In a three-part series, The NATIVE breaks down the different unseen facets that go into making a song: songwriting, song sampling and sound engineering, in a bid to pronounce their place and importance in creating a functioning ecosystem in the music industry.
When it comes to music, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and how everyone feels about quality is quite subjective. In this murky territory, the sonic basis of the song is probably the closest thing to an empirical factor in determining the quality of the music. It’s easy to debate things like the efficacy of the melodies, lyrics, vocal performance and instrumentation, but the argument dials down a bit when considering how well the music is polished off and finished.
This is where mixing and mastering comes in – an oddly and sorely underrated part of the music making process. Usually, the vocal artists get a significant amount of the praise when a song comes out, followed by the producers. Sound engineers, however, who are entrusted with making sure the moving parts are fused together to ensure listeners get an acceptable song, are far less recognised.
“Some people might not see where sound engineers come in, but the thing is, the volume where an artist records a song is not ideal for commercial listening”, Alpha Ojini—rapper, producer and engineer who’s mixed music for M.I Abaga, Blaqbonez, Ycee, Bella Albubo and more—explains to me over the phone.
You’d be wrong to think that mixing and mastering is just about increasing or decreasing volumes. In the early parts of our enlightening conversation, he breaks down the basics of what this stage is, explaining that it involves synchronising the vocals and instrumentals, taking note of the direction the artist and the producer were aiming for while making music.
You might think this all sounds very simple, but there are a bunch of technicalities involved in taking a newly recorded piece to a full-fledged song, especially in the era of easy access to mobile, makeshift equipment. Before the technological advancements that enabled artists to record their music wherever they wanted to, properly set-up studios were the go-to places to record, with the resulting song depending on the quality of equipment. These days, there’s a convenience and spontaneity to making music, since more people can buy and set-up gears in the comfort of their homes, however, the downside is that recording music in an uncontrolled environment complicates turning a demo into a commercially ready song.
In Afropop, artists like Davido and Zlatan are known for sharing videos of their recording process, some of which happens in makeshift spaces rather than in studios. While recordings from both places need to be mixed, one requires more effort from the sound engineer.
“Usually, engineering is garbage in garbage out”, Alpha says. “Your work is easier as an engineer if the recording was done in a studio area that is closed off to external noise; most of the problems we get is people recording in less than ideal spaces”.
Fittingly, the same technology that enables artists to record in places that aren’t studios, is coming up with tools to help deal with complications from initial recordings. But Alpha makes a point that the engineer needs to be on top of their game and new updates to make sure they can work with whatever they get. “For someone like me who does this as a hustle, it’s up to me to rise up to the challenges, ‘cos the problems are even more than people recording in less than ideal spaces”, he says, adding that artists and producers will demand that you pull out your best tricks, to ensure that their flawed recording becomes a glossy song.
Alpha Ojini mixing in studio (picture provided by artist)
In addition to clearing background noise and adjusting volume levels, sound engineers have to be specific with their mixing and mastering efforts, with respect to the genre. Midway through our conversation, Alpha mentions the Red Book Code, which specifies the standards engineers work with to ensure that their loudness volumes is appropriate to the music they’re working on.
“For example, there’s a level at which the bass and the snares have to knock, in order for a hip-hop song to be considered dope, and there’s a level for the percussion to slap on an Afrobeats song for it to be standard” Alpha says.
He, however, makes the point that all of this is really subject to listeners’ reception. With that caveat, the code isn’t nearly as absolute, as much as it is a loose guide for engineers, allowing for flexibility and a creative licence that is underpinned by the level of equipment they have. “There are different tools that help some engineers have an edge over others”, Alpha explains. “There are engineers that have thousands of dollars of analogue equipment, and they will be able to crank out more loudness on their mixes than someone who works entirely on a laptop”.
Even after landing the preferred ballpark, though, engineers need to ensure that their mixes fit into the artist’s vibe. Alpha uses the pop sensation, Billie Eilish as an example, noting that her punk-meets-ASMR aesthetic might be totally ruined if an unfamiliar sound engineer was entrusted with mixing her music. This instance pushes the notion that sound engineers are important in helping artists project their voice, and by extension, their distinct personas.
