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  • It’s about 2 in the afternoon, and I’m about to join my virtual interview with the Afrobeats superstar Joeboy on Google Meet. But my WhatsApp keeps buzzing. It’s Grey, Joeboy’s assistant, texting. “Can we do tomorrow? 2 PM?”

    “Tomorrow may be busy,” I texted back, to which she replied, “4 PM today?” This new schedule works for me. But by 6:30 in the evening, she texted again. Joeboy was still stuck at a shoot. At that time, it’s apparent that I had no choice but to reschedule. When we finally had our conversation, it was about 7 in the morning, the next day.

    As Joeboy, born Joseph Akinwale Akinfenwa-Donus, spoke to me, fatigue warped his voice. It’s apparent that the weight of too many tight schedules is finally taking its toll. In February last year, he announced that he was parting ways with emPawa Africa, the label owned by Mr. Eazi, which produced all his early hits—“Baby,” “Beginning,” “Don’t Call Me Back.” Later, he launched his record label, Young Legend. By October, he had signed Kvng Vidarr, a rising Afrobeats singer. Now, he is pushing his new album Viva Lavida, his first major project since he left emPawa. 

    Joeboy’s rise to fame is the kind of story that made music heads all over the world stan their artists to death. His cover of a popular song went viral, and a famous musician gave him a recording deal. That was in 2017. “I knew I’d definitely be an artist when I posted my cover of Ed Sheeran’s ‘Shape of You.’ That’s the first cover I did, and it was really doing a lot of numbers,” he told me.

    With Viva Lavida, which dropped on streaming sites on Friday, he wanted to be free. Although musicians are the creative force behind the making of their projects, many times, they have little say in the final product that the public goes crazy about. As a label boss, Joeboy has the final say (most of the time) on his work. So I asked him how this album is different from his previous ones. 

    “Viva Lavida is basically me living free. Early in my career, I was always trying to be too careful and too perfect because I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. But two years ago, I began to feel trapped and realised that I was trying to live on other people’s standards. That was when I asked myself, why not do what I want to do and stand for what I represent and what I want to represent?” he said.

    “You know, when you’re young and famous, people always try to tell you to do things like this, do things like that. But why do I have to do things like the next person? I’m different. It clicked for me that moment that I should be unapologetically myself. Since then, I started calling myself ‘Lavida Boy.’ Because I started living free.”

    This state of mind is reflected in the album’s artwork and trailer, where Joeboy basks in solitude, surrounded by a calm, green environment. But he doesn’t stay in one headspace for long. As he puts it, “The album takes on different parts. It takes on vulnerability, positivity, introspection, and vibing. I made sure the production also gives balance to the stories.”

    The music is rich with autobiographical storytelling and vibrant production that showcases Joeboy’s artistic evolution. The album opens on a modest note, perhaps a nod to the freedom he seeks, before slipping into the playful funk of  “Innocent.” From there, it builds into groovier records like “SMH” and “Free of Charge.” As the project unfolds, it leans into more introspective moments, capturing the essence of a young, wild, and free spirit. “I’ll Be Okay” stands out as one of the year’s most purposeful pop songs. Its thumping percussion, shaking tambourine, and nostalgic violin and trumpet bring emotions to life.

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    After eight years in the industry, Joeboy has learnt that every man is for himself. He has had his mics cut off, his performances interrupted, belittled and embarrassed. “One time, I was performing at Industry Nite and someone grabbed the mic from me, and asked why I was performing a cover and not an original song. I was deeply embarrassed. But looking back now, I see it as character development. I thank God, and I’m grateful to my younger self that I didn’t give up and let that kind of situation dissuade me from my music grind,” he said.

    As our conversation unfolds, Joeboy’s voice gradually warms up, revealing his ongoing pursuit of growth—both in his music and personal life. Despite his achievements, he carries himself with humility. When I ask how he views his success now, he tries to downplay it, saying, “My success keeps me humble.” But he soon elaborates: “It makes me believe in myself and my ability, and definitely gives me the confidence to go for my vision. At this point, I feel no pressure. I have no worries. There will always be challenges and things to deal with, but for me, I don’t feel pressure. Even when I do, it’s never for long because I find a way to work with it and turn it to my advantage.”

    A strong sense of self-worth shines through as he reflects on his journey. “I’ve travelled to many places and had conversations with different people about my culture and what I represent. I see myself as one of the people pushing Afrobeats and Nigerian culture to the world in a way that is sustainable.”

    When asked where his brilliance comes from, Joeboy credits his family first. “I was surrounded by music—from praise and worship at church to watching my dad play the guitar, hanging out with my brother, and the music I grew up listening to. Even my daily experiences shape my sound.”

    Forever a student of the game, he acknowledges the lasting influence of the artists he listened to as a child. “A lot of the music I grew up on—Boyz II Men, Westlife, P-Square, and 2Baba—still influences me subconsciously.” This influence is evident in the rhythm and pulse of his music. “I put a bit of everything into Viva Lavida to make it balanced. I’m confident this album will be a success, and it will take me to the world and beyond. It’s been a lot of hard work, a true team effort, and I’m happy it’s finally out. I think this is my best album yet.”

    Although time and plans are never absolute, Joeboy is intentional about his timing. It’s been two years since his last album, and with the current music space less saturated, the moment feels right. In an era where a dense catalogue is essential for an artist’s longevity, why not release an album? There’s no better time to solidify his place as a steady voice in Afrobeats. Viva Lavida isn’t just a declaration of intentional choices and unapologetic living—it marks the beginning of his new chapter as a self-signed artist, music executive, and label boss.

    ALSO READ: Joeboy’s 1st Signee KvngVidarr is Done Writing Music for Other People

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  • For nearly two decades, Vector tha Viper has rapped each verse like he’s brightening a dull room, transferring his wit and coolness before charmingly bursting into a thousand volts of energy at the song’s end.

    Whether subbing record labels that pressure him to spit in “vernacular” (as he called Yoruba in his song “Kilode”) to sell, or boasting about being a better version of what everyone assumes is the best, there’s a self-consciousness and intentional energy to Vector’s rap style that sets him apart. From Sarkodie to Reminisce, M.I Abaga, Jesse Jagz, Show Dem Camp, and many more, Vector has consistently held his place as one of West Africa’s finest.

    At this point in his career, Vector could focus solely on his mid-range medleys, expressing how he feels, and his legacy would remain intact. On his sixth studio album, Teslim: A Lover Boy PTSD, the Lafiaji rapper embraces his transition into a lover boy. Following the evolution of his “Teslim” persona and earlier instalments in his discography, this new album extensively explores his romantic and experimental sides.

