretch out across breezy Reggae and Afropop rhythms. With songs like “Blow”, “Jam” and “Ease Your Mind,” there’s barely a wasted moment on this EP. – Melony Akpoghene.

 

‘Get Layd’ – Omah Lay – May 2020

The fact that a riveting project like ‘Get Layd’ was Omah Lay’s debut body of work speaks to the depth of his craft. Shaped by the lingua, lore, and doggedness that comes with growing up on the rugged streets of Port Harcourt, his voice carried a conspicuous softness that refused to be defined by the city’s hardness. He sang tenderly about guns and violence on “Damn,” touched on drug abuse and addiction on “Bad Influence,” while singing about sex and desire through unabashedly explicit lyrics on “Ye ye ye.” – M.E.

 

‘For Broken Ears’ – Tems – September 2020

Tems’ debut project ‘For Broken Ears’ feels like one of the clearest windows into what makes her music so distinct. Released in 2020, the seven-tracker introduced us to Tems in her most unfiltered form, moving through love, uncertainty and intimacy. The tracks on the album carried that raw feeling that made the project stand out in the first place. It is a snapshot of Tems before the massive growth of superstardom. – Samuel Iroanya.

 

‘LUV N ATTN’ – Lojay & Sarz – June 2021

‘LUV N ATTN’  captures Afropop’s supremacy as a genre, thanks to Sarz’s nifty production skills and ability to see beyond the present. Lojay was initially gunning for one song with Sarz, but he insisted on making a project that would go on to earn Lojay his biggest song, “Monalisa,” and a collaboration with Wizkid on the title track. Across all five tracks that make up the EP, including the sultry “Tonongo” and “Panty,” Lojay maintained a striking writing prowess and established himself as a solid singer. – M.E.

 

‘SWEETNESS’ – Sarz & Obongjayar – July 2021

Sarz has an extensive history of strong collaborations, but this 2021 four-track offering is up there with the best. A follow-up to Obongjayar’s impressive debut album, the pair find an intriguing middle ground between retro R&B, Funk, and Afropop here, delivering evergreen cuts like the lead single “Gone Girl” and “If You Say.” – B.A.

 

‘Water & Garri’ – Tiwa Savage – August 2021

“Water & Garri” served as a venue for Tiwa Savage to fully lean into her R&B and Soul roots while weaving in modern Afro-fusion elements. At its core, the EP navigates her journey through hope and desire, and the project finds her finally centred on the genre that best defines her artistry. Released in 2021, the EP is a great addition to Tiwa’s impressive discography, a deliberate shift from the high-energy Afropop style that characterised her earlier persona. – S.I.

 

‘Outlaw’ – Victony – May 2022

For a project that came out at a defining point in Victony’s career, “Outlaw” feels like a reflection of Victony finding himself out in real time. Released in 2022, Victony leans into his freedom, letting the project show his range and versatility; it also showcases his witty lyricism that colours his perspective. Songs like “Apollo,” “Kolomental” and “Soweto” capture how he moves between different sounds, whilst leaving room for his introspective side to seep through. – S.I.

 

‘Anger Management’ – Bloody Civilian – June 2023

Perhaps the best way to describe Bloody Civilian’s debut project, ‘Anger Management,’ is to compare it to a crash landing. At several turns on the screeching, maximal six-tracker, the singer is raging, reaching deep into herself to appropriately evoke her discontent at self, family, men, her home country, and the world around her. Still, she doesn’t let that anger overwhelm her message, as the surrealist fantasies of “Escapism” prove. – W.O.

 

‘Planet Pluto’ – Shallipopi – July 2023

If Shallipopi’s hit single “Elon Musk” put him on the map, his debut EP, ‘Planet Pluto’ showed there was much more to his appeal than a viral hit. Anchored by infectious tracks like “Ex Convict” and “Obapluto,” the EP established the bouncy, streetwise sound and eccentric charm that would help him go on to become one of Afropop’s most recognisable voices. – B.A.

 

‘Ravage’ – Rema – October 2023

‘Ravage’ was the ramp-up before the storm that was ‘HEIS.’ It was Rema’s introduction to the more thrilling corners of Afropop he would later lead us deep into. Across five tracks, the Rave Lorde peels back the heartthrob veneer that defined much of his early career, stepping into a brasher, more quick-witted alter-ego. He talks slick over dense bass, switching between clipped boasts and nimble vocal runs without letting the energy drop at any moment. – M.A.

 

‘NAHAMciaga’ – Seyi Vibez – December 2023

‘NAHAMciaga’ caught Seyi Vibez at one of the most interesting points in his career. He was settling into his new place in the mainstream after the huge run of his previous releases. This five-track EP consolidated that breakthrough, digging further into the indigenous influences running through his music while staying attuned to the demands of his newfound mainstream reach. – M.A.

 

GARVICII’s “JO” IS A HIGH-OCTANE CELEBRATION OF DESIRE AND ATTRACTION 

Posted on by The Native

Garvicii has put out his latest offering “Jo,” a vibrant new single that offers further glimpse into his forthcoming EP. Built for instant attention, the addictive earworm finds Garvicii trading emotional restraint fo pure dancefloor instinct. The record captures that immediate spark of attraction that becomes impossible to ignore, translating it into an upbeat Afropop moment driven by playful songwriting and an infectious sense of freedom. 

Lines like “I’m liking the way that you whine” set the mood, while the recurring call in Yoruba language to “jijo” becomes the record’s pulse. Rather than overcomplicating the attraction, Garvicii allows the groove to do much of the talking, capturing the familiar chemistry of Nigerian nightlife where rhythm, body language and energy often communicate before words do. 

 

That simplicity gives “Jo” its appeal. It is flirtatious without becoming heavy, sensual without losing its sense of fun, and tailored for spaces where Afropop works best: parties, late-night drives, dance floors and those spontaneous moments when a record catches on because everyone immediately understands what it wants them to do. 

There is also a communal spirit running through the song. What begins as Garvicii’s fascination with one woman quickly opens into a wider celebration of women who move with confidence and fully inhabit their presence. His repeated invitation for the ladies to dance transforms “Jo” from a private moment of desire into a shared expression of release

 

As Garvicii begins the rollout towards his forthcoming EP, this new single signals an artiste increasingly comfortable exploring the lighter, more instinctive side of his sound. Energetic, playful and rooted in the language and pulse of contemporary Nigerian pop culture, the single arrives with one uncomplicated instruction: Just dance. 