Considering their significance, it’s a shame that sound engineers are not always accorded the same level of reverence as their responsibilities, and Afropop is a special culprit in this case. In places with more developed music industries, sound engineers are respected by fans and celebrated by artists. For his work with heavyweights like Kanye West and Travis Scott, producer and engineer Mike Dean is widely regarded by hip-hop fans as an essential pair of hands in shaping the current sound of rap music. JAY-Z has shouted out his engineer, Young Guru, several times on wax, explicitly immortalising him as an important part of his illustrious career, and the same goes for artists like Future, whose late friend Seth Firkins, helped shape his sound before his tragic passing.
Even when the recognition isn’t outward, sound engineers can gain validation for their work through awards. Every year since 1959, the Grammys have given out awards for Best Engineered Album, in classical and non-classical categories, and they are presented to the engineer(s) rather than the recording artist. It’s an acknowledgement of their huge role in making sure the best music possible is being made. From Nigeria’s Headies to South Africa’s Mzansi Viewer’s choice awards, there’s no dedicated category to mixing and mastering, a portrayal of how undervalued these facets are by fans and stakeholders.
“We actually have people in Nigeria who have been mixing for years”, Alpha offers when I ask him who should judge a mixing and mastering category, since we’re mostly ignorant. “We have people like that in the Gospel music space, you’d definitely find in the alternative space—that’s people who’ve worked with legendary producers like Cobhams Asuquo. These people are living in this same Lagos, and when you go to their studios you’d think you’re outside the country, but it’s just ‘cos they’re super low-key”.
In his opinion, finding those people and convincing them to take the responsibility of judging an engineering will go a long way in improving recognition for engineers, and even raise the standards substantially since there’s a high-valued prize attached.
The truth is sound engineers do the most without really getting their due props, which is quite unfair. With the onus that’s placed on them, and the amount of skill that’s required to pull their job off, it doesn’t seem out of place to equate sound engineers to magicians—or maybe make-up artists, except they don’t post before and after snippets. Regardless of the analogy you prefer, they important thing to know is that they are an indispensable part of making music, and we need to treat them accordingly.
Respect the sound engineer.
Featured Image Credits: Web
[mc4wp_form id=”26074″]
Dennis is not an interesting person. Tweet Your Favourite Playboi Carti Songs at him @dennisadepeter
From working her way out of London’s Myatt’s Field, Tanika is now setting her sights on the bright lights...
Across a career that's in its second decade, Tanika has proven to be a force in her own right, holding her...
Across a career that’s in its second decade, Tanika has proven to be a force in her own right, holding her own on collaborations with Black British stars like Stormzy and Wretch 32, as well as popular record producer Naughty Boy–working with the Grammy-nominated beatmaker on his acclaimed ‘Hotel Cabana’ album.
Following a stint as an actor, she returned to the studio in 2021, releasing a new extended play, ‘333,’ in 2023. The project carried all the hallmarks of Tanika at her tantalising best: lilting cadences, well-paced narratives, a songwriting that reaches for the heart of the matter.
On her latest song, “Fast Fwd,” she’s growing into her own and stepping into a new era. In many ways, “Fast Fwd,” a hypnotic, sultry anthem, is landing just in time for summer revelry. Produced by her longtime collaborator, Naughty Boy, her silky vocals land effortlessly on the mid-tempo instrumental and pulsates with her desire for her love interest.
Joined on the song by her fiancé, Kida Kudz, they make an interesting duo and replicate the synergy they had on “Nobody,” off Kudz’s 2021 ‘Top Memba.’ Distinctively marked by use of neon lights, the video for the song captures the effervescence of romance that Tanika hums about throughout the song.
From working her way out of London’s Myatt’s Field to becoming a star with millions of streams, Tanika is now setting her sights on the bright lights of superstardom. Ahead of the official release of the single, we had a brief chat with Tanika about her career, the influences for “Fast Fwd,” and working with KIda Kudz on it.
Her answers, which follow below, have been lightly edited for clarity.
How would you describe where you are in your career right now?
I’m just enjoying the journey.
What does the release of “Fast Fwd” signify for you?
It signifies love.