    What is the inspiration for this album?

    “A Lover Boy’s PTSD” is how the average man would claim they feel about expressing love. Though it’s not just referring to the men: it’s both sexes. But because I’m male and my pronouns are he and him, it had to be a lover stating the fact that he’s a lover boy. The PTSD is the reason why he can’t really show it too much. So, this album is dedicated to the women getting a little good out of lover boys’ PTSD.

    You sing a lot in this album, which reminds me of “Early Momo,” as opposed to rapping. Why?

    I wasn’t trying to put a certain targeted sound together just to achieve something. I was just making music, and it all came together as such. It’s not something that came from the “Early Momo” wave. As a matter of fact, “Early Momo” rode on a couple of others.

    Music can’t be defined whether in creation or after creation, meaning whether in process or success, you still can’t define it. So for what it’s worth, I didn’t make this album targeting any particular thing. It’s just a series of moments where music was made. For example, “Can’t Come Close” is a real life situation happening every other day. The older you get in your journey, the more you have time to maybe address musically some other things that you’ve experienced and one for me would be a whole lot of women.

    Knowing that I’ve had many interactions with women and noticing that my pops loved many women, too, I can see how that energy could be transferred.

    But this music (singing) is just one of those things that happen as you explore your talent more.

    Any fear of giving people what they aren’t used to?

    No, never. The only problem I’ve had is people trying to direct my artistry. I’ve always been a mad scientist type of artist, a choir boy.

    Yeah, you seem like one, but the rap image has stuck with many people

    I know. I’m a rapper, too. It’s both simultaneously well balanced. I’ve never solely made myself a rap image. Probably growing up in the barracks and Lagos Island has shaped how people identify with my artistry, because a lot of rappers build a tough guy persona.

    The time people got a lot of raps was its own time. It doesn’t change the fact that I’ve always been a simultaneous artist. I probably may have struggled with it because when I came into the music setting, I often heard that if you’re a dope rapper and you can also sing,  you sound like a sissy. I don’t know what that means, but the older you grow, you realize that, for example, in Africa, if rap is “Rhythm and Poetry,” what then is rhythm? It’s melodies. So, the older I got on my journey with music, I realized that you can be dynamically gifted and express those dynamic gifts. I don’t care whether I’m singing or whether it’s rap time; I’m whooping your ass, AKA “I’m just doing me.”

    The album is complimented by more singers. Tell me about the collaborations on the new album

    The thing about collaboration is I let the music lead. For example, the record with Bella Shmurda existed before he dropped “Cash App.” Destiny never lies when it comes to talent.

    You could tell the energy once it comes to your head. You can tell it’s not just about what’s popping or who is ringing. You can tell the appropriate energy for a record. I always go with energy, and the energy can come from anywhere. With “Iya Nla Nla” featuring Niniola, we had met, and we said we were going to make a record together and we just made it. The record with Tiwa Savage was supposed to be “My Dada” with Emmsong and Top Adlerman, but she ended up on “Repay Your Part.”

    My brother Kane facilitated the foreign collaborations. Madame Betty, a longtime friend, introduced us to some artists around the time Kane went to Colombia and met their Vice President to discuss the arts, especially the relationship of Yoruba culture in their regions. That was how collaborators like Jossman and Scridge came into the picture. Kane pulled it off, but it’s all just from relationships that we’ve built in the music industry years over.

    So, there was no intention to assemble the Justice League, if you know what I mean. The music just needed to honestly be of interest to the collaborators.

    How do you maintain total creativity and ownership in the room?

    At some point, you speak to execs or people who intend to run management or do things, and everybody just has the same statement: “If there’s money now, we’ll do this.” I understand the place of money in all these things or in achieving stuff in the world. But what about the artists that don’t have money? Does that mean they will not do anything? So, when I heard that a lot, I was like, “Okay, maybe it’s not a wrong thing. Perhaps it’s just not for me. I’ve played that card before, and I don’t know what the structuring is, but there’s just a lot going on that’s straightforward on paper but not in reality.

    I personally don’t know how to dwell in that vicinity, so I removed myself from that conversation about people interfering in the arts process a long time ago. One thing I realised as well is that once an artist does this, they start to see less of the artist in a lot of places. The product from the artist is public consumption, but not the artist, like the art.

    There was a time when we were up and coming, you always had to be in the club to show that you’re an artist. I felt that was a bit awkward, but who am I to judge a multitude of people doing the same thing? But at some point, you see that being at the club every time doesn’t do anything for your music other than maybe inspire you to make the same type of club music. That’s not the alpha and omega of artistry. I knew that that wasn’t a thing for me. So, I just kind of left it. I didn’t argue with it. I didn’t fight it. I just left it because it’s not a thing for me.

    You were in London for the first time this year. How was that?

    It was my first time in London this year. I performed my music to people, it was good. It’s one of my moves to take my music around globally and meet fans. The move is also part of artistic liberation because we’re open to going out there and just creating more opportunities for artists from Africa or Nigeria or anybody close to us. 

    I’m not saying it was intentionally curated for African nationals. I just wanted to get my tour up and be able to see if it was doable. And since it’s doable, let every other interested person come and get it done with us. But it’s definitely about to be more reaching out to the fans because we’ve built over the years.

    In recent times, your music has pointed to the idea of a higher self. Is there a spiritual connection to your music?

    It’s just a peaceful expression. To put it in simple terms: I can express more peacefully within the confines of music than I could trying to explain anything to anybody in a conversation. But that’s also a function of spirit, I want to believe that talent is a function of spirit. If that’s so, that means every time talent is being shown, spirituality is happening. Again, spirit lies within. We can’t escape staying in the spirit. It’s also how you tell when an energy is around you. Music has to be one of the most fluid expressions of spirituality.

    How do you feel about the idea of legacy? Are you concerned about legacy?

    No, I’m not concerned about legacy. You can’t really plan a legacy. Are you trying to tell me that the intention of Equatorial Guinea’s Baltasar Engonga was to be known for his 400 leaked sex tapes?

    So, I’m not bothered about legacy because you can’t be bothered about the outcome of something you are busy creating. You’re busy with that and you don’t even know what issue you’d meet on that road. I can’t tell you how to see me now and it’s legacy not by the perception of everybody. For a lot of people, the stories they’ve built about me in their heads are different, and they’d spin these stories in different circles that I would never know.

    How do you slow yourself down in this fast world we live in now?

    I tell myself, “Calm down. Calm down.” But honestly, the only thing to use to slow down a fast-paced world is self-honesty because with honesty to the self, you tell yourself you’re not as fast as the world, and then you run at your pace. I learned to be brutally honest with myself, and that helped me slow down. For instance, at the passing of my dad, I was brutally honest to myself that I had to embrace death because everybody does it. One lives a better life when one embraces death in everyday thoughts.

    Is there anything about yourself, old or new, that you see in the new generation of artists?

    Have you heard the amount of people that sample “King Kong”? When I see people trying to recreate what I’ve made or my style, I’m proud. You don’t get angry at the fact that you set the trend. You should actually be glad that you were able to set trends. But at the same time, when I hear something that I want to believe is me musically, I just don’t care about it because who am I to say that person is copying from me? What if it’s something else that inspired them as such?

    I’m even proud to see the new generation of rappers who can sing or rap.

    What lessons have learnt from working with creatives?

    I’ve learned how the Nigerian situation stifles creativity because you can’t just get up and go and create. There are so many factors affecting that. Just accommodating expressions from different creatives isn’t easy. Plus, art must be allowed to be done freely.

    But the general idea around where we make art is that things can’t even be freely done. So, how can one achieve the highest point of artistic collaboration? Amenities that make things easy for artists are non-existent. That makes them lose their spark. We’re now forced to this cutthroat mentality of, “You better do it how it’s going to bring money or go that place wey things go work o.”

    “People Still Like Me This Much?” — Reminisce Celebrates Fan Response to “Alaye Toh Se Gogo”

  • Since Stubborn, the debut album of 23-year-old singer-songwriter Victony hit the music streaming stores—Apple Music, Spotify—in June, it’s been a contender in almost every debate about the best album of 2024. The music journalist, Ayomide Tayo put it at #4 on his list of best albums so far this year. It currently sits at #25 on Turn Table’s Top 100 Album chart.

    Although Victony released the album in June, it’s a project that he started working on as far back as 2022. Shedding light on how long it took to craft the album, Victony said, ‘Everything,’ the oldest track, dates back to 2022. My team and I picked songs from different periods. A song like ‘Ba$tard, Don’t Be Silly’ is very recent. We choose between songs I recorded from 2022 to 2024. Stubborn is a collection of songs from different periods.”

    Despite picking from a collection of songs, the album sounds cohesive, like a concept album, collectively created from scratch.

    With Stubborn, Victony tries to show people everything that he’s capable of as he introduces them to the person behind the music. Speaking about the album’s direction he said, “Every year is a new one for me to show how creative I can be.” 

    The 14-track album offers a stunning and irreverent case study of his life, how he grew up on Ojo, survived a life-altering accident and morphed from a Soundcloud rapper into a top mainstream singer. “It’s always a reflection moment when I think about my life. I don’t give up for any reason; this is a quality or personality trait that has helped me until this very moment,” he said.

    He said that he thought of the themes of the album even before he selected the songs that made the final cut. “I thought about the message of this album first. The message was so important to me that I didn’t consciously try to write a certain thing or do it a certain way. It’s why some of them may be very dark, but they come out in a manner that’s handled with fragility—I think it’s this way because that’s my core.”

    The tough-time story on the album’s opening, ‘Oshaprapra,’ produces lullaby-evoking melodies. “Sometimes, I’m busy trying to make my story very interesting for the listeners and forget about the actual feeling that I should get from situations,” he said. 

    Thinking about his favourite moments on his album, Victony recollects: “That’d be when myself and P2J made ‘Sunday School’ in London. That was one of my first sessions with the producer. We deliberated the idea of the song and banged it out in a short time. ‘Anita’ happened during one of our London sessions too. I had the same experience with Houdini when we made ‘Pier 46’ in Los Angeles.” 

    A look into the universe that Victony has built into music—from his gothic mixtape The Outlaw King to the Afropop-esque EP Saturn and Tredax, his alter-ego in it, to the medieval chain-mail he sports on the cover of Stubborn, he’s ardent on providing a visual identity for every narrative in his music release.

    “Speaking about an idea, trying it out, and it becomes better than you imagine is a very good and rewarding feeling. It strengthens my confidence that anything can be done. Intentionality is all it takes,” he said.

    The same attitude he gives to his music goes around his stagecraft too. Currently, he is working on a show that will be as heavily visual as his albums. “I’ve been planning the show with the same energy that I had to think about the process of putting the album together. Sonically, I’m now in a much more elevated space and that’s what I like to showcase through this year’s concert,” he said.

    I asked him what the public can expect from this show.  “People should prepare to get blown away. And of course, there’ll be surprises,”  he said. 

    With “Morayo”, Wizkid Has Produced His Most Afrobeats Work Yet

  • Dwin, the Stoic‘s solo sophomore album “Master of Ballads”, arrives under his self-founded music label St. Claire Records. The album reflects his evolution. 

    It focuses on a love story or the lack thereof, as Dwin, with 15 ballads, carries the listeners on his journey through loneliness, mourning the distance between him and a lover now out of reach. Dwin, throughout the tracks, melodiously whispers the pleasures and pains, joys and angst in his life, welcoming you with open arms.

    The album, a mixture of folk, alt-pop, highlife, and Afropop, is mostly produced by Rhaffy, his long-time collaborator. Producers Smasher, GRNDMSTR, and LMBSKN also make cameos on the album.

    “Masters of Ballad” opens with Be Well,  the prologue roaring with drums like thunder and trombone sound. With it, he sets the scene for his journey to seek a new burning desire for his old flame. In the first few lines, it’s as if he’s over the experiences they shared, but further down, he clings to past commitments he made, the shared history they have, and the lessons he learned from it all. They’ve gone from strangers to lovers, to his desire to be reunited with them, to being strangers. He optimistically closes the song, singing, “And now it’s bleak as hell / But it’ll all be well.” 

    A bleeding heart and tear-jerking poetry flow on Beside Me. Dwin pleads for his lover back. This song summarily says, “Give me my lover or I’ll die.”

    In Running with Lindsey Abudei, he reminisces of the good days they shared, of both of them singing and chasing the wind.