Listen to “Jo” here.

Paxslim Is Doubling Down On African Pride With The “Africa Only” Movement

Posted on by Melony Akpoghene

Across Africa and its global diaspora, young Black artists are becoming more intentional about what being African means for their work. They’re less interested in squeezing their work into ideas of what African art should look or sound like, and far more interested in building from who they are and where they come from. That closeness to home is shaping who they create for and the worlds they want their work to exist in. In other words, it has become an active way for young Black artists to organise and build community around their creative work. Nowhere is that posture clearer than in #AO, a new cultural movement driven by Paxslim.

Born in Nigeria and raised between Nigeria, Canada and Switzerland, Paxslim has spent much of his life flitting between different ideas of being African. That nomadic arc makes his tethering to his African identity super important to him. Being African comes with plenty of social baggage, but Paxslim has chosen to respond decisively against it. “Africa Only is also a full-circle moment for every kid who grew up feeling like being African was something to hide,” he tells NATIVE Mag “For a long time, African identity was distorted. Africa Only changes that. It moves us from seeking approval to owning who we are.”

 

The idea of Africans looking towards themselves for cultural confidence has a pretty deep history. In the early 1930s, the Négritude movement emerged among Francophone intellectuals including Aimé Césaire, Léopold Sédar Senghor and Léon-Gontran Damas. Working largely from the diaspora, they used poetry and cultural criticism to challenge French colonial assimilation and assert Black identity as a legitimate foundation for intellectual and artistic work.

In Nigeria, that thinking took different forms. The Zaria Art Society, formed in 1958, brought together young Nigerian artists including Uche Okeke, Bruce Onobrakpeya, Demas Nwoko and Yusuf Grillo, who questioned the Eurocentric art education they were receiving. Their idea of “Natural Synthesis” encouraged artists to draw from indigenous visual traditions while engaging with modern techniques. A few years later, the Mbari Club in Ibadan gave writers, artists and musicians another place to gather. Chinua Achebe, Wole Soyinka and Christopher Okigbo were among the figures connected to the club, which became a meeting point for cultural exchange and artistic experimentation. Art, in this case, was also a way of finding your people.

By 1977, that desire for connection had taken on a much larger scale. FESTAC ’77 brought artists, writers, musicians and cultural practitioners from across Africa and the global Black world to Lagos. For a brief period, the festival created a huge meeting point for people thinking about Black culture, identity and artistic exchange beyond the boundaries imposed by colonial history, a history that continues to haunt us.

 

As much as we are politically defined as postcolonial, we aren’t, because the ideas and racial categories produced under colonial rule have proved much harder to dislodge. Alongside the anti-Blackness rife across the continent, there is a global case of Afrophobia that continues to assert itself against us. These sociopolitical conditions have always influenced African artists, who have had to make work in the splash zone. Today, it’s within those same conditions that Paxslim is working, making #AO just as relevant and urgent.

Paxslim is tapping into a lineage that’s been revisited across generations; only now he’s routing it through the digital era’s networks and using the tools available to his generation most clearly in his music. “Africa Only isn’t something I just added to my brand; it’s who I am,” he explains, “I am Nigerian. Africa Only is me choosing to stand fully in who I am. You can hear it in my music, see it in the visuals and feel the energy when I perform,” 

Across projects like 2025’s ‘DBD5 (dayz before d5ncin)’ and his full-length ‘D5NCIN,’ he has further developed the sound he’d been building, taking the language of Trap and Hip-Hop and filtering it through his own sensibilities and experiences. But the subtext constantly breaks through the trunk-rattling production. On “EVERYTHING I GOT,” he implores, “To my brothers there’s nothing impossible, never let them treat you like an animal,” before invoking Black Panther mythos on “CHOSEN ONE.” There’s a political consciousness running through the music, even when it isn’t always the thing sitting at the front because it’s forced to share space with a far more visceral kind of hunger.

 

In August 2026, Paxslim dropped his ‘LAMBO MUSIC’ EP. Across the six tracks–and in much of what seems to drive his music more broadly, including his new single “BINGO”–Paxslim indulges the classic appetite for luxury capital, and these consumerist aspirations occasionally scrape against the radical ideas presupposed in Africa Only, whether or not Paxslim himself positions the movement through such strictly political crosshairs. There’s some nuance in that friction. The young rapper is still making music under capitalism, with all the desires for visibility and a “bigger life” that come with it. 

For some African creators, visibility can be a tricky tightrope, with a “bigger life” tied to reaching beyond the continent even as the art remains rooted in references that aren’t always legible to outsiders. In 1993, Ousmane Sembène pondered the question of looking outward rather bluntly in Férid Boughedir’s documentary, ‘Caméra d’Afrique’: “Why be a sunflower and turn toward the sun? I myself am the sun!” There’s something of that sentiment in Paxslim’s approach to #AO, which comes back to a plain truth he lays out simply: “Africa is the source.” The work can travel, but it doesn’t have to leave home looking for permission to matter. Paxslim adds, “Africa Only is a sense of reclaiming what’s rightfully ours.”

That idea of building for your own people has to exist beyond the language of reclamation, and for Paxslim, it does. #AO has become a tangible praxis: a way of building creative infrastructure alongside other artists and cultural workers. Africa Only Radio on NTS is one of its clearest extensions Launched in 2026, the series has travelled through underground scenes across the continent, beginning with Nigerian underground music before moving through countries including South Africa, Tanzania, Kenya, Ghana and Uganda. The Nigerian episode brought together Rachel of The Process Africa, Soundgasm founder Roberto, artist manager and A&R Ona, and video creator Ebube, with the mix handled by Paxslim’s longtime collaborator Haram.

The later episodes broadened the project’s reach. The Tanzanian edition featured director, musician and model Sekera, writer and creative director Ivana, producer and farmer Cloud B, and BM. The August Ugandan episode brought together artists and cultural producers including Kampire, Mwami, Tai Dai and Kalibwani.

AO Radio creates a record of interwoven scenes that are crucial to how contemporary African culture is developing. The project gives African and Afro-diasporic artists room to introduce their work and influences, while connecting them with listeners elsewhere. It mirrors what’s happening more broadly in fashion, nightlife and visual art, where a new vanguard is establishing its own gathering grounds around shared aesthetics and creating ways for those scenes to support one another.

Even with the lure of Euro-American reach looming over the creative space, #AO doubles down on the people already holding down the culture, treating them as a world complete enough to build for. The buy-in across the internet is hard to miss, too. Throw a blind dart at a young African’s IG profile right now and there’s a good chance you’ll find “AO” sitting somewhere in their bio. “AO doesn’t need to influence any African artists or creatives, because it’s who they are,” Paxslim finishes. “It’s already in them. AO is just a reminder and a badge that we can continue to wear proudly as Africa continues to grow stronger.”

Listen to ‘LAMBO MUSIC’ here.

Interview: Juls Has Always Followed the Sound

Posted on by Temiloluwa Adeyemo

Juls has spent much of his career following music across borders. Born in London to Ghanaian parents and shaped by time spent between Britain and Ghana, his musical education was expansive from the beginning. Growing up, he was exposed to Jazz, Reggae and Highlife, while his mother’s love of African music helped shape his connection to Ghanaian sounds. His relationship with Reggae began early through her love of Jimmy Cliff and Bob Marley while Dancehall entered his world later during his university years. Over time, those influences stopped feeling like separate reference points. They became part of the same musical vocabulary.

Across projects like ‘Sounds of My World’ and ‘Peace and Love,’ Juls has continually looked outward with a goal of connecting Ghanaian music with sounds from across the Black diaspora. Jamaica has held a particular pull both as a musical influence and a place he has returned to repeatedly with family and for work.

 

‘Junction,’ his recent collaborative album with Jamaican artist Projexx, brings that relationship into focus. The project began during the COVID-19 pandemic, when Juls was introduced to Projexx through his manager. The two artists began exchanging ideas remotely. A friendship followed and eventually the music became too consistent to remain a collection of loose collaborations. “We just kept creating,” Juls tells NATIVE Mag. “And our chemistry is just undeniable.’”

The decision to make an album together was almost as simple as the chemistry that preceded it. They had been talking about it for years before. During one of Juls’ trips to Jamaica, he finally suggested they stop talking and make the project. There was no elaborate strategy behind it. What emerged was ‘Junction,’ a project built around the long history between Ghana and Jamaica. Juls has travelled to Jamaica with his family and says the familiarity of the Caribbean country has always felt striking. “Anybody who knows me closely knows that if you come in my car, that’s what I’m playing most of the time,” he says.

 

The similarities run deeper than music. Ghana and Jamaica share histories shaped by the Trans-atlantic slave trade and their cultural relationship can be heard in rhythms, language, food and the ways people carry themselves. Juls is interested in those continuities but he is equally conscious of the distance and history that separate them. ‘Junction’ became an attempt to bring those worlds together without flattening either one. “We thought, ‘Yeah, let’s just make a project that blends our cultures together,’” he points out..

The title came from Projexx. A junction is a meeting point, and that is essentially what the album represents: two musical paths arriving at the same place. The project does not try to force a new identity onto either culture. Instead, it lets their existing similarities guide the music. For much of the album’s creation, that meeting happened remotely. When Juls and Projexx eventually spent more time together in Jamaica, the process took on an intimate feel. They recorded at Projexx’s house, calling it “our studio”, and spent enough time together for the friendship behind the music to become part of the work itself. “We spent a lot of time with each other,” Juls says. “I got to enjoy the process of making the music, which I usually don’t.”

That sense of ease also shaped the album’s guest appearances. BOJ, Tay Iwar, Pa Salieu, Valiant and the other collaborators came into the project through existing relationships and creative instincts rather than a predetermined list. Juls has always treated collaboration as an extension of human connection. “It’s not about everybody in the room just making music,” he says. “It’s about building a relationship.”

 

Three years also gave ‘Junction’ enough time to become something different from what it was initially imagined to be. Much of the early material was eventually discarded, with only a couple of songs from those first years remaining on the final album. The rest was made more recently, as Juls and Projexx found a clearer understanding of what the project needed.That clarity was not always immediate. Combining Ghanaian and Jamaican influences meant finding a balance between familiarity and difference particularly when working with sounds that carry such distinct histories. “I had to fuse the sounds in a way where it was respectable for both cultures,” Juls says.

One of the records that came out of that uncertainty is “Time and Place,” a Reggae-influenced love song featuring Haile. It is the track Juls feels most personally attached to, partly because it gave him the chance to make a kind of record he had wanted to explore for years. “I’ve always wanted to make a song like that,” he says. “So that’s one that’s special to me.”Beyond the album, the journey continues with a documentary planned for October alongside the deluxe. It will give the relationship between Ghana and Jamaica another form, extending the story beyond the music and into the places that inspired it.

For Juls, though, ‘Junction’ is also evidence of where his own curiosity has taken him. His career has been built on movement between sounds, scenes and cultures, and this time the distance he is crossing is both literal and historical. He is not attempting to explain the connection between Ghana and Jamaica so much as listen for it. “There’s a lot that can be built between the two countries,” he says. “Anybody would be surprised at how similar they are: culturally, food-wise, even in the way they speak.It’s literally the same place. It’s just divided by the Atlantic Ocean.”

Listen to ‘Junction’ here. 

Seun Kuti And Egypt 80 Explore Introspection On Rhythmic Single, ‘DJB’

Posted on by The Native

Acclaimed ensemble Seun Kuti & Egypt 80 has released a new single, “DJB,” marking the third release off their forthcoming album, ‘Na Dem,’ set for release on November 6, 2026.  “DJB,” which means ‘Devil Just Busy’, is one of the introspective compositions on the forthcoming record. 

Anchored by a dark, resonant Afrobeat groove of remarkable depth and intensity, the track confronts the encroaching shadows that threaten to engulf contemporary society. The single delivers a powerful meditation on the forces that seek to overwhelm the human spirit. 

 

This mid-tempo Afro-Folk offering follows earlier singles like “Na Dem” (featuring Tom Morello) and “Problems” (featuring Kabaka Pyramid). The three singles have offered glimpses into the forthcoming album’s ambitious scope. “DJB” is produced by Femi Koleoso of Ezra Collective, and engineered by Samuel Egglenton, mixed by Dan Parry, and mastered by Stuart Hawkes at the renowned Metropolis Studio in London. 

The single benefits from Koleoso’s vibrant and exacting production, which infuses the music with contemporary vitality while remaining deeply rooted in the enduring traditions of Afrobeat. With “DJB,” Seun Kuti & Egypt 80 continue to broaden and refine their already formidable sonic landscape.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ It follows Seun Kuti’s critically acclaimed 2024 album, ‘Heavier Yet (Lay The Crownless Head).’

Listen to “DJB” here.

Kaelo Iyizoba Has A Specific Vision of What Nigerian Cinema Can Be

Posted on by Shalom Tewobola

“Multiply the wins by ten thousand to get the number of rejections I’ve gotten,” Kaelo Iyizoba tells me, about an hour into our call. The Nigerian-American filmmaker is two weeks away from seeing his short film, ‘The Spectacular Death of Prisca,’ screened at the Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF). Since leaving pharmacy in 2019, his filmmaking career has gathered momentum: a 2022 Arthur Krim Memorial Award from Columbia, a BAFTA Student Awards shortlist for ‘Mr. Bold’ in 2023, Berlinale Talents that same year, and, in 2025, the Tyler Perry Dream Collective and Sundance Institute’s inaugural Cultural Impact Residency. 

The youngest of five children, Iyizoba grew up with the rhythms of a large Igbo family. Every Christmas, they travelled to Anambra, where cousins blurred into siblings and the house filled with the usual commotion of a family returning home. Even as a child, he seemed to be looking beyond the immediate world around him. He spent his snack money on newspapers. He had opinions, and the confidence to air them. He found himself drawn into conversations that seemed to belong to older people. He also grew up in Enugu, a city that would become as much a part of his imagination as his family. It was a warm, close-knit community, and Iyizoba came to think of himself through it.

 

His interest in film arrived early, though he had no particular reason to call it that yet. At 14, he made a slideshow from family photographs for his sister’s wedding, moving between pictures of his own relatives and those of his sister’s husband’s family. When his sister cried watching it, he noticed. The reaction mattered to him. He had made something from a collection of ordinary images and, somehow, made another person feel something. It would be another nine years before he returned to that feeling.

After studying pharmacy at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, Iyizoba took an internship at a pharmacy, where he worked from 2018 to 2019. One day, on his way home, he saw the sun setting. He realized he had not seen a sunset in months. The only reason he was seeing this one was because he had been sick and left work early. So the next day, he resigned.

One of his first wins came with little formal filmmaking experience. Iyizoba applied to Columbia University’s School of the Arts for the producing program and Carnegie Mellon University’s program in entertainment industry management. He got into both. For Iyizoba, though, the turn toward filmmaking had begun much earlier. 

While waiting to hear from Columbia, Iyizoba found himself on the outskirts of Abuja when he stumbled upon a village. It was only about 15 or 20 minutes from the city, but the lives there seemed to belong to another world. The discovery became ‘The Lost Village,’ a documentary released in 2020 about a community living so close to Abuja yet so far removed from its rhythms.

 

“We finished taking all these videos, we don’t even know what we’re making at this point. It just looked interesting,” he tells NATIVE Mag. “So I’m on my computer looking at all this footage that we took in this village and I’m cutting and piecing it together and trying to find a story in it.” The film was submitted to the Moment Film Festival, where it received a special mention and won an Audience Award worth $10,000. The money gave Iyizoba something more useful than the award itself: film equipment. With it, he made ‘Boy Meets Girl,’ the first film he would submit to TIFF, five years later. “‘Boy Meets Girl’ was actually a class writing exercise, but my professor advised me to try to shoot it when I went home for Christmas,” he says. “The way we were looking for the cast on Abuja roads, if you did not have any context, you would think we are kidnappers.”

On April 14, 2014, Boko Haram abducted 276 girls from their secondary school in Chibok, Borno State. Through the short, Iyizoba wanted to tell the story of one of the girls who never came home. The film was eventually released on YouTube in 2021 and won Outstanding Experimental Film at the Abuja International Film Festival that same year. 

In ‘The Spectacular Death of Prisca,’ Rita Dominic, one of Nollywood’s most recognisable stars, plays the lead. Written and directed by Iyizoba, it began as a proof-of-concept film for ‘A Nollywood Story,’ a feature he has been writing since his first days at film school. The script had generated excitement when he showed it to people, but it also prompted a question: what would this world actually look like? Rather than keep explaining it, Iyizoba decided to show it.

“Instead of trying to explain to people, let’s just show them what this world will look and feel like,” he says. ‘Prisca’ was not meant to be a straight excerpt from the feature. Iyizoba wanted it to stand on its own while exploring some of the same ideas: a character being pulled into a new world and having to navigate it. In ‘A Nollywood Story,’ the daughter is the protagonist; ‘Prisca,’ shifts the perspective to the mother, a middle-aged woman going through what he describes as a coming-of-age story.

He remembers meeting Dominic (who played Prisca) for the first time. She had just read the script. They had never met before.“We met for lunch and she just wanted to see the crazy person who wrote the script,” he says. The film belongs to a different register from ‘Boy Meets Girl’ and ‘Before We Fall Asleep,’ (his contribution to the Zikoko Life anthology). ‘The Spectacular Death of Prisca’ is an absurdist comedy-drama, announced from its opening frames in bright colours, pinks and poppy lettering. It feels deliberately larger than everyday life, closer to the world Iyizoba calls “the old Nollywood world.” His ambitions for it are equally outsized. He is interested in spectacle, but spectacle that leaves a physical impression.

“I enjoy big worlds, stories that will make your heart pound and give you goosebumps,” he says. “My favorite TV show is ‘Game of Thrones,’ so that’s just the level of filmmaking I’m aspiring to do. There’s just something about creating these massive worlds and filling them with even bigger characters.”

But making those worlds in Lagos comes with its own constraints. Iyizoba had encountered Area Boys while making ‘Before We Fall Asleep,’ and faced the same problem while making ‘Prisca.’ “It’s kind of limiting as a filmmaker because you’re now forced to shoot inside, essentially. When it’s time to shoot outside, you have to make sure it’s an outside that you can shoot in or you budget for the Area Boys,” he says. 

 

For Iyizoba, the older Nollywood had an unmistakable cinematic language. The films of the 1990s and 2000s were often made quickly and cheaply, distributed on video and later VCD, and defined by heightened performances, melodrama, supernatural plots and memorable characters. Their technical limitations were obvious, but so was their personality. “We shouldn’t throw away the baby with the bathwater,” he says. “Just because we now have the big camera and big budgets doesn’t mean we should throw away our style. I think that’s what I’m trying to discover by making my soon to be first feature film, ‘A Nollywood Story.’”

Some of those qualities, he argues, are the very things that defined Nigerian cinema. “Everyone’s so afraid of melodrama, but Nigerians are melodramatic. Have you seen the way our parents react to things? So why would we think that it’s not true? As long as it’s true, that’s all that matters.”

In many ways, Iyizoba has spent the years since leaving pharmacy returning to the instinct he had at 14: the pleasure of making something and watching it move another person. What began with a slideshow for his sister has led him to a film screening at TIFF, after the thousands of rejections he says came before it. What he wants from the TIFF audience is a kind of freedom: to see an African cinema that is not confined to the stories international festivals have come to expect from the continent. There can be grief and violence and political history, but there can also be absurdity, spectacle, humour and strangeness.

Interview: Seyi Vibez’s Global Aspirations Reach A Crescendo On ‘SWAGUU’

Posted on by The Native

For fans and listeners who started listening to Seyi Vibez as early as 2021’s ‘NSNV,’ the strides the singer has made in his career might dwarf even their wildest expectations. From a rising upstart singing about predestination and the institutional ills he navigates in his day-to-day life, the singer has become one of Afropop’s most beloved stars. As his acclaim has grown, the singer’s appetite for risk and experimentation has similarly increased, marking a new and distinctive epoch in his career. 

Starting with 2025’s ‘FUJI MOTO,’ he has been ranging further in his sonic stylisation, fusing more pointed influences from R&B, Trap, and House into the core of his Street-inflected delivery pattern. On his newest album, ‘SWAGUU,’ he is unabashed about where he is headed. “I feel like my swag, my energy, and my ideas [changed],” he says in an interview with Apple Music’s Africa Now Radio. “ I feel like everything that I keep doing evolved. So, I feel like my name is Swaggu now, and Swaggu is just a local way of pronouncing swag in Nigeria. I’m really from Lagos. My dad is from Lagos. So, I feel like Swaggu. It’s just about my style and the new guy on the block.”

Boasting only one feature with Quavo, ‘SWAGUU’ sees Seyi Vibez luxuriate in the essence of his global ambition while coming to terms with emotions like love and longing on tracks like “DIAMONDS” and “MELANIN.” It’s an instructive glimpse into the competing parts of the singer’s id as he figures out a pathway to global stardom: “I’m a man now. I feel like my emotions are real, and I’m supposed to tell that in my story.”

This conversation has been edited for clarity.

How did you approach writing “BACK 2 U”?

I feel like, on this album, I’m becoming a man more because I used to be a boy. But right now, I’m evolving as an African. I’m a man now. I feel like my emotions are real, and I’m supposed to tell that in my story. So,  “BACK 2 U” is just a recap of all my memories. When I was much younger, I started listening to Justin Bieber’s  “Baby,” and I met a girl. I was in Lagos State University. That was the time I started making music. It was nothing about sex or anything, it’s just the emotions. It’s just the memories. It’s just the picture. It’s just happiness. That’s how I feel on the song.

Why did you name the album ‘SWAGUU’?

I feel my style evolved. I feel like my swag, my energy, and my ideas [changed].  I feel like everything that I keep doing evolved. So, I feel like my name is Swaggu now, and Swaggu is just a local way of pronouncing swag in Nigeria. I’m really from Lagos. My dad is from Lagos. So, I feel like Swaggu. It’s just about my style and the new guy on the block.

How much does Grand Theft Auto inspire your music?

The creativity with the siren in the “GTA” song, I feel like it’s real life. It’s in real life because in Lagos it’s like everywhere is noisy. Everywhere is noisy where I come from because every art I make is a reflection of where I come from, every song I make. You can hear the siren right now if you listen. The security might pass, the police might pass, and the siren is on. In the Grand Theft Auto game itself, when the guy commits a crime in the game, it’s like the police are looking for the enemy, and the enemy is running away from the police, and there’s a lot of sirens. So now, it’s like it’s syncing with the Lagos noise and I feel like that’s a double reflection. I used to play GTA a lot and that’s how I came up with the song.

What inspired “ALUBARIKA”?

That’s like a South African-Nigerian kind of beat. This time I was going spiritual. This time I was talking about the streets. This time I was talking about life in general. So I feel like life is a celebration. Life is what you can make it. Alubarika means good fortune, that track is so special to me. 

How do you feel about “OBLE”

I think “OBLE” is already a jam. Oble feels normal to every Nigerian now because Oble is on every Nigerian’s Oble December. I was the originator of Oble in 2023. Oble means nothing. I just came up with the word Oble and it sounds like a Yoruba word and everyone took it up like a Yoruba word and it feels normal now. I feel like that’s like a reflection of me and it feels like I’m this festival guy and I’m this carnival guy. So, the “OBLE” song is not still something I did myself. It was still something my fans and everyone had to speed up. So right now, I’m putting “OBLE” out because I feel like everyone should know Oble is not a Yoruba word.

What was it like working with Quavo?

That track is called “SWAGUU” because it’s swaggu itself. It shows how I keep evolving. I’ll keep evolving and more. It just shows my state of mind. I’m a star now, but let me show you I’m from the hood. I’m from Ikorodu. I’m trying to show these young artists they can do better than me. They can do what even no one has ever done yet. And, you know, for someone like me rolling on the space, it’s like, “Okay, I can do it too as a ghetto child.” So, I feel it just shows how connected I am in the world right now and my state of mind. That’s why the song is there and it’s like the beauty of the album. It completes the album and we had no choice than to just put that out there.

Ivie Ani Is Entering A New Phase As A Cultural Guardian With A Martell Ambassadorship

Posted on by Melony Akpoghene

Culture is a word that has become elastic enough to hold almost anything. But when that seemingly nebulous term–which Ivie Ani defines as “a community moral code, what a society does, how they function, how they’re similar”–travels, it needs people willing to pay attention to what happens in transit.  As it gathers new meanings on the go, raises critical questions about what gets altered and what gets left behind, there is a need to account for that movement.

We’re living in an era where cultural discourse is wider and more porous than ever, leaving endless runway for new hot takes and interpretations. Behind every evolution in our collective taste level are the storytellers reading its direction, giving lineage to the new. And within African culture, that contextual work is everything. As music from the continent crosses global thresholds, it’s assigned new frames. While some of this translation expands the canon, other iterations strip away the specificity that gave the music, and the culture around it, its original juice.

For over a decade, Ivie Ani has occupied that essential vantage point. “As much as we like to harp on the past and to harp on culture and just overuse the word culture even and having phrases like “doing it for the culture”, I want people to understand what culture actually is,” she tells NATIVE Mag. From following the changing tide of American Hip-Hop through the 2010s to tracking the global ascent and granular evolutions of West African Pop music, Ivie Ani has built a body of work attentive to both the music and the world around it. 

 

Her work as a journalist, critic and on-air host has helped shape how modern art is parsed and preserved. As sounds from Africa continue to hobnob with global soundscapes, she’s kept pace with the commentary that comes along for the ride. Now, she steps into a new phase in that engagement as a Cultural Ambassador for Martell. The partnership aligns with a growing need to resource the storytellers documenting culture in real time, granting her the freedom to probe deeper as the ecosystem evolves.

This alliance couldn’t come at a more telling moment. Traditional cultural storytelling is taking some heavy hits, and the institutional backing for honest criticism is crumbling. We’ve hit an awkward turning point where journos are tasked with making sense of an industry that keeps them at arm’s length, choking off the baseline access it takes to say anything real. More so, audience and industry attitudes towards critique keep getting warped by echo chambers and stan-culture tribalism. That makes it especially significant when platforms like Martell recognise the value of journalists and cultural storytellers as people working along the continuum of the culture and helping to build its archive.

In a chat with NATIVE Mag, Ivie Ani talks about what the Martell partnership means for her as a journalist and how it’ll give her more room to do what she’s always done: protect the arts.

How do you feel about stepping into this role? 

It has been a short and long time at the same time as this has been brewing, and I feel excited, even though we have been working on rolling this out for months. I am in New York, getting compliments when I walk outside and go to events on this partnership. It is a singular thing that’s happening in media where you wouldn’t necessarily expect a journalist or a writer or professional media worker to be aligned with a prestigious brand like Martell. But it still makes so much sense at the same time. So it feels very exciting for me and I think for everyone witnessing it in the industry and in my community as well. 

Journos often get the short end of the stick despite all the work we do. What does a partnership of this scale mean to you? 

I would not have imagined it resulting in where I am now. It is not something I envisioned while working towards it, but looking at the work I have done over the past decade and some change in hindsight, it aligns with this positioning. The purpose of this appointment is to amplify cultural storytelling and document the architects of Afrobeats and Afropop. Any institution aligning itself with wanting to directly support the arts, independent media, and culture aligns with preserving and creating culture in real time. 

That is what my partnership with Martell is supposed to embody. It feels good to continue doing the work I have always done with structural support, especially now. It is not just the US dealing with a changing media landscape; it is global, and you feel the brunt of it in Nigeria as well. There is across-the-board confusion regarding what media, press, journalists, and cultural critics are supposed to be, alongside a level of disdain for real journalists, cultural critics, and writers. To see institutions upholding what it means to do that for real is affirming. I hope it inspires younger journalists, people entering the industry, and those trying to recalibrate or reorient their careers to what this landscape calls for.

What does structural support look like in practice, and what was it about Martell’s approach that made this partnership feel right? 

It’s the investment in ideas and continuing to do the work I already do, as opposed to trying to attach what is not aligned with my work. Support looks like amplification and deferring to people within the culture who have been on the field documenting it. There is a level of respect. Structural support as it pertains to journalists does not only mean for independent journalists. Within the industry, staff at outlets, publications, and networks have major concerns regarding structural support. We can continue to do substantive, impactful work we care about through different mediums. Working with Martell as a cultural ambassador is one of the mediums by which I continue to do the work I am known for.

What first drew you into culture and storytelling?

I obtained my journalism degree from NYU in 2014. NYU requires a double major if you pursue journalism so that you align with a beat or topic of expertise. I wanted to pursue journalism because, during elementary, middle, and high school, people told me I was a good writer, and I loved reading. Humanities, cultural study, arts, and language always interested me. I knew I did not want to be a novelist or an English teacher, and journalism was the most practical field to pursue with those interests. I changed my second major three times: I started with music composition because I played the clarinet, changed to linguistics, and finally settled on Africana Studies—social and cultural analysis. Applying what I learned in history and social-cultural analysis to my cultural criticism, reporting, and music writing got me into cultural coverage. I grew up with a rich musical palette in New York City, listening primarily to Hip-Hop, R&B, Reggae, Dancehall, and Pop music. In the mid-to-late 2010s, I shifted coverage toward modern African music, Afropop, and Afrobeats. Prior to that, I was mostly known for Hip-Hop coverage, along with broader cultural coverage including politics, sports, societal issues, and current events. Afrobeats coverage became a major part of my cultural coverage because of my interest in history.

 

You’ve covered African music through a period of huge global expansion. Where do you think the conversation around Afrobeats is falling short right now? 

There is a sense of urgency in marking Afrobeats as having hit its peak regarding marketability, global reach, and records that move the needle. I understand that consensus because it felt like a hard-hitting moment when Afrobeats bubbled onto the global scene, but it was piecemeal. I hope people have patience to see how the genre, sound, and culture evolve. Afrobeats and Afropop artists are doing innovative things if you pay attention and broaden your scope. People should pay attention to how the genre is merging with other genres, communicating with other cultures in the diaspora, how artists are branching out to solidify their business acumen, and how they maintain a global presence while maintaining a presence at home. People should have more patience in paying attention to granular developments in Afrobeats rather than focusing on who has the song of the summer, who won a Grammy, or who is at the top of the chart. If there is more emphasis on craftsmanship and cultural developments, people will maintain excitement for where the genre is going.

Do you feel that urgency to declare a peak is driven locally, or is it coming from the wider diaspora? 

Online, the sentiment appears across the diaspora: the UK, US, and the continent. Artists are making strides, but it looks and sounds different from what we witnessed over the last decade because the genre is growing and changing. So I think I’m seeing the urgency coming from different places. 

As African music travels globally, how well do you think we’re telling our own stories? 

I get asked that a lot and the answer has been pretty consistent. I think it leans more towards no but people have subjective ideas of what’s good enough. Some artists, teams, labels, and executives accept the coverage they receive whether or not it is accurate or describes them, the genre, or their music well. In the US, artists and their teams are appreciative to get coverage at specific western media outlets, and the caveat sometimes is accepting that coverage without edits or acknowledgment of inaccuracies. There was an era of people confusing Afrobeat with Afrobeats, or calling Amapiano artists Afrobeats artists. The desire for global and western validation comes at the expense of accuracy, even though that validation has a tangible effect on these artists’ lives and careers. I hope for more attention to accuracy, detail, nuance, and expansiveness regarding the coverage of Afropop, Afrobeats, African culture, and African music.

We’ve seen more African sounds develop their own identities, particularly Electronic/Dance forms of it. Why do you think there’s so much debate around naming popular African music? 

There is a lack of agreement on naming, and people will have issues depending on their perspective. I hope we pay attention to why certain names stick while others do not. Diluting or simplifying a subgenre’s name may happen to increase legibility to outsiders. Saying “African Dance Music” to someone in New York provides immediate context, whereas a specific subgenre name might not. There are benefits and drawbacks to that. I prefer specificity and hearing genres and subgenres named as they are, but I understand the desire to make work legible without feeling limited by the constraints of a title. Artists are not the only people who get to define art.

What conversations should critics be pushing forward right now?

It is possible to have multiple concerns, interests, and opinions simultaneously. Most conversations about the state of Afrobeats focus on chart status, global ranking, radio presence, or expectations of dominance. I want the conversation to shift toward what is happening in Afrobeats that keeps it sustained as a genre worth talking about. Value should be attached to the movement, music, and culture beyond being fodder for fan, chart, or award wars. I would hope that people just have more conversations about what they find interesting happening, who they find interesting. There’s so many things you can talk about even as a critic. I think there seems to be this connotation of critics being hypercritical when criticism is essentially about helping people understand art, understand culture, understand whatever it is you’re writing about. It’s not necessarily about your opinion of said art. It’s about making sense of that body of work.

Who do you find interesting in the industry right now?

I have to really give a shout-out to Rema because I’m not sure he gets enough credit for how experimental he’s been. I really hope that over time people see how his last album ‘HEIS’ was so evolutionary for Afrobeats and represents what the future of the genre could sound like, including cinematic scoring elements and genre fusions. Collaborating exclusively with Nigerian artists on that album as a global star was intentional. Ayra Starr also deserves credit for epitomizing an African pop star and leading a zeitgeist for young women. On the executive side, the way Muyiwa and Wale have developed Tems’ career is worth studying for people wanting a place in the industry outside of making music. Writers on the continent and in the diaspora who were documenting this work before it was popular or widely covered deserve recognition for contributing to the development of the genre.

What do you want your contribution to the Martell Culture Ambassadors platform to look like over the next year?

An extension and expansion of what I am known for: amplifying, highlighting, explaining, translating, and contextualizing music, culture, the arts, the architects behind them, craftsmanship, quality, and taste. As much as we, especially as writers or journalists or people working in media, as much as we like to harp on the past and to harp on culture and just overuse the word culture even and having phrases like doing it for the culture. I want people to understand what culture actually is. What defines culture? What are the pillars of culture? Food is part of that. Language is part of that. Music is part of that. Fashion is part of that. All of that comprises culture. A community moral code, what a society does, how they function, how they’re similar, that is what culture is.

A Ranking Of Seyi Vibez’s Projects 

Posted on by The Native

Act X of Seyi Vibez’s intriguing career properly begins in a couple of days. His new album, ‘SWAGUU,’ a long-teased project that has occupied plenty of conversation—not least because of the high-profile Burna Boy executive producer credit attached to it—arrives this Friday, marking the beginning of another chapter in an already fascinating career. 

Ahead of the release of the album, we take a look at his loaded discography, from the raw hunger and aspiration of ‘NSNV’ and the breakthrough of ‘Billion Dollar Baby’ to the genre-bending heights of his 2023 run. Here’s our definitive ranking of every Seyi Vibez project, from the least essential to the very best.

‘FUJI MOTO’ 

‘FUJI MOTO’ is one of Seyi Vibez’s most experimental projects yet, but somewhere between evolving, incorporating more Western influences and exploring international collaborations, the album felt distant from the street-core flavour, mannerisms and lyricism that had become defining hallmarks of his music and persona. For a long time, his music represented a class of struggling people with blistering ambitions to become greater than their roots, a reality he had already achieved by the time ‘FUJI MOTO’ arrived, which perhaps best explains why it didn’t resonate as strongly with his fans. However, the project is still home to fan favourites like “HOW ARE YOU,” “PRESSURE,” the title track “FUJI MOTO” and the Olamide-assisted “FUJI PARTY.” – Michelle Ejiro

 

‘Loseyi Professor’ 

Even though ‘Loseyi Professor’ arrived amid considerable fanfare—as his first solo album in over a year following a period of rapid-fire releases—it ultimately turned out to be another routine addition to his discography. In retrospect, it may go down as a checkpoint of sorts: an album that bookends a creative run that began with him simply asking for a “Chance,” and closed out with an artist unsure where to take his sound next.  – Boluwatife Adeyemi

 

‘Memory Card’ 

Released in January 2023, ‘Memory Card’ arrived just two months after ‘Billion Dollar Baby,’ at a point when Seyi Vibez was rapidly gaining the keys to the city. The five-track EP keeps the hunger of his breakthrough intact, but gives him more room to experiment. On songs like “G.O.A.T.”, “Alaska” and “Para Boi,” he sounds scattergun and unapologetically brash; doubling down on his breathless pace with incantatory flows layered over punchy Amapiano logs and kinetic grooves. Across the project, Seyi sounds ambitious and restless, sketching out ideas he would develop further throughout his prolific 2023 run. – Melony Akpoghene

 

‘Children of Africa’  

Describing Seyi Vibez’s ‘Children of Africa’  as a no-miss body of work isn’t an overreach, considering how well the four tracks maintain a cohesive, high-energy quality. Sweetly gliding from the braggadocio of “MARIO KART” to the groovy essence of the NLE Choppa-assisted “MACHO,” the electrifying spirit of “SHAOLIN,” and the thrilling chorus of “HAPPY SONG,” it remains one of Seyi Vibez’s most cohesive projects. Although the songs later became the latter part of ‘FUJI MOTO,’ ‘Children of Africa’ succeeded as a standalone project, speaking to the impact it had on its own. – M.E

 

‘NSNV’ 

For a section of Seyi Vibez’s devoted fanbase, his official debut album ‘NSNV’ remains his magnum opus. Before the mainstream success of ‘Billion Dollar Baby’ and before his genre alchemy began to take on increasingly ambitious forms, ‘NSNV’ captured an artist still close to the hunger and uncertainty that defined his early career. Across standout tracks like “God Sent,” “Catalyst,” and “Big Vibe,” he balances streetwise grit with moments of startling vulnerability, establishing the directness and melodic instinct that would become central to his appeal. – B.A

 

‘NAHAMciaga’ 

By late 2023, Seyi Vibez was fully running the scene, and ‘NAHAMciaga’ serves as the capstone to an insanely prolific year. A direct spin on his viral “Na Ham” catchphrase, the four-track EP has zero misses. Loseyi leans further into indigenous musical traditions, with an Orlando Owoh Highlife sample on “Different Pattern.” Across “Cana”, “Today” and “Shazam,” Seyi is mostly celebrating his rise, mixing street wisdom and plenty of chest-thumping with a noticeably sleeker production style. – M.A

 

 

‘Vibe Till Thy Kingdom Come’ 

After his breakthrough into the mainstream with the reception of “Chance (Na Ham),” Seyi Vibez doubled down with the sexy “Hat-trick” and set the precedent for the genre mash-up that would animate ‘Vibe Till Thy Kingdom Come.’ He merged multiple influences, including core Fuji melodies and Sakara as well as Pop-inflected rhythms on standout tracks like “Fuji Interlude,” “Dejavu” and “Amdallah,” while rounding it out with the solemn closer, “Blacka Rhythm,” for a well-paced effort. – M.E 

 

‘Billion Dollar Baby’ 

‘Billion Dollar Baby’ gave Seyi Vibez’s hustler mythology a bigger stage. But more importantly, it stamped him as a new voice of the streets. It folds prayers and realities of the grind into music made for the good times, with Fuji, Tungba and Apala running through its rhythmic DNA. Propelled by monster singles like “Chance (Na Ham)”, “Bank of America”, “Bullion Van” and “+234”, the album blew the doors wide open. With ‘Billion Dollar Baby 2.0’, the deluxe added spiritual heavy-hitters like “Psalm 23” and “Kun Faya Kun (Be and It Is)”, which expanded Seyi’s reputation as a spiritual unifier who captured the multi-faith reality of the Lagos streets. – M.A

 

‘Thy Kingdom Come’ 

It’s not particularly contentious to say that Seyi Vibez’s creative peak so far came in the summer of 2023, when he released his sprawling double album ‘Vibe Till Thy Kingdom’ and ‘Thy Kingdom Come.’ Coming off the back of ‘Billion Dollar Baby’ and the explosive momentum that followed, both projects captured him at the height of his powers. The latter is the stronger of the two, and arguably the strongest project in his discography, distilling everything that made Seyi Vibez compelling at the time into his most cohesive and adventurous body of work. – B.A

Muyeez Is Reaching For The Crown On ‘All Hail Muyeez’ 

Posted on by Folake Ajao

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.

Listen to  ‘All Hail Muyeez’ here.

Kaestyle Is At His Genre-Hopping Best On ‘Stylish’

Posted on by Michelle Ejiro

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.

Listen to ‘Stylish’ here.

Interview: Black Sherif Is Embracing His Truest Self

Posted on by The Native

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.

 

Interview: El Mehdi Is Claiming Space For Queer Identity In Moroccan Society 

Posted on by The Native

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.

Listen to  ‘SALAM’ here.  

These Spots Are Defining Youth Culture In Lagos

Posted on by The Native

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

 

National Theatre

Located in Iganmu,  the National Theatre has been a landmark of Nigeria’s performing arts scene since the 1970s. It has become one of the major venues for FESTAC ’77, bringing artists and cultural practitioners from across Africa and the diaspora to Lagos. It was recommissioned in October 2025 as the Wole Soyinka Centre for Culture and Creative Arts. With its renewed focus on theatre, music, exhibitions and other programs, the institution is entering a new chapter with the potential to reconnect younger audiences with Nigeria’s creative industry. – Naomi Kuete

 

Sixty by Chef Lu

Founded by Chef Olumide Adediji, Sixty by Chef Lu is a popular open-air rooftop lounge and event space located in Yaba. The space typically brings together young people for different events that range from silent discos and open-deck music events to interactive dining experiences and community-focused meetups under the “Friends of the Chef” banner. – B.A

 

Eka Creative Studios

From photography and video shoots to podcast recordings, Èka Creative Studios in Gbagada provides independent creatives with the space and equipment to bring their ideas to life. Its facilities cater to different forms of content production, giving photographers, videographers, and other creatives access to a professional setup without having to build one themselves. As more young Nigerians explore creative careers and independent media, spaces like Èka offer some of the infrastructure needed to produce and share their work. – N.K

 

Yaba Art Museum

Opened in November 2020, the Yaba Art Museum is located within Yaba College of Technology’s School of Art, Design and Printing in Abule-Ijesha. Established by the institution with support from the Ford Foundation, the museum provides a platform for preserving and exhibiting art while connecting students and the wider public with Nigeria’s artistic heritage. Its location within one of the country’s longstanding art schools makes it a useful meeting place for young artists and designers, linking art education with cultural preservation. – N.K

 

American Cola Creative Court

Recently opened in July, the American Cola Creative Court is a multi-purpose sports and art hub in Ilupeju. Initially a modest basketball court that served the local community, it has been transformed into an ultra-modern creative space designed to champion grassroots sports and urban youth culture. From live performances and skating to dance sessions, the venue brings together different facets of youth culture, offering a shared space for young creatives and sports enthusiasts to connect and express themselves. – B.A

 

The Griot Social House

Food, drinks and shared experiences have made The Griot Social House a growing social spot in Surulere. Located on Ogunlana Drive, the venue takes its name from the West African griot, a traditional storyteller who preserves history and culture through music, poetry and oral storytelling. Its concept places community at the centre of the experience, making it part of the evolving landscape of social spaces in Lagos. – N.K

 

Hangar 1

Described as a first-of-its-kind coworking fabrication space in Lagos, Hangar 1 brings together product designers, architects, and artists under one roof. Located in Ikeja, the space opened in late 2025 and has since hosted workshops and collaborative sessions, giving innovative minds a platform to develop their ideas, access resources, and bring their projects to life. – B.A