Why is Kida Kudz a fit for the song? (
To be honest, we didn’t plan to do another song together. I have worked on two records with him before (“Nobody” and “Tasty Time” ) but we never thought to shoot a video for it.. “Fast Fwd” felt like a real testimony of our present moment in the relationship.
You’ve worked extensively with Naughty Boy and he’s helped with “Fast Fwd,” what’s your relationship like and why does it work?
Naughty Boy knows me very well. We’ve known one another for over 10 years, so he knows what fits me musically. We gel. I think him knowing me and being a fan of Kida’s music made it all work. Naughty Boy does his listening before he makes a beat for you. A lot of producers don’t really understand the importance of knowing the artist musically but he does.
What were you aiming for with the video?
To be honest, I’m aiming for nothing. I’m just enjoying the journey. It’s been a very long road and I know I still have a long way to go.
Dutch textile brand Vlisco recently unveiled its latest campaign ‘The Garden Of Sisterhood,’ as part of...
Dutch textile brand Vlisco recently unveiled its latest campaign ‘The Garden Of Sisterhood,’ as part of its women’s month celebration. The campaign, which looks to extend Vlisco’s rich legacy in African fashion and its ongoing celebration of creativity and cultural storytelling, takes inspiration from Congolese musical icon Fally Ipupa’s latest single, “Mayanga.” The song’s accompanyingmusic video was shot in the Ivory Coast, and seamlessly balances Ipupa’s signature soulful Rumba music with intricate floral motifs and soft, elegant colour palettes that celebrate the strength and individuality that blossoms through community.
In addition to Fally Ipupa, Vlisco also tapped up Ivorian fashion designer Loza Maléombho and Nigerian director Daniel Obasi to contribute to ‘The Garden Of Sisterhood’ campaign. Maléombho’s unique designs and Obasi’s striking storytelling helped contribute to actualising Vlisco’s distinct aesthetic and vision of merging heritage, creativity and fashion.
In a statement discussing the collaboration with Vlisco, the Congolese superstar described it as a beautiful experience. “They understood my vision of working with talented artists and honouring the beautiful women who wear Vlisco fabrics. By creating exclusive designs for me and the remarkable women in the cast, Vlisco really brought our artistic vision to life, harmoniously fusing music and fashion,” he said.
Similarly, Marlou van Engelen, the creative director of Vlisco, expressed that it was an honour working with Fally Ipupa. “His song ‘MAYANGA’ perfectly reflects our admiration for the women who shaped us, inspire us, and mean so much to us. For us, it’s not just about fashion; it’s about the stories told through our beautiful prints. And I believe the best stories are always told together,” she said in a statement.
Having worked across every area in Nigeria’s sprawling music scene, T.G Omori’s lore has taken on an...
There are two types of producers in the industry: those who approach the art with a keen sense of...
There are two types of producers in the industry: those who approach the art with a keen sense of business—they know how to sniff out opportunities, and are generally aware of industry-wide trends and currents—and those who set the tone, who set the standards. The latter group is the animating force of the industry, TG Omori says in a 2022 interview with Korty EO. During the interview, he’s slouched in his seat, framed against the backdrop of a grand piano, wearing a bandana, dark shades, and a silk Hawaiian shirt—the first few buttons undone to reveal a glistening silver chain. In the intervening moments—fractions of a second—before Korty responds to the loaded assertion he just trotted out, the air is thick with balmy anticipation and nervous excitement “Which group do you belong to?” She asks, lancing the tense air that had inflated sharply like a balloon. “Me? Which group do you think I belong to?” He fires back, his mouth drawn into a smile.
Music video production, is at its heart, an art form that is significantly beholden to the vision and whims of the music artist and label executives. Music video directors—rightly—have to walk the tightrope between sufficiently distilling the essence of a song into a video and managing the desires and whims of an artist and their representatives. The problem, however, is that in between all of this, there’s often little wiggle room for the director to execute his ideas significantly. The result is often a situation where the music video director becomes diminished from an artist to a little more than an artisan. TG Omori, however, has in his long career railed against this. There’s no doubt that like his peers he has to straddle the demands of the song and the vision of his clients, but he does this without effacing his distinctive creative language. He has a fluency in packing his work with heady joy, a joy that pervades and steadies Nigerian society despite the many challenges it’s faced with.
TG Omori stumbled into music video direction by chance. He had been struggling as an actor, begging directors for roles as an extra—his skits and sketches from this period are still available on the internet—when it dawned on him that achieving success as a performing act was incredibly difficult. He noticed that a lot of upcoming actors were struggling to get by and often had to abase themselves in the process of currying favors with directors. The role of film director slowly started to worm its way into his heart, driving a wedge between him and his acting aspirations. Finally won over, he made the pivot to filmmaking, eventually settling on music video direction on account of its relative ease.
His early works lack his distinctive style, instead taking inspiration from directors before him. Consider YCee’s “My Side” which he directed in 2018. The video opens with YCee perched atop a high-rise building. The colors are muted, contrasting his current works which generously deploy bright hues and saturated lighting. There’s a gorgeous scene where YCee is framed against a wall with slits. Shafts of light stream in from behind him, creating a transcendent portrayal of an animated silhouette enveloped in light. The entire video evokes the elevated minimalism of Moe Musa. Think of the opening scene where YCee saunters atop a high-rise building, it’s a motif that has been deployed countless times by Nigerian directors, but something about that scene—the minimalism of the setting juxtaposed with dynamic camera movements—brings to mind Moe Musa’s video for Olamide’s “Bobo.”
While his early works lack his signature–the distinctive exuberance we’ve come to know him for–they hold kernels of what would come to be. Even in the muted ambiance of “My Side,”we see an early iteration of the pristinely dynamic camera movements that sweep through his oeuvre. In the video of Olamide, Wizkid & ID Cabasa’s “Totori,” released in 2019, his directional language starts to take form. He was contracted at the last minute to film the video—he had less than a day to come up with a concept, marshal his crew and steward the logistical aspect of the shoot, and yet in this pressure cannon, a gem was formed.
The video contains just one main scene—one of the few vestiges of the shoot’s hurried nature. We see Wizkid and Olamide encircled by an energetic crowd. A circle of dark bodies sways to the beat, handkerchiefs flailing in the air. We also see the flamboyant lighting that has come to define TG Omori’s work. There are light sources outside the frame but the scene itself is illuminated by a clever array of light sources. Moving headlights cut through clouds of smoke, LED lights and tungsten bulbs of varying colors suffuse the atmosphere with warm iridescence. The effect is the feeling of being transported to a rave. What’s perhaps most striking about this video is that, having been hastily formulated, it contains a single scene, and yet not one minute of it feels boring or repetitive.
Having worked across virtually every area in Nigeria’s sprawling music scene T.G Omori’s lore has taken on an almost mythic quality over the years. However, nowhere is his impact more pronounced than in the Nigerian Street-Pop scene. Today, Street-Pop has largely ridden itself of its underground status. Artists like Seyi Vibez, Shallipopi, and Asake imperiously lord over charts in the country, each boldly raising the banner of their respective cities and hoods. But this wasn’t always the case. In Afropop’s early days, Street-Pop was relegated to the margins, sneered at by industry gatekeepers for its brash flourishes, even though the mainstream routinely tapped it for inspiration. By the early 2010s a new generation of Street-Pop acts—Olamide, Phyno, and Reminisce amongst others—would elevate Street-Pop’s profile to historic heights. But it still maintained an insidiously tense relationship with the mainstream.
The first signs of an industry-wide shift–the shift that has blossomed into Street-Pop’s hegemony today–arrived in 2019 at the height of the Zanku movement. The addition of “movement” underscores just how significant Zanku was. On one front, it’s the title of Zlatan’s titular 2018 hit and an acronym for the phrase “Zlatan Abeg No Kill Us.” But it’s also used to denote a distinct flavor of Street-Pop characterized by skittering drums, cascading percussion, and a laissez-faire style of delivery—heralded in late 2018 by Street-Pop folk heroes like Zlatan, Chinko Ekun, and Naira Marley.
When culture critics reminisce on the Zanku era, the focus is usually on the artists who spearheaded it, but T.G Omori’s contributions to that period of Street-Pop’s ascendancy are impossible to ignore. While the artists shaped the sounds and dance steps that defined its grassroots appeal, it was T.G Omori who gave it its distinctive aesthetic. His early collaborations with Zlatan—most notably on “Shotan” and “Bolanle” offered a template for how the videos of the era could be presented on screen: hyper-stylized yet rooted in the whimsical chaos of street culture. His use of slow motion, jump cuts, and dynamic tracking shots turned what would otherwise be yet another ephemeral trend in Afropop’s dynamic history into a cinematic experience that embodied the feeling of the era.
His video of Naira Marley’s “Soapy” is especially telling. Arriving in the wake of Naira Marley’s arrest by Nigeria’s anti-graft agency, the Economic and Financial Crimes Commision (E.F.C.C.), the video very cleverly satirizes the experience, framing him, as well as others who were arrested alongside him—Zlatan and Rahman Jago, amongst others—as heroes as opposed to criminals. It’s important to grasp the significance of this. Street-Pop acts had always been treated with suspicion. There almost seemed to be a tacit consensus that regardless of their success or status, they mirrored an unsavory part of society, and so they deserved the asterisk that seemed to loom over their every move. The arrest of Naira Marley and his posse only served to further strengthen this narrative. TG Omori’s video, however, spun an alternative narrative, a hagiography perhaps, from this fraught situation. The video opens with annotated mugshots of the group, their names tacked onto each mugshot. Through TG Omori’s lens, prison becomes transformed from a place of despondency to a sanctuary where friends happily muck around, regaling themselves with games and bubbly dancing.
TG Omori’s influence in shaping emerging sonic movements extends beyond the Zanku era. It’s impossible to recount Asake’s rise without considering the video director’s input. 2022 marked Asake’s singular and meteoric rise to fame. His music blurred the boundaries of genres, creating an amorphous sound spread across the continent with intensity. His ascendancy also broke the boundaries between Street-Pop and mainstream Afropop, marking the dawn of a new era. TG Omori played a pivotal part in Asake’s early days, crafting a freewheeling visual aesthetic to match Asake’s disposition for subversion. In the video of Asake’s “Peace Be Unto You,” we see his freewheeling ethos at its peak. The song’s themes span faith, hustle, success, and street credibility. In the hands of a lesser director, the video would have followed the familiar script of a grass-to-grace narrative. TG Omori, however, rejected that cliché in favor of a more abstract approach.
Each of the themes explored in the song is distilled to a representative scene, the scenes are then cleverly stitched into a brilliant whole. The opening sequence sees Asake on a motorcycle, a formation of riders trailing behind him. As he rips through the freeway, doting fans wave and scream in adulation. Watching this scene, one is tangibly enveloped in the feeling of street credibility, the sense of ascendancy, that Asake explores in the song. It’s poignant and symbolic, conveying the essence of the song in a manner that would be difficult to achieve with a literal narrative. Similarly, the video of Seyi Vibez’s “Shaolin,” TG Omori’s inaugural work following a health-induced break, defies any discernible narrative logic in favor of a freewheeling approach. The video’s boisterous energy almost seems like a bold assertion of his continued reign; as if to say “I’m back like I never left.”
In August of 2024, through a series of heart-wrenching videos, as well as tweets, TG Omori let the public in on his health challenges. In a tweet, he revealed that his only brother gave him a kidney, so he could live again. He revealed that the transplant failed and, later, brought on thoughts of mortality. In one harrowing photo he posted on his Instagram stories, he’s hooked to a life support machine, the words “I don’t want to die” superimposed on the image. In the intervening moments, prayers and well-wishes poured in from all corners of social media. In recent months, however, he appears to be in better health and has fully thrust himself back into work, with “Shaolin” being the first of many projects he has lined up.
Eight years after his directorial debut, he remains not just relevant, but the frontman in an industry that’s as cut-throat as it gets. It’s uncommon in Nigeria’s music scene—for a video director to maintain this level of dominance for nearly a decade into the game. It’s his fidelity to subversion and his unique perspective on the art of videography that has earned him his position as Nigeria’s foremost video director. To watch a TG Omori video is to be transported into a world of his creation: where the sun pulses with exuberance, foliage throbs with palpable life, streams of light vibrate with saturated colors, and the streets are perpetually packed with graceful black bodies. It is a world where, regardless of the tyranny of fate, joy manages to always streak through.