    Like Darey Art Alade, who heard “footsteps down the hall,” a premonition that his lover would someday leave him for good, Dwin too forgoes the fight to keep love and tells it to leave the room without any drama on Next Time. Dwin separates himself from time-wasters, lovers with avoidant issues who lack communication skills. He keeps soliloquising on Ifunanyam. It’s been three years since the song first came out, and perhaps it signals that Dwin hasn’t moved away from that lover. Unlike the popularised relationship dynamics, the take that infidelity by men is the norm, Dwin challenges the lie, offering a Nigerian man looking to be monogamous.

    In I Go Nowhere, he strengthens his resolve to commit to a single person.

    In Steady, he showers rather cliché praises on them; asa mpetem, his beautiful woman, a gem that no jewellery can match. 

    On Hard Education, Dwin taps Ruka, the other half of the Ignis Brothers singing group he also belongs to. The bandmates sing about letting go, either of the attachment issues that have brought them to this point or their inability to see their lover has left them. [ad][/ad]

    The soft highlife of Dwin’s Time Is Money gives the 1989 Time Na Money classic by Mike Okri, except Dwin’s rendition is measured and spontaneous. Here, he won’t spare a second on a dispassionate lover. He resolves to move on if the person isn’t ready for a serious relationship. He’s not wrong. If you’re not giving aura-for-aura, why are we here? But anyway, it’ll take more than his sweet whispers in his lover’s ear to spell r-o-m-a-n-c-e.

    To You quietly tides around guitar strums and the breezy delivery as he runs back to his lover. On this track, Dwin and rising musician Ogranya, remind all of us that goodbyes are as much the end of a chapter as they are the ultimate test of love. In need of assurance that his love is the real thing, in Hold Me Now, Dwin tells his lover to hold him just tighter. It’s the same sentiment on Gkw (God Knows Where), a fitting comeback for a 2022 single into the album.

    But is this even a ballad about love? Can this even be love, this, at times, toxic co-dependent journey that Dwin has embarked on? Why should anyone spend all their time pinning away for their lover? What then is the point of being kept?

    “I’ll be here when you’re feeling down / Your companion / Keep you safe and warm,” he sings in Shake. But this never happens all through the album. He’s never really there. In Please Say Something, Dwin begins a journey towards honesty, reconsidering the situations at hand. It seems the companionship he seeks and speaks of all over “Master of Ballads” is a weary one. Here, his uncertainty, frustration and fear are at their peak. He desperately needs his lover’s certainty: are they with him or not?

    Dwin’s telling of modern romance in “Master of Ballads” speaks to the issues that many on social media have raised about the problems of dating in an age where finding a partner has become almost entirely digitalised.

    The closing record, Swan Song, ends this chapter of love. His heart gets heavy as his heartbeat flatline beep mixes with his vocals. His voice draws out as he exchanges his requests in this song for affirmation words that seem not to come till the flatline diminishes with the beat. Till the end, he fights for his love, the love he welcomes warmly to his show at the start of the album. In all of this, Dwin is clear on one thing. Don’t tell him all the ways you love him behind his back or at his funeral. Say it to him now — heart to heart, not headstone to headstone.

    In Case You Missed Our Review of Tems’ “Born in the Wild” Album, Here It Is.

  • Fireboy DML’s artistic evolution, assessed by his albums, began with being an ambitious, next-rated vocalist. Head in the sky, buzzing with goofy, complex, and cute love stories (“Laughter, Tears & Goosebumps”), he merges superstar confidence with a scientist’s frenzy (“APOLLO”). “Playboy”, his supposed trifecta, reassesses his views on matters of the heart and positions his new non-committal to them.

    All of Fireboy’s projects display up-close portraits. “adedamola”, his fourth and latest album is his most intimate. He bares his skin on the cover art like “Come feel me.” Although the cover art is overwhelmingly draped in gold and a bleak background, suggesting glitz and a dark, twisted fantasy, or a villainous state, it has his first name as the album title, a usual indicator of personal stories. But rather than a storytelling of personal moments in his life, the tracks explore his sexual and romantic nature. The music on “adedamola” blends styles — afropop, amapiano, house and soul — to exemplify these pieces of him.

    At the pitches of the stomping gangan (talking drum) and omele on soulful chords, Fireboy DML throws his hands in the wind, waving in gratitude to the supernatural yet cryptic way of God on iseoluwa (meaning “work of God”). 

    “Life has been good to me, I do not take this with levity,” he shares. You can almost imagine him giving his testimony before a congregation, swaying in trad wear and worship spirit. Put the lyrics on paper, lines like “2024, I pray to God, make I no fall o / Bí mo sé n lo, bí mo sé nbò, Olúwa só mí o” read like a watchword out of stickers made by religious faithful. Fireboy DML has iseoluwa, Asake has Suru, and Olamide has Morowore; the YBNL mafia has much to be thankful for this year.

    Fireboy DML is ready to ride into the sunset with the love of his life on call me, produced by Nxrth and Bassiqally. The self-proclaimed playboy finds love again. He’s learned to be more open; he won’t always be present because the money he looks fort is on the road, but he promises to always come back. On ecstacy, his songwriting is as sharp as the Bassiqally production. Seun Kuti’s saxophone softly rings through. By now, it’s clear that physical touch is his love language. We get it, bruh.

    It looks like Fireboy DML loses love as quickly as he finds it. Or perhaps he’s yet to heal from a previous relationship, yet already in a new one. He’s vindictive and clearer on hell and back. He rejects a forsaking lover’s plea and trashes the possibility of starting over again. He’s only into businesses that pay him and his peace of mind. The story continues on letting go with Lojay, the guy who brings a bevy of ladies in the yard to help you get over heartbreak. All in all, Fireboy warns an ex-lover not to disrupt his healing.

    Violin and saxophone hum underneath on back and forth, and the busy hands of omele and gángan roll in, giving a start to Fireboy’s new attempt at love. The afro-fusion comes alive to the serenading baritone of Lagbaja, who has been resting since his last outing and performance with Rema at the 2022 AMVCA. This song’s a top collaboration. The production shows taste. The cooks are surplus, and the broth is excellent. Eskeez, Nxrth, Bassiqally and ID Cabasa did something here. ID Cabasa continues his work relationship with Fireboy since Olufunmi Reimagined. Fireboy DML and the legends: young fire and old flame.

    Fireboy keeps burning for love. Setting aside contemplation, he throws himself to love on ready featuring Jon Batiste. He yearns to love and seeks the rewards of being loved in clear, confessional, passionate language. Nelson CJ calls it “detaching shame from vulnerability and desire” — a concept many have yet to learn and accept. Jon Bapiste is a featured background vocalist and producer alongside Blaisebeatz.  [ad][/ad]

    wande’s bop featuring SPINALL vibrates with bubblegum pop, a notable homage to Wande Coal, one of Fireboy DML’s favourite artists. This song sounds like a bit of Wande Coal’s Ashimapeyin and The Kick, which features SPINALL in its music video. If wande’s bop gets a video, Wande Coal should be the performing artist and model in it.

    As far as an Afropop homage goes , this is similar to Arya Starr’s Jazzy Song. The kids continue to honour the Black Diamond. The next song, change your life and obaa sima, continues to seek the prospect of love. It gets monotonous and bearable on need. The already-released yawa and everyday continue to sport uptempo vibes, bringing the album’s end to an abrupt piano decrescendo with jon’s interlude. It feels like drummers took their instruments away, but it’s a gentle end.

    The album plays out his romantic desires in approximately forty-one minutes. There are no complexities; it’s simple, and the themes give it déjà vu. It delivers some excitement missing from his music since “APOLLO”. Rather than a supernova, “adedamola” is stardust that rubs off on his talent and ability to keep his listeners engaged. He’s a reliable vocalist anytime. Fireboy DML remains one of the leading voices of his generation.

    “adedamola” is arguably his best work since “Laughter, Tears & Goosebumps” and his most enjoyable since “APOLLO”. It’s jolly-ride music, enjoyable. Repeated listens will eventually break into a few tracks — preferred titles are left to personal choices.

    “adedamola” has the quality to be among the last-standing albums of 2024 when it’s all said and done.

  • Lagos has trust issues. Think turbulent dating scene, suspicious love affairs, wild sex life and fair-weathered friendship. Think sin city. Every expressed reservation is met with retorts like “Èkó ná n pebí” meaning “This is Lagos.” That leaves you with disgust or speeds you up to get with the programme.

    To know Lagos is to be a vigilant crab or a blood-thirsty shark in its Atlantic world. To know Lagos is to be on the lookout like charlatans are out to get that your minimum wage. To know Lagos is to play for keeps upon finding out there are no real lovers in the skreets. To know this city is to love and hate it. To know Lagos better is to listen to the sons of the soil. 

    These Lagos love stories are told by Lasgidi chroniclers Show Dem Camp (SDC) on their new album, “No Love In Lagos”, a collaborative effort with the magic-fingers guitarist Nsikak David and the urban highlife duo The Cavemen.

    SDC (Tec and Ghost) is the guide with engaging rap verses about the city, its street OT, socio-politics, lifestyle, love life, naira life, cruise, the madness and the chaos. They fuse all these into lush, enjoyable soundtracks of smooth highlife, sexy Afrobeats that are perfect for a boujee Kegite gyration setting. Nsikak David isn’t new in their midst. He has been both a session man at their recordings and a side man at their concerts. The inclusion of The Cavemen is an expected extension of their symphony. They’re all complimentary, with the lively production of Spax, SDC’s go-to producer. This line-up is a fantasy of the SDC and The Cavemen fans come true.

    The album starts with the ethereal tone-marking Intro musing about loving who or what isn’t loving back. Then the advice you didn’t ask for hits you on No Love In Lagos, the groovy titular and lead single. It bursts in with a melodious cautionary statement that instinctively tells the listener or whoever thinks of finding love in Lagos to use their “upstairs” and “shine” their eyes. In the first verse, Tec’s raps continues the spoken word from the intro, centering unrequited love. Trust is all he asks for, though he’s not raising his expectations. The Cavemen continues to warn, “Dem no dey love for Lagos” in the chorus. Ghost, the cat with the baritone, comes in unavailable for emotional love but readily available for physical love, curiously called love-making, either as main partner or paramour. However, his perspective rests on the following: “Choose who dey choose you, don’t be the victim of a scammer.”

    Johni warns to remain vigilant about the superficial nature of love and relationships (romantic, friendship, work or business). It urges to avoid see-finish or the tag of “Johni Just Comer (JJC)”, AKA an amateur. Tec and Ghost’s verses touch on hunger games, the rat race and the allure of the outsiders, leaving many angles to consider when choosing lovers, friends and partners.

    The urbane poor voice of Lagos comes out to play in the chorus of the Why. The Cavemen sings about undesirable elements that won’t let them enjoy themselves in peace. Beyond the surface, it speaks of the powerful oppressing the poor. A perfect imagery of this chorus would be holding someone’s neck while they’re trying to eat. The “E le, le, le, le, e le, le o” exclamation of Benjamin amplifies the cry and helplessness of the poor and oppressed and marks their resilience: “You can’t take my joy, oh, oh.” Tec and Ghost ponder the ruthless nature of the city while maintaining faith in a higher power and guidance.

    If you’re secular, you might say Fall is serendipity and reflection, others might call it miraculous intervention and gratitude. The rappers look back at humble points in their lives, their maturity, willpower and growth. Buga with Tim Lyre swaggers is in for faaji; it’s a good time. Tim Lyre’s juju-inflected chorus is an untarnished response to bad-belle. Though the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC) is on alert for currency mutilation money-spraying, imagine a performance of this song as cash flies and pours on the performing artists. OMFTR continues to flex on haters. It’s a bouncy, slow-tempo record. It features Obongjayar, who reiterates The Cavemen’s take and the song’s message to prove doubters wrongs and surpass expectations.

    On Blessings, Tec prays for humility and bigs up his crew. Moelogo ushers us into a divine mood, throwing up prayers to remain on top in life. Ghost proudly reflects on their music journey, from being an African premier rap group to building an annual music festival and touring the world with the music. Then, he prays for an impactful lyricism and legacy. Because when it’s all said and done, SDC is now more about legacy than prosperity.

    The movement isn’t stopping. It forges ahead into the future, no matter the roadblock. This is what Train symbolises. Nigerian-English singer Ruti questions the cost of staying where purpose no longer serves while looking to find a way out. Tec remains watchful, eyes open for the snakes. He stays guided by the central theme, “No Love In Lagos,” focusing on his journey and development. The thirty-two-minute duration of the album comes to an end after Sudden Day. It emphasises SDC’s rise to legends and reinforces its stamp in the Nigerian music industry. It’s a befitting curtain call.

    “No Love In Lagos” continues Show Dem Camp’s winning streak as conceptual album artists and storytellers majoring in Nigerian stories. Their penchant for cultivating a distinct hip-hop, jazz, and highlife sound that holds time, events, and history in capsule has afforded their music to touch listeners intimately. The involvement of Nsikak David and The Cavemen enhances its vibrancy and nudges the sound forward, providing the album’s ambience in an attractive way that makes the average listener care for it. Although it sounds more like a Show Dem Camp album with assistance from others, it’s incomplete, sonically, without their contributions.

    “No Love In Lagos” is a common statement that beware naive lovers and friends to avoid dependent trust in Lagosians. It’s not a collective description of everyone, Lagos is just a tough place that suffers one for dependency, sluggishness, redundancy and ignorance. The rap verses are open enough to provide layers of experiences and lessons. The album’s sonic is appealing. It’s a soundtrack to any chore, activity or time of the day. “No Love In Lagos” is a well-crafted, digestible project that serves their dedicated fanbases more, and it’s one of the best releases of 2024 so far.

    Bang bang!

  • With all the music project releases we’ve received in 2024 from some of Afrobeats’ biggest acts, like Ayra Starr, Tems, Olamide, Rema, and Victony, we’re reminded of the artists I’ve been starving us of full-length projects for a long time.

    We’ve gotten tired of waiting for these artists to remember they have fans to feed music, so we tasked the Meta AI to give us the titles of their next albums. Did it eat?

    “Soul Sessions” — Asa

    Dear Asa, We know you take time to work on your albums, and it’s been just two years since your last one. But can you do another solid here and serenade us, even if it’s old or throwaway songs from your archive?

    “Happily Ever After” — Davido

    OBO took “bad, baddo, baddest” extra seriously and made “A Good Time,” “A Better Time,” and “Timeless” albums. Being one of the latest husbands in town, Davido’s likely to memorialise his wedding. “Happily Ever After” is a nod to his marriage and the idea that his music will live forever.

    “Euphoria” — Fireboy DML

    With recent romance and enjoyment songs like Obaa Sima, Outside, and Everyday, it’s apparent Fireboy DML is in an elated space. If we consider a mellow song like Dealer with Ayo Maff, we can’t be sure “Euphoria” will win the title game, but it works.

    “Legacy” — 2Baba

    It’s been four years since this Nigerian music legend released an album. We don’t know if 2Baba has more in him, but he should give us one move before he hangs his boot.

    “Ezege” — Phyno

    For so long, fans and admirers have referred to Phyno Fino as “Ezege” (meaning “King” in Igbo). It’s also been five years since his last album. It’s only fitting that the popular rapper returns as “Ezege”.

    “Zanku 2.0” — Zlatan

    Five years after Zlatan released his debut album, “Zanku,” he continues to represent it with his streetwear brand, “Zanku to the World.” We think it may be the perfect time to release the second installment of the album. If he won’t take a break from his clothing business and give some focus to music, we’re here for him.

    “Pulse” — Omah Lay

    After being alone for sometime (according to his debut album title), Omah Lay tweeted about his sophomore album after being alone for a long time. That shows he’s back outside and wants us to feel his pulse and know he’s still here. He also tweeted “Clarity of Mind” recently. We have no idea what that means, but if he’s searching for an album, here’s one for him.

    We Had Times On Our Hands and Tasked Meta’s AI to Design a House for the BBNaija 2024 Season

  • It’s been seven months since the O2 Arena filled with 20,000 music lovers for Rema’s Ravage Uprising concert. The consensus about that show is that the 24-year-old Benin-born singer is celebrating Benin heritage. Take his replica of the 1897 Benin sacking, like Queen Idia’s ivory mask, into account. The fact that the show happened nine miles from the British Museum displaying the stolen Queen Idia’s ivory mask and a note that Ravage Uprising was Rema’s only show in the coloniser’s UK in 2023, it’s not hard to agree with. 

    Critics have written adulations. Rema has thrown himself into the narrative. He’s tweeted about reshaping the Benin culture and a song titled BENIN BOYS with Shallipopi, another Benin boy. Rema adorned bats, a popular symbolism attached to Benin, into his jewellery collection and new album art. He’s claiming his birthplace with his full chest. However, the importance of symbolism might have been exaggerated. Bats don’t fly around the whole of Edo, and neither are they depicted in Benin guilds. Perhaps he should have spared a thought for leopards depicted in Benin guilds. 

    Rather than a connection to the centuries past, Rema’s inspired by Benin City’s urban life and culture (which has adopted bats into its identity). That narrative only teases listeners into the geographic-fluid afro-pop pits of his sophomore album, “HEIS”. He’s not playing it safe. This isn’t “Rave & Roses”. In comparison, his first album’s the rose, and this new one’s the rave. To appreciate “HEIS”, the search for homecoming aspirations and deeper music is seriously not advised. “HEIS” is pacy, head-back-leg breaking, and ridiculously amplified. It’s the complete form of what Ginger Me, Won Da Mo, Hov and the “RAVAGE” EP have shown. “HEIS” is the wildly experimental Rema.

    MARCH AM is a colloquial phrase for “doing the work and crushing it.” The corporate world will translate that to meeting KPIs. In Rema’s case, he’s a young overachiever. While one simmers in celebrating that, one observes his new linguistic approach, which is all over the album. He uses English, Pidgin English, Edo and Yorùbá in cruder tones. A marker of every man’s voice. American rapper Mick Jenkins said, “Deep conversations about language, which one [do] you speak?” Remaspeak is street-fluent and internet lingo rich.

    He rides the party into AZAMAN, originally an Edo slang term for someone who provides bank details for G-boys to pick funds. In this song, it translates to the popular Nigerian term for a “rich spender”. In a praise-singing mode, Rema hails Nigeria’s wealthiest men, including his state governor, Benin royal throne, and Don Jazzy. Rema sure knows how to pick his patrons. Interestingly, there’s no mention of his Jefe, DPrince, who discovered him.

    This praise-singing doesn’t sidestep Rema’s noteworthy consumption of X (Twitter) lingos. “No go hustle, dey talk for TL / Follow me run, you go tear ACL” is a banger boy material.

    Twitter might have been a bit of this album’s inspiration. From “No go hustle, dey Twitter dey zozo” on the opening track to “Monday morning, talking about me while I’m making money” on HEHEHE, the playful third track, that observation lurks. He clap-backs at his trolls and critics; this psychologically marks a reflexive response likely provoked by internet pressure and stan wars. It’s not crystal clear to him yet that the ascension to the Big 4 breeds contempt.

    On YAYO, he bites Asake’s style and comfortably holds the form. This is a jam; Mr. Sungba will be pleased. BENIN BOYS with Shallipopi follows in quick verse exchanges. The most notable thing about this song is the repetitive “See money, see am, see, see, see money o” chorus, subtle Edo music influence, and Shallipopi being the first Nigerian feature on any of Rema’s songs.

    Surprisingly, Bini’s heritage isn’t expressed on HEIS, the album track. The word is the Greek for “number one.” On it, Rema sings he’s THE guy. The chorus is rhetoric in Swahili, asking who’s the baddest. Who’s uplifting and hot and globetrotting? Who’s the shit and champion? Is it you? Rema’s confidence is stunning; he generates closing lines like “When I talk “Another banger,” you better believe am.”

    It’s not hard to miss P.Priime’s tag, which runs through six songs on this eleven-track album. This is evidence of their developing chemistry since their back-to-back collaboration on the “RAVAGE” EP. Rema’s go-to producer, London, takes the backseat on this album ride, credited on only three songs. According to metadata, this album’s also the first time Rema has deeply involved himself in the production of his music. Other co-producers are Altims, Daytrip, Producer X, Cubeatz, Deats, Klimperboy and Alex Lustig. [ad][/ad]

    Rema’s clearly synced with what’s vibrating in the ghettos and inner cities. Mara sound manifests in OZEBA, an Edo word for “entering trouble”. “Mara” is an informal term for madness. In music, it’s a homegrown sound that drives listeners wild. It’s high-speed and energetic. Picture a street carnival buzzing with DJ YK Mule’s mixes, dancers in ripped jeans, joggers, oversized round necks and sweaters, cross bags, sandals, designer slides, flipping white handkerchiefs in the air while thick Indian hemp joints burn on the other hands. OZEBA is trenches music brought to the global mainstream. The only thing missing is God Over Everything’s hypeman touch.

    From this song till the album ends, Rema retains the disruptive energy of Daddy Showkey—the new age composition of Olamide Baddo’s lamba. WAR MACHINE is an adrenaline pumper; it gives the thrills of street racing. Rema might have also been a new-age pop version of Obesere on EGUNGUN. He keeps on rocking on VILLAIN — repeating everything earlier said on the album, from accomplishments to soft-landing baddies, rocking designers and lavishing. His confidence leaps higher here; he desires babes built like the Afrobeats’ Queen Idia, Tiwa Savage.

    Decrescendo hits on the closing track, NOW I KNOW. The rave has come to an end, and others have left. His trauma and loneliness are all that’s left. This song’s a fine moment of clarity on the album, and one wishes it had more of it. 

    In 28 minutes, Rema sets a party for loud decibel suckers. It’s very experimental music, while someone like Ayra, his label mate, has a clear-sounding sophomore. Bold of him. It’s also a statement that Rema has a freer handle on his career. He notes on NOW I KNOW: “I dey move like Messi when he dey for Barcelo[na].” That’s one way of saying he’s unfuckwithable.

    While it’s true Rema’s music is becoming uncontrollably uncouth, his music has never been suburban. He’s only talented and cool enough for the butte and pako. He’s called the “Prince of Afrobeats”, which makes sense. But what Rema and the other top three, the kings of Afrobeats, have in common is the love for the Black app. Rema should grow thick skin!

    Closer listening reveals “HEIS” more native allegiance than a musical revolution orchestrated by the Mid-Western Nigeria’s tapestry. Another evidence of this is Shallipopi’s widely critiqued sophomore. What these two album releases heralded by the Benin/Edo fixation represent and share in common are apprehensive party music and cruise talks.

    Is a Benin renaissance happening? Is “HEIS” a special nod to Benin? Is the album by Rema’s hedonism, inspired by his critics or his desire to shift mainstream focus from Amapiano to Afropop? Maybe, maybe not.

    You have to agree, though, that Rema has given Benin as a whole more points than his Governor Obaseki.

    While We Talk About this Rema Hot Moment, These Are All the Times He Has Showed the World He’s Really HIM

  • Take the quiz:

    The producers of Wizkid’s “Holla at Your Boy” are?

  • Ayra Starr turned 21 in 2023. But like stars, her reflection is in retrospect. Hence, her second album, “The Year I Turned 21” (TYIT21), appears a year later, aligning perfectly with her birthday. In notice of this, her age-themed albums draw a specific parallel to the British music icon Adele. One can argue that Ayra Starr’s music and sonic concerns are different, but the universality of the experience of marking youth and independence is intact.

    Age 21 was also a year of many firsts for Ayra. She came into 2023 with Sability and ended the year with appearances on two American movie soundtrack albums (Creed 3 and SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE) and a posthumous album of the legendary Bob Marley. She went on her first world tour. She was named Amazon’s Breakthrough Artist of 2023. She climbed the O2 stage for the first time at Rema’s “Ravage Uprising” show. A title doesn’t get more specific. “The Year I Turned 21” is a more profound title than a chronological buildup on her “19 & Dangerous” debut.

    Now enjoying some career moments that surpass most of her predecessors’, conversations about Ayra’s music shift her to a trajectory that may transcend her into Afropop’s matriarch. Alongside Tems, she’s the anointed leader of the new uprising of female Afropop singers. These favourable speculations are fever pitches as her quick conferment majorly rests on the merits and success of her sophomore album.

    The music is saying…

    “I learned to be gangster, way from these dark times,” Ayra shares in Birds Sing of Money, opener of “TYIT21.” She spends the rest of the album owning that fearless identity, finding and defining what it means for her to be 21. How does she separate a fugazi from true love, independent versus dependent? Does she want to express freedom or curb enthusiasm, be a baby or face adulthood, keep her guard up or be a goofy youth, be a people-pleaser or live carefree, workaholism or chill and enjoy the fruits of labour?

    Ayra’s music blends styles — afrobeats, hip-hop, pop, R&B, ragga, dancehall, house, amapiano, indie folk — to probe her conflicting feelings. She plasters them all against the backdrop of her career, expanding celebrity and blooming 20s. Her lyrics can be saccharine, but don’t get to a conventional bore. 

    With numerous global achievements just four years into her music career, Ayra has built her universe so high that the chant on Birds Song of Money ceremoniously likens her to the stars that light up the night. Forty seconds into the song, whose also uneasy but organised violin, heavy hip-hop drums, breezy strings, chiming chords, and reggae undertones thump with a threatening assertiveness, yet it’s also calm and composed, one marvels at the pure sonic mastery. Fantastic production by London and Marvey Again.

    Her melodies are flexible, as is the boomeranging flow she spins on the P2J-produced Goodbye (Warm Up), featuring Asake. Ayra shows a toxic partner the door out, while Asake plays the heartbroken, self-righteous partner who lowkey won’t let go. His verse’s almost introspective that it convinces chronic gossip blog readers that it’s likely his response to his recently broken relationship. Ayra and Asake share chemistry, but this song’s strangely a mellow track hatched for the TikTok girlies and intimate parties like aprtment life where she previewed the song in April.

    The already-released Commas sports an upbeat composition, interestingly just a tone and pitch away from Tekno’s Peace of Mind. Exchange ataraxis for financial merit, and you have a testament to Ayra’s increasing multiple-stream incomes and quality mindset. Commas has joyful production and melodies, though those overshadow its simplistic message that charges listeners to fight dirty for their dreams if they have to. All there is to know about the commitment to excellence is in her lines: “Dreams come true, if na fight / Fight the fight, make you no go tire / Fire dey go.” Perhaps it’s why it took fifteen versions and three producers (Ragee, London and AOD) to get the officially released Commas, according to her revelation during a recent sit-down with Billboard.

    “Commitment to excellence” is a watchword she carries to her interviews these days. An evidence of that is her passage into the global music scene that fully unlocked after her appearance at the 66th Grammy Awards, where she was an inaugural nominee for the Best African Music Performance category. Put that moment into a lyrics generator, and Drake’s “Started from the bottom, now here we here” will pop up. She was excited to be there. So were the Western press and industry players warmed up to the new African music star girl. But frankly, her trajectory to own a seat among existing envelope-pushers like Tiwa Savage, Yemi Alade, and Simi has taken shape since her savvy, critically acclaimed 2022 “19 & Dangerous” debut album. It has a few national hits that pushed her over to international eyesight.

    In Woman Commando, featuring Anitta (Brazil) and Coco Jones (U.S.), Ayra brags about flexing her squad and carrying everyone along, sounding confident and pleased as the production reverberates Ragee’s bass-heavy house instrumental. It’s a straight jam.

    The album’s upbeat energy descends as Ayra segues into a lover’s mood. She flirts in Control, which interpolates Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie, and she’s tipsy and ebullient on a potential one-night stand. She opens herself up to emotional attachment, but it soon gets tiring on the Lagos Love Story that sounds like a love song that’s trying too hard. It’s mechanical and an unnecessary segue into the lively Rhythm & Blues (produced by Sparrq). [ad][/ad]

    On 21, the album’s theme song, the weight of emotional distress, adulthood, self-reliance, boundaries and (it goes without saying) enjoying the fruits of her hard work weighs on her. It’s a niggle of new baggage, not a pity cry. When Ayra’s on an R&B production, her command of her emotions grip. It’s no surprise she’s convinced she writes better sad songs. This production by Fwdslxsh, KillSept and Mike Hector is a convincing ambience. Hopefully, an R&B album is in her future.

    It gets fragile on Last Heartbreak Song. Ayra throws away a one-sided love while American brittle-baritone vocalist Giveon chides himself for letting a real love slip away. This song dates back to the “19 & Dangerous” recording session with Loudaa, but is there a heartbreak song that retains the prospect of intimacy? It’s the Last Heartbeat Song.

    Still laid-back, Mystro takes on the next production. Bad Vibez featuring Seyi Vibez slides us back to Afropop. It’s bouncing over a plush R&B ballad to ward off negative energy, likely the internet moralists that police her short skirts and experimental fashion. It’s an exciting collaboration that elitist listeners would enjoy if they were open-minded to the magic of street-pop. To close out the song, she rhymes that she’s still eating off her last hit. It makes an arguable case for the boldest line in Afrobeats in recent times since Asake’s “I know I just blow, but I know my set.”

    The songs hop from youthful exuberance to love matters and mental well-being. As Ayra presents herself as a success model, she also grounds herself in her reality as a curious adolescent who knows she has time to learn from more mistakes and has her whole life ahead of her. 

    Orun is a cry to the heavens. It’s as evocative about personal longings and celebrity pressure as it’s declarative about forging ahead, past mistakes, and regrets. It’s a confessional, mezzo-forte track that draws hips into a slow whine. 

    Jazzy’s Song (cooked by PPriime) comes next, and it’s a turn-up song that unexpectedly samples Wande Coal’s You Bad and alludes to it as Don Jazzy’s likely favourite song rather than a tribute to her jolly label boss and influential music producer. Indeed, it’s a hit but feels out of place between two mid-tempo, emotionally charged tracks. This arrangement hardly lets listeners fully unpack and tie up emotions. It throws the listener in the middle of mood swings.

    She trusts Johnny Drill to soundtrack the following 1942. It’s a delicate cut that expresses Ayra’s and her brother Milar’s fear of losing everything they’ve worked hard for. Their duality picks up here: the despair of loss drowns them in a pool of liquor, but they still hold to their faith like an anchor.

    The closing track is a letter to her late dad, hoping she’s making him proud. Ayra’s mum’s voice starts the song by encouraging Ayra to live a full life. Her siblings also recount their ages and strides. One can hear the pain and pride in their voices, the kind that desperately hopes that their departed one sees what they’re making out of themselves. The song, produced by Remdolla, echoes out with a proud statement from Ayra’s mum that translates to the track’s title: The Kids Are Alright. 

    Conclusion

    The bonus song, Santa, thematically has no place on this album. It’s just an expansion and numbers strategy that’ll drive up streams and cement Ayra as the first female Nigerian artist to hit 20 million monthly listeners on Spotify. Get your money, girl!

    Looking outside in, being young and successful is one of the coolest things one can be, but it can also be an overwhelming position. Aside from squaring with life and the natural struggle to maintain success, being a female recording and performing artist means working multiple times harder and smarter than the other gender. If this is the evolution of the girl superstar who was once 19 and dangerous, it’s partially true. Most of her story thrives in gaiety, youthful innocence, vulnerability and self-affirmation.

    With 15 songs, “TYIT21” arrives as a lengthy, nuanced moment Ayra’s having with herself. Rather than a conceptual and narrative album, it’s a string of songs linked by recurring themes: heartbreak and love, happiness and melancholy, openness and boundaries, self-promise and tributes. This is the music you get when endeavouring to memento vivere because personal moments are fleeting, fond memories become distant, and emotions get unhealthily managed. This is the music that makes Ayra feel 21. It’s tough to say the same for the listeners, though.

    Compared with her coming-of-age “19 and Dangerous”, “The Year I Turned 21” is her most poignant and impressive work — an album of the year contender. