C3, short for “Creative Content Conference”, is beginning a content revolution in Nigeria. Some already consider them to be the leading frontier of content Market in Nigeria, actually,”Nigeria’s First Content Market”. It’s easy for many to crown themselves ‘Firsts’ and ‘pioneers’, so you are probably wondering what the implication of this is. Well, just like MIPCOM or DISCOP that have built reputation internationally, as a gateway resource for film, television and digital content business for creatives in dynamic world regions, C3 are on a mission to connect TV networks, online distribution platforms with Content Creators and Production studios amongst local networks in Nigeria (their starting point).
The conference promises to be a memorable one for attendees. C3 has over 20 audio visual platforms (both web and traditional Tv) and over 30 content developers to source content from. They also have the support of the head legal controllers of the industry: the Nigerian Broadcasting Commission (NBC), Nigerian Film Cooperation (NFC) & African Creative Content Association (ACCA).
In their journey for this, C3 got their hands on some recent research the African Creative Association (ACCA) did. The results from their groundwork saw that over 65 percent of Nigeria (and Africa at large) actually have good quality content but unfortunately, also have no avenue to connect with the right platforms to distribute and monetise these projects. But you know it already, C3 is set to bring a solution.
And they begin this with their inaugural conference tomorrow, August 4th in Lagos. (see poster below for details). It’s unsurprising that the event will be holding in the country’s most commercial state, as Lagos is renowned as one of the most polarizing entertainment industries especially in music, movies and the emerging world of comics in Africa. Their next stop is in Accra, Ghana.
The masterminds behind C3 is Vortex Inc., a creative content company (and the body behind VEXPO) based in Africa, which exports African culture majorly through comics (illustrated content) and cartoons (animated content). As a media company Vortex Inc. believes it’s their responsibility to represent Africa in a positive light and show the beauty of its culture, environment and people.
A number of Media outlets and personalities will be participating. Spot us and spot them all below. One last bit, clickhere to register for the event. I’ll meet you there.
Media persons to be present as panellists include:
Niyi AkinmolayanDirector of the coming Wedding Party 2 and Founder of Anthill Studios (A Lagos based Animation Studio)
Matthew OkoduwaZonal Director NBC
TeclaContent Executive NTA
Stephanie Findlay of AFP Global and;
John Momah of Channels TV.
Fisayo is a journalist who thinks writing is hard and reading too. But her journey somewhere reveals, words are like pawns on chessboard when writing. She wants to see, create and share with the world, experience & communicate these experiences. Tweet at her @fisvyo
Chukwuma Okoye a famed meme-maker, was part of the second wave of millennial tweeters whose popularity rose as a result of inward facing impersonal jokes about African parents and millennial life. At peak of of his fame came viral replies and quotes from celebrities and many attempts to exploit his popularity for blog traffic, a comedy webshow and a T-Shirt line amonsgt other discontinued ventures. By the age of 18, Chukwuma controlled two accounts totaling a following of nearly thirty thousand people. He had a staggering level of unmeasured success and influence at his disposal, but even in a digital world, twenty-one year old Okoye is already aware fame does not come without a price even when its ‘just twitter’.
Okoye’s first encounter with the pervasive dangers of Twitter’s open timeline system came after some tweets from his account were uncovered to have been seemingly copied off similar posts by other people. Though Okoye recounts that he regrets the role he played in his own ordeal, he also vaguely mentions how other popular tweeters have been guilty of the same charge in the past to no consequence. But the penance he paid for what he assumed an inconsequential crime by far outweighed the sin. “At first i wasn’t bothered” he says, “Until my twitter handle became a top trend in Nigeria, with over twenty thousand people calling me names and insulting me for stealing tweets, even those I thought were my friends. I was like 18 at the time, and for the first time in my life, I realised what it meant to be depressed”
This was the beginning of a slippery slope for Okoye. Following the fall-out with seemingly adoring fans who shared, LOL’ed and LMAO’ed his tweets just weeks prior. Chukuwma came under intensified scrutiny for everything he posted on the internet. His turn from Afrocentric themed tweets to mainly posts with praises and pictures of Rihanna became the butt of banter about his loss of his African identity by trying to be American. Even a recent outing of another popular tweeter for stolen tweets brought Chukwuma back into the trending topic side bar. According to Okoye, some of the messages and comments aimed at him ranged from banal mob mentality chatter to suggestions that he be sought out and murdered for his content and style of tweeting.
Chukuma Okoye says he is no longer bothered by the constant bullying he faces on twitter , but his on-going experience is important in the current discourse seeking to explain Twitter’s dip in the stock market. This is reflective of Twitter’s shrinking number of users, causing the company’s executives scramble for solutions. Its shares per dollar fell from $26 to $17.75 in the time between when the IPO first launched to now. Investors are quickly losing faith as the public watches and speculates when the hammer would finally fall.
Last year, the media was flooded with a slew of think-pieces claiming Twitter had a problem. A troll problem. One it hasn’t been able to solve in a decade. The platform’s ‘public square’ format was an achievement in the time of its inception. Everyone could reach each other and with 1.3 billion accounts signed up, communication became a tale of mobile internet and screen tapping. The sharing was unhindered and the DMs open. It was an international communications dreamland rigged with a nicely wrapped bomb. What Twitter is now is in Buzzfeed’s description ‘a honeypot for assholes,’ and in its 11-year existence, Twitter has failed to put the foot down, effectively turning it into a troll wonderland. Where other sites had a means of self protection and insulation from negative influences, Twitter plays host to the world’s biggest cyber bullies and loudmouths who were ever ready by simply reading social cues and triggering victims in the most crude way possible.
This year saw an upward spike in the number of celebrities who either deleted their accounts or decided to step away from the bird just because they couldn’t deal with the trolls and bullies anymore. The most recent subtraction was Ed Sheeran, whose appearance on Game of Thrones sparked a trend of hateful tweets which led him to shut down his account. Even the ordinary users are leaving. The evidence is there in the drop from 328 million monthly active users to 317 million. It’s not the first and last time this will happen. Twitter’s toxic atmosphere has made it difficult for ‘free speech’ in a sense to exist on its own and thrive. The public nature of the site has effectively crippled it. Ease of access has destroyed whatever privacy and sanity a user might want to preserve online.
Twitter’s problem is in a word, abuse. Abuse of free speech, abuse of the platform, abuse of users. One way of picturing this is to imagine a person on a busy street who is suddenly being attacked for a random comment. That’s the reality of Twitter, a reality dealing with the mob mentality which exists in much of the web. The dangers of social media have always been inherent, but it is exaggerated and multiplied hundredfold on Twitter. Openness on twitter means the stalker-bug geo-tagging feature of Snapchat meets Tinder’s pick-up line based impersonal supermarket for sex, while managing to intensify self-consciousness like Instagram due to the public availability of posts to the rest of the world.
But the bane of Twitter -which encompasses the best of all the other sites- lies in its complacence and almost utter neglect of the people who use it. On each site exists the bigots, the loudmouths and other unsavories but they do not have the kind of hold on the public elsewhere that they possess on Twitter. Why do you think Donald Trump can get away with harassing a teenager online? Users most times have two options to protect themselves. Either they consciously curate their timelines, cutting out the crazies and insulating themselves from the madness or they leave their timelines as it is and just try to ignore and navigate the swamp. Either way, it’s a risk the user has to take; the easier alternative being to log out and delete. Twitter certainly doesn’t want that.
The coolness of Twitter is now in the past and the bird is on its way out. Twitter was once the baby of the revolution but it’s due to pop its clogs any day now. Unless the executives can find away out of the mess, Twitter will fizzle out and join MySpace in the back benches of tech history. The story of its consistent drop is even told in the forecasts. By 2020, Twitter might be seeing its new user additions dwindle to 3.6 million. It’s becoming harder to keep up with the other networks, all because of a failure to act. As it is, Twitter is testing various means of drawing users back including a subscription service and monetization through ads. Whether their escape hatches are working remains to be seen but the truth will always be that Twitter’s downward spiral isn’t over because of how the little the company is doing to make sure trolls don’t ruin good things for the rest of us.
Featured Image Credit: Debola Abimbolu/@debola_abimbolu
A journalist by training, Ehimenim is a lover of history, good books and Game of Thrones. For her, the real world is just another Westeros and everyone is a supporting character. Read and repeat is her motto. Give her a wave on Twitter@EAgweh.
Seeing Niniola perform on stage is one of the most exciting things you’ll ever see. When she moves, you are struck by her poise and that smile and her laugh. Part of what makes her an exhilarating performer is her stage presence. You can see the control, depth, ease and decisiveness. She is a wickedly talented performer who seems to be in one place and everywhere at the same time when she sings and delivers on complex dance routines. Everyone’s gaze remains locked. In that moment you are drawn into her kind of music and her personality. This is no doubt part of why Kobalt Music Group just offered her a publishing deal.
It’s hard to imagine that she who intensely knows how to move a crowd, is actually an introverted person. But for Niniola, the stage is a phase of extroversion and periods of intense introversion. Before “Ibadi”, “Shabba”, “Soke” and “Maradonna”, Niniola was that woman who stepped into a room and skulked in a corner fiddling with her phone, praying to stay unnoticed. Soon after she began performing to small audiences from the little band she had, she shed her skin and found herself.
But how does someone become so confident in a society where sex is a prohibited and restricted topic according to social and religious customs, in a society where women are constantly told to guard themselves and ascribe to certain values that are rooted in misogyny. Rather than fight this limiting conception, Niniola is seeking to even embrace her sexuality as a technique when she crafts her songs.
Niniola’s opus is “Maradona” a deceptive afro-house that explores some seriously heavy topics by folding them into deftly chosen colloquial Yoruba metaphors. She doesn’t shy away from being ballsy and underscoring the raunchiness that makes the track what it is. A striking feature of Niniola’s music is the way she uses Yoruba for very lush lyricism, “I love to sing in Yoruba cause I think Yoruba is very cool —and [I sing in] English Language as well— but I’ll rather sing in Yoruba because that’s my mother tongue. And people love the Yoruba Language as well. It just sounds really…Sweet”, she says.
As an artist, Niniola pulls off that rare feat of transporting audiences of different strata, into the same paradise. Well, it was how it happened at her last performance in Fela’s shrine. Maybe it’s her flair for speaking and singing in Yoruba during her performances, without a blemish on her spoken English —thus her message is communicated across all peoples— or maybe it’s just the euphoria her Afro-house style of music brings. To talk of Niniola’s genre of music without emphasis on other genres she tends towards, like RnB and traditional country music, would be skewering important bits of her music or reducing her artistry to one narrow detail.
She is deft behind the microphone as she is in the mixing booth. By taking a hands-on approach to sound design, she is able to control how tight and well-made each and every sound and instrument she sings along with while in studio is. She likes the studio to be quiet and void of any distraction, this way, she is able to extract as much story, emotions and directions from the beat. Next, she pens down some of her melodies and lyrics before crafting the actual arrangement of the song to make it whole so she ensures it has a general theme and the verse connects to the pre-chorus and then the chorus. But anchoring all of this is God, whose steady guidance melds all of these parts into a very pretty whole. She says definitively, “God comes first, I pray to him to give me divine inspiration to order my steps and take control of the session in general, so at the end of the day, I have a beautiful song to present to my team and in turn, we present to the world, to listen to.”
In the years before Niniola became a mainstream artist, she studied music at home. As much work as it seems Niniola puts into making sure each part of her song is neatly woven, nothing about the song departs from who she is. She has learnt to be herself because that’s the only thing that matters —how an artist embraces herself. In effect, this is how her audience come to appreciate her cool on stage. Cheerfully, she says, “being cool is dancing, for instance my song “Gbese kan soke”, that’s being cool”. According to Niniola, “being cool as regards to my music, my style, and my creativity just means being comfortable in my own skin, me Niniola being able to communicate with people through my music, especially when I’m on stage performing and interacting before the audience”.
Niniola has proved she’s a force to reckon with. She is breaking into the mainstream of Nigerian music, while there’s certainly an evolution taking place, we’re well overdue for that debut album and on it, Niniola will get to the essence of what she’s been chiseling at.
Featured Image Credit: Native
Fisayo is a journalist who thinks writing is hard and reading too. But her journey somewhere reveals, words are like pawns on chessboard when writing. She wants to see, create and share with the world, experience & communicate these experiences. Tweet at her @fisvyo
J Hus has been on tour since the release of his Common Sense debut album, and he will remain on the road till December. The roadman days often reminisced in his music have come and gone but not much has changed. Even “Spirit” , his latest video is J Hus in Ghana doing some soul searching, seeking motivation from a town where men and women work with their hands, and toil hard for daily living.
The video for “Spirit” is shot in Jamestown, a small village on the coast of Ghana renown for fishing and boxing. J Hus partakes in the recreational activities of the community as he performs the 12th track on the Common Sense album to highlight the positive spirit of the community. The encouraging narrative of the song, “Came From The Death, It’s Only Right That I ball” against the backdrop of cheerful face in the solemn video allows the song take a more realistic outlook.
As J Hus journeys through the village, the people in the community are shown working and keeping themselves busy with games till it gets dark. The array of shots of the various hustles—including spiritual prayers, bike riders, card games and more ends at at night when J Hus picks up a mic and entertains in front of pleased adoring fans.
Watch J Hus’ video of “Spirit” below.
Featured Image Credits: YouTube/JHusVEVO
You are meeting Debola at a strange time in his life. He wandered into a dream and lost his way back. Tweet at him@debola_abimbolu
Fela left behind a legacy so inspiring that many (including his own children) have tried to follow in his footsteps. For a man with such an outsize personality and career, Fela’s legacy often gets summed up to a few outstanding exploits; his internationally recognized Afrobeat genre, his borderline fetish for a modernized version of traditional Nigeria aesthetics and his remarkable and very public disdain of Nigeria’s deeply flawed political system during his lifetime. While all these character traits were neatly condensed into a personality the whole country could support, all of Fela’s singular traits can be traced back to one thing, his unwavering activism. Fela was the consummate activist and it is time we celebrated that part of Abami Eda.
The bells are still chiming for Bobi Wine after his recent election into office made him the first musician in his country to get elected as a Member of Parliament. But the Ugandan parliamentarian isn’t the first artist who has nursed political ambition. Fela was among the first artists in Africa to speak openly against the political climate and though his political ambition may have peaked following his imprisonment under Buhari’s military regime, he was born into a politically aware family that inspired his passion for politics.
His father was the first president of the Nigerian Teacher’s Union and his mother (Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti) was the first woman to drive a car and a suffragette who led a successful fight for women’s right to vote in Nigeria. His politically conscious immediate family inspired a distrust of the oppressive military system of government and that got heightened when he traveled to London for studies. Fela got introduced to Malcolm X’s writings and James Brown’s music and his life and perhaps African music never remained the same again.
After abandoning his original career path to study music, Fela was introduced to Ghanaian highlife and the high-life tradition of chronicling history through music. But he didn’t like how passive the ethos of the music was. He then sought to create his own, a genre that employed many of the sonic qualities of high-life but allowed for impassioned political musings that Fela was finding himself increasingly drawn to. He returned to Nigeria, formed his first band and began to make enjoyable but highly political music. It seemed enough for him at the time, to channel the pain of the people, fresh from the civil war. But he had no idea, the fight was about to come very personal to him. He was arrested in 1974 for “corruption of minors and possession of cannabis” and served jail time for eleven months where for the first time in his sheltered life, Anikulapo saw the real Nigeria.
Fela ditched the Ransome in his name (which had western origins) and adopted Anikulapo which means “I have death in my pocket”. As part of his protests against the Nigerian government Fela renamed “African Shrine”, his club in Surulere where he performed all his live shows, “Kalakuta Republic”, declaring an independent republic and announcing himself as its leader. This was considered treason by the then government. Ironically, the name “Kalakuta” was inspired by a prison cell in America named Calcutta which helped emphasize Fela’s message of the global black struggle for liberation. He became the activist for oppressed citizens of the world through his music which contained strong anti-dictatorship messages like “Expensive Shit” and “International Thief Thief”—he never had any good thing to say about the military government.
Fela ran his compound at 14A Agege Motor Road in Surulere like a chief would and soon, the nearby Abalti barracks began to worry that he was undermining their authority. The tension reached it’s fever peak in 1977 when the Republic was burnt down in an attack that resulted in the loss of Fela’s mother life. This didn’t deter his ambition and after moving the Shrine to it’s current location in Ikeja, he continued his defiance of the government by releasing best-selling, provocatively titled records such as “Zombie” and “Coffin for the Head of State”.
He eventually formed a political party, Movement of People, a platform under which he sought to contest the 1979 presidential elections but wasn’t allowed to. The party was discontinued while Fela remains remembered for his good deeds of speaking against the ruling corrupt elite and his confidence in the face of overwhelming pressure. But Fela’s shattered political ambition may as well be a blessing in disguise since it spares him the burden of being affiliated with a system he spoke ill against.
Whether Fela could have been a good political leader is at this point nothing more than philosophical projection based on his personality. He was reckless and made rash and questionable decisions, traits that never bode well in a potential leader. His legacy remains as valid as it is today because of the position of opposition he played in Nigeria’s oppressive society. But one can’t help but wonder what Nigeria would look like today if Fela had taken the mantle way back in 1979.
Featured Image Credits: Web/fela.net
You are meeting Debola at a strange time in his life. He wandered into a dream and lost his way back. Tweet at him@debola_abimbolu
If there’s anything to pick from the success of mumble rappers, it’s the fact that good music remains lovable even with seemingly indecipherable lyrics. Migos’ “Versace” may be responsible for the heightened mumble culture in rap today but their style of lyricism also resonates in Boyewa’s releases. The singer who has been known to defy genre barriers has released a new single, “Blood Is On D Flo Demo” with classic R&B instrumentals.
His penchant for utilizing the sounds from his mouths as part of the instrumentals as he mumbles his words over decidedly catchy beats stands him out of the cluster of mumble artist. On “Blood On D Flo Demo”, he sings over a carpet of comforting electronic guitar harmonies backed only by laid back yet hard-kicking drum pattern. The guitar baseline and audio accessorizing on his vocals leads Boyewa to tag the single as “electronic” on his Soundcloud. But the ambient and soothing melodies he already perfected a year ago with his vocals on “Fada” remains familiar.
While most of the song’s lyrics are hard to make out, “Blood On D Flo. Demo” listens like it’s playing from a jukebox from the 80’s and does nothing to help with coherence. The substandard quality of the recording however creates a nostalgic atmosphere for a classic R&B number. The audio quality doesn’t improve before distinct emotions start to show as Boyewa belts an serving of melodious lyrics over a layer of cheering echoes.
Though we can’t deny that there’s a certain charm in understanding every word from a song’s lyrics, Boyewa more than makes up for it with replay value. “Blood On D Flo. Demo” is so soothing, it’s almost hypnotic. Listen to it below.
Featured Image Credits: Soundcloud/Boyewa
You are meeting Debola at a strange time in his life. He wandered into a dream and lost his way back. Tweet at him@debola_abimbolu
Off Patoranking’s acclaimed God Over Everything 2016 Album (Which turned 1 yesterday, August 1st) is “This Kind Love” an Afro-carribean jam featuring the artist whose recent music releases has been largely influenced by the genre, Wizkid. “This Kind Love” has been a jam on our playlists for the longest time and it’s taken forever for Patoranking to release visuals for it. This is presumably because the two have had projects on their plates back to back and Wizkid is barely even in the country. The two scarcely appear in the song’s video too, except for a poster of them being pasted by their alias.
Patoranking has now been on some other shit teasing and releasing new music and videos back to back (not features). We still have his video for “Hale Hale”, released last week, on replay and the man has 2 new ones for us already –the second is “Mama Aboyo” featuring Olamide. While this second video is a leak –hasn’t been officially released to Patoranking’s vevo account and neither has he made mention of it so far, we’ll speak of “This Kind Love”.
Shot by Clarence Peters, “This Kind Love” is set in Jamaica. The video takes off with young replicas of the artists who don outfits similar to what we’ve seen Wizkid and Patoranking wear. But this is besides the video’s point. Each shot takes us on a cautionary tale, explicitly telling the world to say no to domestic violence and yes to treating people (predominantly your spouse and lover) well. It wouldn’t be a first from Patoranking whose sleeper hit “No Kissing Baby” hints on a similar notion too.
We’ve seen artist make the turn to more socially conscious themes recently, Orezi’s “Cooking Pot” release is one in a number, where we saw him brilliantly channel Fela to talk sex abuse, rape and consent. For Patoranking, even when he expertly makes dancehall music, he still has a strong message to tell.
Here is Patoranking’s “This Kind Love” produced by longtime Wizkid associate, Sarz. Have a go at it below.
Featured Image Credit: Youtube/PatorankingVevo
Fisayo is a journalist who thinks writing is hard and reading too. But her journey somewhere reveals, words are like pawns on chessboard when writing. She wants to see, create and share with the world, experience & communicate these experiences. Tweet at her @fisvyo
Maleek Berry recently added motivational speaking to his list of qualities at a recent TEDx event in Peckham, London. The independent event hosted by the community of Peckham boasted a line of speakers, mostly of Nigerian origin. The video for Maleek Berry’s talk was published today.
Sporting an all black outfit and nervousness, Maleek Berry broke down his journey from a toddler who enjoyed Michael Toddler to the hit-making mogul he is today. Each layer to his story detailed his experiences from his contact with music and his life on the way to stardom. Laughing in between pauses, the audience got to know Maleek Berry the person not just the artist.
To cap it off, he finished in classic motivational speaker style with a mantra: Find your truth. Short and to the point, it was an appeal to whoever was listening to chase their dreams and find themselves before it’s too late. He also made other points in this line but it was all in a day’s work for the newly minted inspirational speaker.
Take a moment to watch Maleek Berry’s Talk on TEDxPeckham below.
Featured Image Credit: Instagram/@maleekberry
A journalist by training, Ehimenim is a lover of history, good books and Game of Thrones. For her, the real world is just another Westeros and everyone is a supporting character. Read and repeat is her motto. Give her a wave on Twitter@EAgweh.
Ric Hassani has found a way to embody his artistry and classic man style in a way that’ll draw you into his music. He uses his music to wander into the hearts of his fans and supporters, while he uses his image as the the typical African Gentleman —in no coincidence the title of his album debut too— he wants us to believe he is. Though his lyrics may be all you’ve heard before, The African Gentleman Ep generally fares fine. Off that Ep is “Only You”, which he has just released music video to.
The Adasa Cookey directed video for “Only You” is shot in two major locations, the bed room and a vegetation that follows Ric and his lover display love and affection for one another. We have a Ric Hassani pining for his lover compelling her to believe all that his heart wants is her, “You are the light in my day, when I seeu, I’ll be okay” he croons over piano, guitar and drum thrums. Like most of the songs off his upcoming Ep, they build apt atmosphere for weddings so it’s not hard to imagine “Only You” thrive on wedding playlists.
Ric Hassani’s The African Gentleman was set for pre-order for July 30th till his team at Riverland Records announced it’s been moved. Although a new date is yet to be communicated, changes were made “to enable us deliver a top quality album to our amazing and wonderful fans”, they stated in an official instagram post.
While we wait for that, check out Ric Hassani’s music video for “Only You” below.
Featured Image Credit: Instagram/@richassani
Fisayo is a journalist who thinks writing is hard and reading too. But her journey somewhere reveals, words are like pawns on chessboard when writing. She wants to see, create and share with the world, experience & communicate these experiences. Tweet at her @fisvyo
Davina already showed her aptitude with writing on her debut EP and guest features where she melds lithely songwriting with inspiring spoken word poetry. Her debut tape as an artist, Love To A Mortal however showcases other traits: masterful production, smart arrangements and a willingness to follow melody and tune above and beyond genre or format. “Silence (Father Have Mercy”) and “F.S.L.S”, two of the pre-released singles from the project featured an infusion of ska-rocksteady genre on the former, alongside classic 90’s R&B/Soul sounds on the latter, “Juju”, another single off the album is a recursion of modern Afropop.
Love To A Mortal is filled with soft and tender songs of unity and self-love. At a time when the rhetoric churned from the mini-complexes of pop stars and social media micro-celebrities alike is ever aggressive and often unforgiving, Davina Oriakhi’s EP feels like escape.
Heart-warming R&B bears mark on opening track “It’s All About Love” this positive energy and joy sustains into second track, “These Feelings”, an even more uplifting track about love. She boldly declares her feelings for her partner and asks not to be judged because she’s only human, a strong message that resonates as one remembers sexual identities and inter-gender relationships are repressed in these parts of the world. The pacey drums, trumpets and piano riffs sum up to a very groovy jazz tune that allows Davina to emphasize her carefree happiness through a memorable scatting bridge.
The third track, “Temptation | Relapse” is perhaps the most provocative track and one of the two spoken word cuts that appear on the project. She speaks on two sides of addiction on the two part track—“Temptation” shows the attractive highs, while “Relapse” emphasizes the down and regrets—using spoken word poetry to address more serious themes like depression and struggling to forgive yourself on “Before The Silence” .
“W. S. T[Good Fight]” is an instant favorite with the laid back piano harmonies and soft drum riffs backed up by bass guitars. Davina encourages listeners to fight the good fight; “Freedom Don’t Come Easy. This Is What I’ve Learned/ If The Battle Ain’t Yours. My Question Burn”, “If You Haven’t Found The Time. Go The Extra Mile”—all presented without rage or aggression. The most defiant thing about the song is Davina’s defiance of the baser emotions during such audacious level-headed truth-speaking about spiritual warfare. With just the right amount of hippie vibe, she manages to keep the theme of spirit positivism going.
Listen to the Love To A Mortal EP by Davina Oriakhi below.
Featured Image Credit: Instagram/davinaoriakhi
You are meeting Debola at a strange time in his life. He wandered into a dream and lost his way back. Tweet at him@debola_abimbolu
Adekunle Gold has always known the path he wants to thread on without ever swaying. This way, a typical Adekunle gold music video is a tad vintage-y, his songs even when crafted lyrically in English, are highlighted with Yoruba cadences or phrases. An interview on EbonylifeTv’s The Spot 2 years ago brings to mind an Adekunle who recalls how he had painfully loathed the the opinion that his music and voice sound better in Yoruba than English. He felt offended. But rather than fighting it, Adekunle sought to embrace it and transcend it through his music. He has since released some of his song’s verses in Yoruba, a la “Orente” and “Pick up”. But he crafts mostly in English on “Call On Me”, his second official single of the year, which he now releases an official video to.
Directed by Moyo Oyeola and Peter Longno, the clip for “Call On Me” finds Adekunle Gold in search of a lady he’s found at a cafe. The video is pretty simple but enhanced by high definition shots of a vintage-esque setting that’s criss-crossed with creative shots framed with shadow lines of Adekunle singing. Everything comes together in full to give a breezy summer feel as a quintessential Adekunle adorns his printed wears and eventually finds the lady that previously caught his attention at a party in the video’s end.
Take a moment to watch Adekunle Gold’s video for “Call On Me” below.
Fisayo is a journalist who thinks writing is hard and reading too. But her journey somewhere reveals, words are like pawns on chessboard when writing. She wants to see, create and share with the world, experience & communicate these experiences. Tweet at her @fisvyo
You ever sat in a room in the blues immersing yourself in thought of a lover who you’ve hurt or who’s hurt you? If this has ever happened to you, then you can relate with Maleek and his lover in his new video for “Been Calling”.
On “Been Calling”, Maleek is broken and yearning for his lover who’s pining for him as well. She decides to go to Berry’s Room, a quasi-futuristic place where people go to relive past hot times, the old romance, in an attempt to feel warm with one’s own lover or whatever you want to see. The concept feels inspired by an episode of Black Mirror.
When the lover is out, the warm she feels in that world isn’t there anymore. What happens next after reliving such memories is you come out feeling guiltier than before.
Meji Alabi directs the video, lots and lots of silhouettes and pastel shades. We see the actions in black and orange just like we see the lovers in happy and sad times. Everything comes together with Malek’s production in a way that may make you even forget that the song is actually melancholy.
Have a look at it below.
Featured Image Credit: Youtube/Maleek Berry “Been Calling”
Fisayo is a journalist who thinks writing is hard and reading too. But her journey somewhere reveals, words are like pawns on chessboard when writing. She wants to see, create and share with the world, experience & communicate these experiences. Tweet at her @fisvyo
Daramola is really on some other shit in 2017. He’s put out a critically acclaimed album and an EP after that is both familiar to the average Nigerian but also entirely experimental. There’s a fire burning inside the man and he seems desperate to channel all that energy into his music, putting single after experimental single out, working his way through the genres while retaining that his distinct Yoruba influenced musicality. And as we’re writing this, he’s just upped and surprised us with yet another one, “Swim Float Drown”.
The first thing that jumps out at you on Daramola’s new single, is the sombre tone he deliberately cultivates. Flirtations with Kanye West’s My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy era, bring a mix of noirish Gothic ambiance, bass chants and minor choral harmonies, but brought firmly into the present through electronic manipulation and synth accompaniments.
“Swim Float Drown“, is much darker than much of Daramola’s catalog, chronicling the fracturing of a relationship thanks to a self destructive protagonist seeking comfort everywhere but his lover. He name checks Norse mythology (Valhalla) and 90’s postpunk with the rapid fire, emo verses that build and build but never crescendo. But “Swim Float Drown” is at it’s most Kanye at its very end; big guns, auto-tuned sung monologue, despair in excelsis.
Who knew the dark could be so delightful.
Listen to “Swim Float Drown” here.
Featured Image Credit: Instagram/@itsdaramola
Edwin eats his rice and cabbages. Tweet at him@edgothboy
It’s a pleasure to hear Bridge spit one of his hardest verses since his LOS crew split up. After two passable performances (for a rapper of his calibre) on his two previous singles, “Calling” and “Needy” it seemed like he hadn’t quite gotten over the break up. His latest single featuring Zamir however reminds listeners what Bridge is good at: making gangsta rap records.
While his old singles were swamped with needless introspection on the costs of love lost, “Blood Money” weighs in on where he stands in the hip-hop game with catchy flow and confident delivery. The bouncy trap beat is glazed through with sombre haunting trumpet harmonies, lending the hard lyrics high cinema airs. The gore and grit in the beat also resonates on Bridge’s vocals such that his lyrics are emphasized, rather than drowned. Serving up twitter worthy lines like “Staring At The World, I Could Shed A Tear” and following it up with “But I Wouldn’t Cause It’s Real Life”, focusing on his words is almost as important the dialog in action movies.
Zamir’s verse is a lot more personal: “I Know The Role I Play”. He leaves a more prominent impression through his lyrics; “I Prepared The Table, So I Ate” and ensures that the message for “Blood Money” isn’t lost in a fury of humble brags and deep moral postulations.
Listen to Bridge and Zamir’s “Blood Money” below.
Featured Image Credits: Instagram/badbridgelos
You are meeting Debola at a strange time in his life. He wandered into a dream and lost his way back. Tweet at him@debola_abimbolu
The Wizkid we used to know can still be heard in the extensive catalog the Starboy has grown over the years, but one wonders how he would thrive on the mid-tempo sound Tekno and Runtown have popularised since last year. Perhaps this is why “Medicine” carries an inherently familiar texture within. With “Medicine”, There is no telling Wiz is leveraging his time back home to work with some of the earliest influences of his sound who have also been instrumental in the turn around of the Nigerian Afropop.
“Medicine” brings forth a traditional-Afropop Wizkid we haven’t seen in a minute, a reminder of just how multi-versed he has become since the turn of his global campaign.
Photography: Tyrone Bradley (courtesy of Red Bull NG)
This story originally appeared in NATIVE 001: The Birth Issue, May 2017.
The city of Lagos is home to over 20 million people. The streets are always busy, and rainy days can be quite warm. Dubbed ‘The centre of excellence’, there’s an aspirational spirit to Lagos very few cities possess. WAFFLESNCREAM (abbreviated to WAFF) is a skate brand with strong intentions – to challenge preconceived notions of urban youth in Lagos city.
The whole idea is the synthesis of different interests: skateboarding, BMX, fashion, art and music. It entails a group of people that have a passion for creativity in its different forms. The brand seeks to shed light on Lagos, the forgotten heroes, and forgotten heroes to be. WAFF celebrates authenticity and particularly embraces innovation; it embodies the purist approach to individual culture.
To get a good idea of what WAFF really is, you can’t speak to just one person: at its core it is a circle of friends that have become extended family – Nif, J, Elijah Zgambo, Kofo, Slawn, Onyedi, Leonard, Nuda, Jide, Fadekemi, AJ, Jordan Thomas, Dae, Millabad, Donnika, Thai Hibbert, Be, Saidi, Bai aka Fuzxy, Anthony Wildman aka Wildest, Omi, KC, and Eva, and that’s naming a handful. WAFF has become network of like minds scattered across three continents and counting. Here’s an image of ‘The Family’ from a past pop-up.
Humble Beginnings, History & Formation
Speaking to AJ, a skater who did videography on the first WAFF skate tour from Leeds to London we get first hand perspective of the brand’s humble beginnings, “WAFFLESNCREAM started in Leeds as a concept, no clothes, no ‘brand name’, just skating,” he explained via Facebook messenger. “Leeds was the first experiment, simply a vibe; there was no reference to home. But Leeds had its own unique style of skating and associated lifestyle we embodied. There was a mutual want to bring something different to skateboarding, and the Bello brothers [J and Nif, who started the brand] had strong ideas of how they would like to represent skateboarding. That brought them to their ‘we’re gonna get this’ moment. The filming and photography was approached with a focus on representing this pocket of life.” This process of organic growth happened again in Lusaka, Zambia when J teamed up with Elijah to help kick start a skate scene that is now in the thousands, before its latest reenactment in Lagos.
At the time of the first skate tour, the Bello Brothers (J and Nif) were between Reading and Leeds. The original Leeds skate crew had been about their antics as young skateboarders for some time, but J had to move away to Reading for univeristy. The actual concept of WAFFLESNCREAM as a brand was created while in Reading, long after the crew was birthed. J would design apparel while Skype-ing Nif, who made sure the merchandise got to the Leeds crew. And just like that, the first wave of WAFF had begun.
Shortly after, WAFF collaborated with Redbull to go on their premier skate tour, this is when AJ was brought on board to help document the trip. He credits his loyalty to friends to WAFF eventually becoming his family, “The reason I went to London with them was no one else in Leeds really knew about them and didn’t want to ‘dip their toe’ as it were, and trust them. So people saw it as just another early 2011 hype and an exploited idea. I stuck with them because the other riders [in the Leeds crew] were my close friends and eventually J became that also.”
The first skate tour was ten years ago, and since then seven collections have been released; the last release [titled ‘007’] being two years ago. It seems that for the past 2 years, WAFF has been in hibernation. After expanding the brand through regular apparel releases and pop-ups between London and Lagos, the family doubled down on their mission: to make skating a reality for the kids back “home”. When AJ is asked about the strides WAFF has taken, he tells the classic story of a diamond in the rough, “You know, people who used to snigger are now so surprised at their success and I just assumed it was only a matter of when. On the other hand, the last 10 years speak their own experience and validation. Besides this, the name can definitely turn someone’s interest by merit of being so unique. It happens so often when I crack out the ‘Crack is Wack’ [an adopted slogan used in their first collection] windbreaker and everyone’s like ‘yoooo’. Hahaha”.
More Than a Skate Brand
The last editorial from 007 was shot in 2015 on Elegushi beach in Lagos, this would serve as a preview of things to come. The core of the WAFF family are now based in Lagos and thus, the focus has shifted to a large extent. But there are still representatives across the UK, USA, Ghana and Zambia, who are still loyal to the house J built.
One of the key components of the brand of WAFFLESNCREAM is its ‘facelessness’. Founder and head honcho, J, is notoriously opposed to any sort of personal press or media angling to portray WAFF as one man’s passion project. And those that have met him know just how passionate he is about it: it has quite literally been his life for a decade now. This selflessness is refreshing in a country where everything seems to be about the individual rather than the collective: from the fashion world to the oftcriticised political realm. J’s personal detachment to the general public has allowed the brand to develop an identity that is independent of any individual figurehead, and it is reaping the benefits. Behind the scenes it’s a web of commitments where all the team members bring their strengths to the table. Nuda – a London based creative – has modelled and done creative direction for past editorials, Onyedi solely recorded footage for the last edit (‘Jide’), Slawn does graphic work and illustration for their coveted t-shirts, and Leonard does Illustration and photography. Most recently, Nif (who daylights as a product designer) is drawing up sketches for Lagos’ first skate park: the crowning achievement for the Bello brother.
When WAFF initially relocated to Lagos on a more permanent basis, J and the family brainstormed on ways to integrate into the underground culture of the city. Whilst this was their home, they were still seen by some as foreigners, coming from the UK. The family soon started sporadic underground music gatherings named VIBES. Established in 2015, VIBES was a perfect platform for WAFF to make their mark in Lagos. Bringing people from different walks of life into one room. Be it avid skaters, streetwear aficionados, or simply Lagosians tired of the repetitive bottle service clubs and overpriced bars – VIBES was a safe haven. At the time, WAFF had no office, staff or skaters but VIBES was a way to connect what would eventually become family through the universal language of music. Since its inception, there have been numerous, and usually spontaneous VIBES nights with selectors from the family [Dae, Omi and Fuzxy] all gracing the decks. Special guests such as Seun Kuti and M.I. Abaga have also been in attendance, with the events varying from the back garden of friends to art galleries. The VIBES DJs recently released a mix titled Indigenous Mix Vol. 1 – wonderfully hectic collection of tracks, which currently acts as the soundtrack to the flagship store. Harking back to the early noughties, the mix is only available in CD format, exclusively at the store in Lagos.
When talking about the familial ethos to work and skating, Slawn states, “Family is what the group considers itself to be. Because we know not everyone will accept and understand what we’re doing”. It comes as no surprise to find out the crew celebrates birthdays and engagements alike. Negative sentiment associated with the ‘otherness’ of emerging cultures stays true to skateboarding in Africa. Elijah [who helped set up the first Lusaka crew] has recounted tales of being arrested and locked up in Zambia on numerous occasions, in a previous conversation with HUCK Magazine.
Community Ties
The locals in the area around the store have mixed opinions on skateboarding. The vast majority of them are interacting with the sport for the first time and they are still trying to understand what it is exactly that these kids are doing. They mostly see skateboarding as an unnecessary hazard, but will cheer on when a skater’s ‘impossible’ stunts are landed – pun intended. For now, spectators are watching with an a gaze of amazement, but not quite admiration yet.
It takes a lot to be a skater in Lagos. Most of the city is flat so you haven’t the luxury of cruising down hills. It’s a lot of kicking and pushing to get around (this is the only way to pick up momentum when skateboarding). In addition to this, the best areas to skateboard are usually fenced off and/or have security guards. Sometimes skateboarding is wearily condoned at best, but this is without any future guarantees from proprietors of spaces the skaters frequent. Negotiating their way around to find the perfect mix of smooth ground and ‘skatable’ obstacles can be challenging, but definitely makes being able to skateboard even sweeter when they can. Everyone learns a trick from someone else, which means that the skate community is connected in a spiritual way too; it nurtures feelings of camaraderie and humility amongst the skaters. Leonard rants on the challenges of skating in Lagos, “You don’t have facilities, or even good roads. You don’t have people who have trained for years with skills you can catch up to, you just have to have a fuck you attitude towards these obstacles and keep grinding. Hopefully, someone picks up a trick from you, you learn from them, and the cycle continues.”
Leonard chimes in again with a frustrated but humorous tone, “Lagos is trying to be a megacity but the parks aren’t physically accessible, nobody’s making their way under a high speed bridge for r&r [a reference to the public parks built by the state in hard to reach areas]”. The WAFF crew is constantly on the lookout for interstitial spaces to skate. Sidewalks are few and far between outside the older parts of Lagos Island, which really comes down to city planning. When Nif and J break the news of a potential skate park, it’s met with as much excitement as relief.
Go Skate Day (an international skateboarding day) is being celebrated by the crew: on June 21st skate films will be screened all day at the skate shop and their second skate edit titled ‘Linda’ will be premiered. A half pipe being constructed for The 24th of June follows this; it’s surely a good time for the skaters in Lagos.
The Future of WAFF
It has been an interesting past few years for WAFF, the brand now boasts West Africa’s premier skate shop in the shape of their flagship store in Victoria Island, Lagos which opened in January 2017. With intentions of making a global impact, it’s fitting to find that the shop’s address is 234 Muri Okunola Street (+234 being Nigeria’s international code). Senegal and Ghana are two other West African countries with a skateboarding scene but have no supplies. This makes the skate shop a regional game changer.
Despite their considerable strides, international distributors do not always believe that WAFF exists, sometimes going as far as asking for pictures of people buying apparel in-store to prove it’s legit. Kofo, the store manager recalls, “Every proposal feels like a 419 scam, with the ‘Nigerian Prince’ gag and all. The landlord still doesn’t understand what we do. People in public and even parents ask why we do ‘this thing’, they can’t make sense of it”. Outside of Nigeria, there is growing list of African countries with blossoming skate scenes, but only Zambia and South Africa boast skate shops. The possibilities for skateboarding on the African continent are still presenting themselves as the sport gains popularity in little pockets.
What the store means for Lagos is a cultural meeting point for skaters and creatives alike. After the soft launch there was a 5-week ‘Friends & Family’ exhibition featuring photography, illustrations, graffiti, paintings and music from different members of The Family. The space changes to suit its needs as it grows, while keeping the environment interesting and cosy. The original back office is now a production room. Recently the till was removed completely only to be replaced by a sofa. There’s a cat that roams around, but mainly just chills in the stock room.
In a country where the WAFF crew is more of an outsider pack, only the youth and future generations may enjoy the luxuries of a developed skateboarding scene aided by private and public support. The marginalised action sports enthusiasts – the skaters, bmx’ers, and more – may soon find themselves represented on an international stage. Skateboarding was just green-lit for the Tokyo 2020 Olympics and the intro to an epic underdog story has been penned. The question if Nigeria (or even Africa) will have its own Cool Runnings moment will surely be answered in due time. Other extreme sports in the region need a way to tell their own stories, but it’s the Wild West right now and there are no rules. WAFFLESNCREAM dually serves as a source of inspiration, and the benchmark to inspire other brands to come forth. London and New York are two cities that have seen skate brands revolutionise youth culture, and we can only hope Lagos is next. The infamously media-averse J finally speaks on the record when I ask him about his views on the future of skateboarding: “Africa is ready, let’s see what happens.”
Music videos allow artists appeal to their fans not just with their vocal talents but also through their carefully orchestrated storylines, choreography and personal aesthetic. Though dancing artists may no longer be as pop as they once were, artists are still leaning on aesthetics videos and the A$AP Mob’s new video for “RAF” is as eccentric as they come. The video features A$AP Rocky, Playboi Carti & Quavo for a star-studded fashion show where they adorn an assortment of Raf Simons clothing while complete with VHS-inspired effects and an all-white background.
Jah Prayzah – My Lilly feat Davido
Wizkid and Davido may have gotten carried away and taken their rivalry to twitter, but we are glad they are finally back to competing with more maturity. While Wizkid’s latest release, Sounds From The Other Side is battling for international recognition with his American features, Davido has taken advantage of the African music scene. His feature on Zimbabwean singer, Jah Prayzah’s “My Lilly” is only one of the two African collaborations he has featured on in the space of a week. The mellow-dramatic video for “My Lilly” is shot in South Africa and directed by Godfather Productions who follows the song’s romantic narrative for a script that sees Davido get on his knees offering his love interest a big shiny rock.
Public Enemies – Jay Z Vs. Kanye West Documentary
Jay Z and Kanye West seem to have gone from super group to rivals. Though most of the talk about the beef has been largely speculative, “Britain’s Channel 4 network” is airing a documentary that will feature “unseen footage and unheard testimonies” . DJ Clark Kent, the legendary producer who has worked with Hov since his debut album is heard commenting in the preview, “One is a New York street dude, The other dude is a mama’s boy from Chicago.” Plus longtime music journalist, Touré adds: “JAY-Z is very thoughtful about money. Kanye is spend-it-all, art-comes-first”.
Flavour – Sake of Love Feat. Sarkodie
One thing you quickly realize from Flavour’s style and music is that he’s as much a lover and as he is a fighter. His macho demeanor may appear to contrast his romantic themes but they have only worked to make him a bigger artist than most. This Sesan directed video for “Sake Of Love” put that balance front and center as Flavour is shown fighting to defend a love interest. The fact that he is shown drinking just before smashing the head of his love interest’s ex might not be enough to appease the morally upright but then again, all is fair in love and war right?
Wizkid – Beats 1 Radio Interview
Wizkid’s new album, Sounds From The Other Side has put him in the media a lot lately. His latest one is this interview session with Beats 1 Radio host, Ebro Darden where he discusses his album and why he’ll rather have called it a mixtape. He also admits to his sound not being entirely new despite what others might saying, “The Sound Is Really Not Changing/ It’s Only Just Connecting” describing how he fuses different sounds.
Nick Cannon – Wild ‘N Out feat. New Edition
MTV’s Wild ‘N Out is back and this time, Nick Cannon and the gang are hosting New Edition. As well as everything else that has made the show a must-see—lightning fast comedic improv, head-to-head diss battling and of course, their famous rap battles where guests always manage to find new ways to remind Nick Cannon about his ex, Mariah Carey.
Featured Image Credits: YouTube/asapmobVEVO
You are meeting Debola at a strange time in his life. He wandered into a dream and lost his way back. Tweet at him@debola_abimbolu
The Boy from Port Harcourt has always been preordained as The Chosen One. Now, five years since his first single, he is ready for it all
Words: Ayoade Bamgboye
Photography: Chris Okoigun
Styling: Ronami Ogulu
LAGOS – “I feel like I’ve been Burna Boy since before I was born”, he exhaled rather matter-of-factly halfway through our conversation, “I’ve always been this guy”.
The house itself was unsuspecting. I don’t know why I had envisaged something strange but beautiful, a unique structure that young children could point at and say “that’s Burna’s House”, in some sort of Disney neighbourhood-hero type of way. But even that wouldn’t make much sense – despite his seemingly permanent relocation to Lagos (and currently, Lekki), Burna is, rather aptly put by the man himself at his debut show in 2011, “a Bad Boy from Port Harcourt”. In an adopted city, he has surrounded himself with family, and friends that have become family, but he still carries the aura of a mythologised outsider operating in his own world.
One of Burna’s bredrins (he refers to all of his inner circle as his bredrins), Shalala, was nice enough to escort me upstairs. We came to a small living room once we got in, and there was a child staring intently at me, eating a slice of pawpaw. Burna later told me that this phenomenal painting of the child was done by his sister, as were most of the others around the house. After walking up three floors, each one a variation of a large television, sofas and artwork, we finally came to a room. I’d call it a bedsit, but having a bedsit in the middle of a mansion is a bit of a paradox. It was technically a “bedroom”, the giant bed giving that much away. But it was populated with what felt like a hundred people, in addition to a living room and a fully stocked bar, so it didn’t really feel like one. I still had to ask Burna if this indeed was where he spends his nights. Sensing I was confused by the sheer volume of bodies, he laughed before retorting that “everywhere is everywhere.” By the end of my stay with him, I had become used to these effortlessly cryptic remarks which made no sense at all, but at the same time, all the sense in the world.
Since his relocation to Lagos in the early 2010’s, and the subsequent release of his needle-moving debut album L.I.F.E (Leaving an Impact For Eternity), Burna has long been painted by various parts of the press as an enfant terrible of sorts. From controversial Felabration outfits to imaginative rumours of the reason behind his prolonged absence from the UK, the traditional media in the country seem to be preoccupied with everything in Burna’s life other than the actual music. He admits he’s not blameless in this situation though, sometimes adding fuel to the fire by sparking back at the incessant press-operated rumour mill surrounding the music industry. “If I ever react to something in the industry, it’s because my fans keep going on about it,” he explains, “I just feel the need to appease them. Without them there’s nothing really, so I might as well.”
Is there anything you’ve done or said that you regret?
Anything that I’ve done or said that I haven’t meant, I apologise then and there for it. It doesn’t take me long to process stuff, everything I do, there’s a reason for it, but sometimes the way I pass a message, it’s just rah, mine’s landed like a slap.
His responses to questions about the industry (and thus his peers within the industry) are measured but blunt. He wouldn’t be drawn on how he felt about fellow artists jumping into the studio with anyone and everyone in the States. What in the past may have come across as marginally slighted by the perceived lack of critical acclaim, his tone and body language is decidedly different. Burna knows he is meant to be here. He doesn’t need you or me to rave about his album to remind him of his talent. Despite humorous jabs such as him stating “they know who to go to for stuff like that” when asked about being involved in political campaigns, he has successfully found a way to operate and exist outside of a mundane music industry muzzled by sponsorship millions, whilst still dictating the direction of the mainstream sound.
If nothing else, Burna Boy knows who Burna Boy is, and what he’s meant to be doing. Asked to describe himself with only 3 words, he said, “Real, great and…” he paused briefly. “I know what I want to say for the last one, but I don’t know it in English,” he pondered, before swiftly saying it in Yoruba “E li to mo na”. I stare at his blankly, wondering whether or not I should confess that I know very little Yoruba, if any at all. He was silent, so I imagined he assumed I knew what he said, at which point I had to ask, “what does that mean?”, to which he calmly replied after some more thought, “One who knows his own road.” How fitting, I thought to myself, as Burna stated this with the calm of someone who truly knows himself.
How would you describe your process of creating?
I’m not a rapper, or a singer, I’m not even an Afrobeats singer, I’m an Afro-Fusionist, it’s a spiritual genre of music, it just comes. You get chosen and it just works out for you.
No plan, no process? Isn’t that scary, aren’t you ever worried that it just won’t come?
Nope. If it wasn’t gonna come, then I wouldn’t even be here in the first place.
This sort of answer becomes somewhat of a regular occurrence during my stay with Burna: he completely believes that he was chosen to be here, doing what he is doing, and the explanation for his success is really that simple. His unwillingness to identify as an Afrobeats artist is particularly intriguing, given the legacy of the genre and his family ties to the legendary Fela Kuti; but it’s understandable that he wouldn’t want to box himself into a genre that means so much more than a certain tempo.
Pop music in Africa is slowly becoming one of the continent’s biggest exports. Watching the growth of the respective House and Hip Hop scenes in South Africa has been nothing short of inspiring, but the resurgence of African Pop music in West Africa has been breathtaking. In a world where everyone is more connected to one another than ever before, Nigerian music has travelled faster and further than many could have imagined. These days it is not uncommon to hear a Wizkid or Davido song at the club in New York. It is no longer a surprise to hear a Mr. Eazi sleeper hit on UK radio stations. When your favourite Instagram model posts a video dancing to a Burna Boy song, it’s not that unexpected.
But this sudden obsession with sounds from the motherland is not without explanation. Nigeria has long been seen as the home of the “Afrobeat”, birthed by the legendary Fela Kuti. Arguments about the exact definition of Afrobeats, what it is and what it is not, are even more heated than those seen in the UK regarding the definition of Grime. In the mid-noughties, mainstream artists started to slowly shift away from traditional Afrobeats, allowing their music to be influenced by Hip-Hop, Rap, R&B and other more contemporary sounds. Like every truly great genre, Afrobeats evolved to have its own sub-genres, appealing to different legions of fans. This seismic shift birthed the superstars of the 2010s: D’Banj, Tiwa Savage, P-Square and many more.
“I am Afro-Fusion, so you’re talking about where I am and where I’m going to be”
As the musical landscape in Hip-Hop and R&B shifted overseas, modern Afrobeats followed suit, in true pop music fashion. Burna Boy has always been seen as one of the pioneers of this shift, incorporating Dancehall and Hip-Hop on his earliest recordings, such as the encapsulating “Freedom Freestyle” off the Burn Notice mixtape in 2011, where he allegedly addresses his first stint in the UK. Artists like Odunsi [The Engine] and Mr Eazi have been quoted as classifying themselves under the genre “Afro-Fusion”, a fitting term to describe the sound of modern pop music in Africa: Afrobeats with a mix of pretty much everything else. Many other acts have since gone on to identify their music with this definition, but Burna Boy very much sees himself as the only frontier of Afro-Fusion. It’s more than a genre to him, it’s spiritual.
How do you feel Afro-Fusion is evolving? What can we expect from where it is now, and where it will be?
I am Afro-Fusion, so you’re talking about where I am and where I’m going to be, you get me? I’m just going along with it. It’s fusion becauseit’s everything. Whatever the spirit decides, that’s what it’s going to be.
How would you describe the spirit, is it like a feeling, or a vibe?
I don’t know! That’s like asking me to explain what the air is like, sometimes it’s cloudy, sometimes it’s beautiful, sometimes there’s smoke in it, it’s just what it is. You get me?
Your music is quite political, in that there are clear connections with current sociopolitical issues – do you feel like music should be politicised?
No, I don’t only make music like that. I make music about stupid stuff too. It’s a spiritual thing so it’s whatever I’m feeling that day. It’s just a mixture of feelings and vibes.
Do you feel a dilution in the culture of our music with the rise of international collaborations?
I’ve done a million of them, you’re going to hear too many next year, it’s not a secret, there are features with Grammy winners and all that. I’ve never actually approached people before, I think that’s what happens when you’re original and real, you get me? There’s going to be an attraction when your style is clear.
Family First
Burna sauntered around in nothing more than boxers and a warm smile, “Welcome to My Dojo” he laughed, as smoke filled the room. After I politely declined the “holy grail” on this occasion, I was offered a snack from his bedside drawer, which was literally filled to the brim with all kinds of sweet treats. I opted for a miniature Twix bar, he had a hot dog and a can of Coke, incidentally not from his bedside drawer.
It’s intriguing, the way he alternates between brother, son, partner and artist, never fully stepping out of each role, being all of them at the same time. He says as much himself when I ask him how he separates Burna Boy from Damini Ogulu. “My mum calls me Burna Boy, it’s the same thing. It’s like I’ve been Burna Boy since before I was Burna Boy, I’ve always been this guy. There wasn’t a time where I was like, yeah, I’m going to be this guy now.” He says incessantly. “There was no development, that’s just the way I was born. If you look at baby pictures, I look the same. It’s mad. When I was little I looked like this, like I had one haircut till I was 23, the same haircut, you know the Burna Boy haircut? I always had that. Then I got tired of it and grew dreads.” His impassioned answer reminded me of Gloria Carter’s monologue on The Black Album opener “December 4th”, where she says she knew Jay Z was going to be “special” because she didn’t go through any pain during his birth. The notion that those closest to icons-to-be somehow always knew they would go on to be great isn’t new, but with Burna Boy, it seems perfectly believable.
“I feel like I’ve been Burna Boy since before I was born.”
A couple of weeks later at the inaugural NATIVELAND Festival, Burna was deep in conversation backstage as J Hus ripped through hits like “Friendly” and “Dem Boy Paigon” for an adoring crowd. Flanked by his tenacious momager Mrs. Bose Ogulu, and his sister Ruonami who doubles up as his stylist, they were looking through some of the early edits of the photographs from his NATIVE Cover Shoot. “This one is sick, please send it to me!” he tells Chris Okoigun, as he stares intently at an epic shot of himself draped in a white robe, holding his trademark trap-phone, with smoke escaping from his mouth. Mrs. Ogulu agrees, “Yes please send them all to us,” she states before turning to directly to Chris, “but obviously we can’t use that one in the magazine,” she asserts firmly, with a wry smile on her face as she looks back to her son. He laughs, as if he already knew what was coming, and accepted her decision but insisted he still wanted the photo for his own personal collection.
This short exchange between son and mother, artist and manager, performer and booking agent, is pivotal to understanding the success of Burna Boy. He trusts her to protect him and his interests, taking care of the smallest problems and the biggest problems, so he can do what he does best: make music and perform it. In turn she trusts him to do just that, in a way that only he knows how. This isn’t to say that they do not disagree on certain issues, or argue like any parent and child do, but the fundamental trust is always there.
Mrs. Ogulu herself grew up in music, ironically the daughter of one of the most notorious music critics in the highlife era, Benson Idonije. He also famously managed Fela, leading to a young Bose Ogulu touring with Fela and his band, so she’s not really a typical mother-manager. She was born into music, just as her son was. As mercurial and impulsive as Bose’s Son is, it is her job to find a way to organise the madness. Managerial masterstrokes such as Burna consistently performing all over the continent, particularly in South Africa, where she has strategically aligned him with the biggest acts out there, may go unnoticed. Burna Boy doing shows in far-flung cities all over Nigeria that his mainstream counterparts conveniently omit from their tours is not by coincidence. “All the shows are equally crazy,” he says when I ask about the sold out stadium gig he recently did in Makurdi. After a similarly sold-out Homecoming show at the Hammersmith Apollo, he embarked on an unrelenting UK club tour for over a month, playing in multiple cities. These strategic moves engineered by Mrs. Ogulu is what has gained her the trust of her pride and joy, and it is what lets him be the free spirit his fans love.
* * *
From my sunken position on the sofa in Burna’s room I looked around, and was reminded that we weren’t alone. I asked Burna who was who, half expecting him to dish out some sort Arya Stark-inspired response like “The bredrins have no name”. But he pointed out Dante, AK, Montana and Shalala, each of them smiled warmly.
Are they all your best friends?
They’re my brothers, I don’t have friends, I have brothers. You think it’s a manner of speaking when I say they’re not my friends, they’re my brothers, but it’s real. Do you think if someone put a gun to your head they’d jump in front of the bullet? With me, if you can’t do that you won’t be around me. I’d jump in front of a bullet for them. You should always think about that, because at the end of the day, the people around you are important, they can make or break you
Do you make music with any of them?
[Laughing] None of them make music, these are real niggas you’re talking about, you have to understand that, these are not “popping champagne in the club” niggas.
Just like his relationships with his actual family, Rankin’ (as his fans affectionately call him) believes that mutual trust and loyalty are fundamental to being in his inner circle. He’s unbothered by material possessions and award shows. More so than anything, he wants the people around him to be more than comfortable. Every artist needs a support system when they’re creating – it’s what gives them the unerring freedom to do nothing more than make art – and Burna appreciates this, and always wants to give back to the people who give him the foundation to make music for a living. Whether it’s taking care of his more-than-blood brothers, or making sure his sister gets styling gigs for all his shoots, Burna sees to it at that the proverbial 15% is given to “people he fucks with”, to quote his latest collaborator Drake.
What do you feel like is a logical next step in terms of the progression of your musical career?
I don’t know (insistently) I just take life as it comes, at the end of the day there’s no point planning stuff because it’s never going to turn out how you planned, if it does, then it means that’s how it was meant to be. I just feel like, life is just easy like that. It’s not that complex.
What has worked so far?
The music. And being me.
What hasn’t worked?
The music, and being me.
On “My Life”, the opening track of his debut album , Burna repeatedly croons “This is just the way I am/this was not my plan”, and watching him in his element, this seems more and more like case. Burna is really just out here being himself, and sometimes it goes right and sometimes it goes wrong. Some may say his refusal to separate Burna Boy from Damini Ogulu is affecting his career, but that may be just what sets Oluwaburna apart from his contemporaries. In the music industry in Nigeria, artists go through such extreme lengths to separate their musical identities from their true identity in some faux-WWE manner, caricaturing to the point of parody. That has led some listeners to question how authentic either character is, if at all. Burna is simply incapable of this: music is his life, and always has been. It’s his gift and his curse. His fans love his genuine honesty, his peers seemingly don’t. As pop music is once again becoming one of Africa’s biggest exports, it’s refreshing to see one of the leaders of the revolution so impassioned by it.
I ask Burna about new music, expecting verbal descriptions of what’s to come, but Burna offers to play me what he’s been working on. Well, he didn’t really offer. He asked me, then just started playing it. I wasn’t complaining though. As he shuffled from one expectedly-amazing collaboration to another not-so-expected, but equally amazing duet, I couldn’t help but watch him just as intently as I was listening to the music. Despite playing the music “for me”, he didn’t once ask what I thought or even grant me a cursory glance, echoing his own earlier statement that he knows his road. This wasn’t some early critics’ listening session: he genuinely just wanted to listen to his music and I happened to be with him at the time.
“Welcome To My Dojo”
As he switched tracks to a collaboration with a Grammy winner that must have been constructed in Reggae Heaven, my attention turned away from the self-proclaimed Rockstar and to the people he calls his brothers. These are the people who he spends most of his time with when he’s not performing. They play FIFA for hours, fire up the BBQ on the weekends, and do pretty much what any mid 20s group of guys do in their free time. But something struck me as odd during the song: they were rapping every bar, crooning every trademark Burna melody, as if they were listening to the track for the first time. Each one of Shalala, AK and Montana were performing the song like it was theirs, finishing off bars, going back and forth like they would in a cypher, letting the music move them, just as Burna lets the music move him. This excitement would have been appropriate if this was the first time they had heard the song, but it clearly wasn’t, judging by the near perfect recall of the lyrics. Burna and his partner seemed unmoved by his bedroom becoming something in-between a raucous club night and an emotional deliverance service: I guess this wasn’t the first time.
As I drove away from Burna’s House questioning whether I had bredrins who would take a bullet for me, I felt I had witnessed something larger than me, something way more than just a smoke session and a preview of unreleased songs. Burna’s brothers weren’t brainwashed yes-men trying to score points. They weren’t fanboys lucky to be around their favourite artist and freaking out. They weren’t even childhood friends just trying to support their mate who makes music. Shalala, AK and Montana were believers.
Meet the 22-year-old singer and producer, who is spending his post-graduate years making people dance
Words: Stephenie Ohumu
Photography: Bai Joiner
Minz and I are in a house in Apapa, west of Lagos Island, fighting. Me on one side, insisting amala is crap; him on the other, swearing on everything he holds holy that, Amala – which he says tastes like Tuwo – is God’s gift to mankind. The calm, self assured way he insists on amala being the shit, will be present throughout the entire interview.
Olúwadámilọ́lá Adédọlápọ̀ Amínù, better known as Minz, is one of the brightest stars in the emerging pop music scene in Lagos. Having moved a lot as a child, growing up in Surulere and then Ajah, Aminu has paid his dues in the Nigerian education system. After attending two primary schools and two secondary schools, he ended up at the prestigious Babcock University in Ogun where he studied International Law and Diplomacy because, “that was what they told me to do”. The infamous “they” that he speaks of are his parents, a sentiment many African teens can relate to.
He recites this short biography in what felt like a disinterested elevator pitch, but that changed when we arrived on the topic of his music. He looks puzzled when I ask him at what point he realised music was his calling: ”I’ve always known. I have believed in myself from day one, [I have] always seen myself as an artist.”
Minz tells me his influences, none of them too surprising for a 22 year old pop star to be: Bryson Tiller, Kranium (he sings this), Tory Lanez, Maleek Berry, “and a bit of Wizkid.” Which bit? “I don’t know,” he laughs. “Wizkid is such a bad guy. Sometimes artists will be in the studio, recording, and they’ll tell them ‘Wizkid don talk that thing’ [and they’ll have to do it again].” He speaks about Ojuelegba’s chosen one with a sense of admiration and pride, as you would expect from an upcoming artist who may see a bit of himself in one of the nation’s greatest exports. Minz’s single “Aunty Patricia” channels the themes and cadences Wizkid has built a career off. But he isn’t quite as “bad”, not yet anyway. He remains an independent artist for the moment, wishing to do things in his own way and in his own time, dissimilar to an artist such as Wizkid who came out with strong label backing.
Minz has produced all six of his released songs, save a collaboration with Mowizzy on Odoyewu. Duality however does not translate to proficiency, and Aminu readily admits this, confessing that of his two skills, singing comes more easily.
“Beat making, is dynamic.” He says, “Each beat chooses its path to life.”
Some are products of ideas gotten while watching TV – Family Guy, The Simpsons, and American Dad are his go-to shows. Other beats are formed from melodies that just “creep up” when he retreats into himself, or when he stealthily records people talking. On “Neva Stop”, just underneath the beat, a loop of an indistinct female voice can be heard saying, “stop, stop”. “Story”, his latest street-heater with over fourteen thousand plays in twenty-two days, starts with a dog’s bark. “I like experimenting. I love to play and twist sounds”.
The result are songs that double as experiences. A Minz song sounds eerily deconstructed, with fully immersive instrumentals (he particularly favours percussions. There is a level of relatability in the stories he tells, to the point where your experiences belong to Minz. He leaves things for you to find, things that make you backtrack and listen carefully (no you are not hearing things, there really is a dog barking on that track) and Minz assures that you will never be bored listening to him.
To lose his recording virginity, he recruited the help of a group of friends, a laptop, and a mic. In 2011, just out of Secondary School and believing himself a rapper, Minz recorded his first song on a Lord Banks beat titled “Stack it Up”. Like most first times, it was not pleasant.
“It was painful to listen to.” He says, wincing at the memory.
If at first you don’t succeed, try try again. A year later, in Prolific Studios on Ogunlana drive, close to Surulere’s famous Amala Shitta, Minz made a second attempt at recording, this time singing. The resulting song was never released due to technical problems. As more recordings were made, Minz’s sound got bearable, then good, then better. His songs today do not discriminate birthplaces. Some of them are born within soundproof studio walls, others, like “Neva Stop”, on his laptop, in front of his parents.
As both a singer and producer who leans heavily on drum-based compositions, it is hard to not compare Minz to Tekno. Of the comparison, he smiles, insisting Tekno is a cool musician, but one different from him – other than the fact they’ve both dyed their hair blond. For one, the sound we are vibing to, the face we currently see, is not Minz’s real face; at least not all of it. Just like his inability to stay put in schools, he will not stick to a sound for extended periods of time. “Constantly evolving” is how he puts it. He has found his comfort zone in the current Afrobeat wave but he will continue to grow. His infusion of other sounds: trap, highlife, reggae forms the foundation of an end goal of contributing to, and maybe changing the African soundscape, while creating as much content as possible. “I’m a new nigga on the come up/I’m working from ten to ten” Minz declares on “Know”, warning a nosy lover that anyone hindering his mission is dispensable.
“One album a year then?” I ask, referencing Olamide who has put out six (and a half) albums since 2011.
“No, no, you need to let songs thrive. Bodies of work will be frequently dropped, but, not albums per se, not like, sixteen songs.”
“So, like, EPs?”
“Yes”, he agrees, but pointing out that he would rather label these short length projects “playlists” a la Drake and More Life. The insistence on his naming these projects playlists shows that, like Drake, Minz is considering the music scene’s change in the internet age, and the desire to categorise product in different ways. Minz is one of the new crop of musicians announcing the new role of the artist, not only as an author, but also as a curator.
“All I ask is audience. To be heard. And Imma get it.” Minz tweets, about two weeks after our rainy day conversation. This talented creator is trying to connect with us, we would be wise to welcome him. Already, there are tell tale signs of Aminu’s profitability. “Aunty Patricia”, his most listened to song, and as such, the only single with a video (which he hates) , has 214,000 listens on Soundcloud, and 66,000 views on YouTube. With the promised fusion of delicately conjured danceable beats, sample experimentation, genre skipping, and familiar themes presented as relatable curated experiences, Minz the “fire boy” re-engineering Afropop, will be unstoppable.
Condensing my conversations with Maria Bossman Damiba into a profile feels a little like pouring the ocean into a teacup. We are separated by two countries and cultures that are seemingly always at odds over who has the best rice, but technology connects us with a simple instant message sent via Twitter. Ria was delighted to find out we considered her part of our “Trybe”, a curated list of artists challenging everything we’ve come to expect of millennial music from Africa, and gave a rare look into her psyche.
But I wasn’t coming into this assignment blind. I’d already met Maria, just not as Ria Boss, the smoky voiced, confessional poet who had just put out her first EP. I knew of her as Hajia Kitty, a decadent, slippery tongued rapper who wore her sexuality like a day suit and had only mysteriously appeared as a guest artist on Fu’s Make War cover, and part of the Kuvie’s all-star line-up on “Dumb”.
After mobile network failures and scheduling constraints resorted us to speaking via exchanged voice-notes, I wondered who exactly I would be hearing from: Maria, Kitty or Ria. I heard all three women, like the Greek Fates, tell me about a life, much grander than anyone should have.
“My music comes from places of contradiction within myself”
Every great artist has those that inspire them, and Ria is no different in this respect, as she happily lists her idols. All the usual suspects make her list: Jill Scott, Teddy Pendergrass, D’Angelo, Erykah Badu, Nina Simone and Billie Holiday. But curiously there is also Nai Palm of Hiatus Kaiyote, Lianne La Havas, Frank Ocean and Florence Welch, innovation and tradition both equally represented. Then crucially, her grandmother, who was consumed with wanderlust and guided Ria through the often-forgotten aftermath of Soviet Europe, the newly technology-dominated heart of Asia, and Gabon, mere miles away from her estranged diplomat father. It only made sense that Ria would eventually seek to make her fortune in America, where most of her idols had gone to make theirs.
Ria didn’t realise being a nomad meant you were always leaving parts of yourself behind, and by the time she entered the relationship that would eventually become the catalyst for her EP Find Your Free, she was a husk, running on empty. It would be an easy cop-out to say that her relationship was toxic and its toxicity infected her, but Ria Boss concedes that her significant other was just as much a victim of her malice as she was of his. His presence merely amplified the things that living out of a suitcase allowed her to outrun. That pause was killing her, and she did the only thing she could, she documented this decline over the course of five years, crafting the songs that would eventually become the album.
But she had to leave one more time, to get away from him, and away from New York, a city which had become her home and the place where her music had gone from a hidden dream to her very existence to find the courage to truly find catharsis. She left New York for L.A and once there, got down to the task of healing through the EP.
“But Find Your Free is not a break-up album,” Ria Boss asserts, a lightness lilting her voice, “It’s not even a post break-up album.” Instead, she explains that Find Your Free is a kind of catharsis. She needed anthems pull herself out of the darkness that surrounded her, so she made some. She needed a way to make sense of the carnage left in the wake of the end of her time in New York, she crafted herself a bridge.
Bridges and anthems require technique to build and Ria Boss understands this, so she’s feeling out her way to the other side of being an artist. She speaks fondly of her time ‘gigging’ in The States, mentioning a number of memorable shows including one at the Brooklyn Museum for Target, another at the Milkshow in Seattle and considers them as her apprenticeship to understanding herself as an artist and learning that people can be cruel and inappropriate, like the man who catcalled her when she was performing at Catch The Wave in NY and had to be escorted out of the concert. But these opportunities, exciting as they were, left her underwhelmed, a cog in someone else’s machine. Teaching herself to produce her own music and build her own stage sets is how Ria is ensuring that going forward, contact with her craft is a fully immersive experience.
She got to test out all she’s learned so far at her latest performance in Accra at Serallio and liked it, almost as much as she likes the freedom of being able to make music when the inspiration hits. And this intrigues so much, I ask her to elaborate.
“My music comes from places of contradiction within myself,” she says, “that means there’s nothing I write about that I haven’t either experienced or heard about or observed. But that means while my music is confessional, it certainly isn’t autobiographical.”
Her debut EP can get very raw, so it is a relief to hear that the songs don’t necessarily reflect her life. They do however, reflect her moods, or sentiments that she’s held. Capturing a mood is hard, a sentiment even harder, so when fleeting epiphanies come, occasionally aided by a little green, she has to work quickly. Most of her music is done in a single take, while the ‘spirit’ is upon her, ‘riding her back’ to borrow from Voodoo imagery. But not all the masters recorded this way immediately become songs or singles. They stay in a vault that currently holds three hundred songs, in-limbo until Ria Boss finds them a home either as an independent project or a guest verse. Ria reminds me that the songs on Find Your Free did their time in the vault too. We wonder what the universe holds for them as they find their place in peoples’ hearts and minds.
Which leads us to discussing what the universe holds for Maria herself. I put a spin on the kitschy question of the future, laying out a virtual tarot reading and letting her guide me through the cards. There are many things the cards say, Europe in the fall, festivals across continents introducing people to Find Your Free and the woman behind it. Maybe AfroPunk in Johannesburg this December. She definitely sees Hajia Kitty, her foxy alter-ego, inspired by the subversion of Missy Elliot and the brazen sexuality of Foxy Brown and Lil’ Kim, finally being formally introduced as an independent artist through an EP of her own. Ria Boss sees the vault being spring cleaned and songs making their own way into the world as a series of EP’s. So much to do in the next few years.
Then Ria Boss hesitates, which is a strange thing to do when you’re recording a voice note, and her voice softens. It’s just Maria now, channelling herself and she is contagiously wistful as she takes a moment to contemplate.
“Love…there will be love for me in the future.” she says, “…and ‘Happiness.”
TRYBE is a collection of artists that are on the cusp of greatness.
Edwin eats his rice and cabbages. Tweet at him@edgothboy
Maleek is a man of his words. Last night, at the after party to his concert where he performed his acclaimed Last Daze of Summer Ep, he promised to release the new song he performed. And here we have it, “Bend It”.
“Bend It” is Maleek Berry’s fourth track this year since the release of previous records “4 Me”, “On Fire”and “Been Calling”. Maleek hasn’t missed a beat on the four tracks. His party themed music often crafted on romance has become a style we’ve come to know him for.
As usual, Maleek is in love again, where he proves his mettle however is more melody than songwriting. Perhaps this is due to his background as a producer, hence the given ability to twist and layer vocals with instruments to create the best possible whine-friendly music. Even as “Bend It” is seemingly impressed as a love song, the Afro-carribean drum pattern, indicate the rhythm was meant for contorting body parts.
“Bend It” is produced and written by Maleek himself. Take a moment to enjoy the track below.
Featured Image Credit: Instagram/@maleekberry
Fisayo is a journalist who thinks writing is hard and reading too. But her journey somewhere reveals, words are like pawns on chessboard when writing. She wants to see, create and share with the world, experience & communicate these experiences. Tweet at her @fisvyo
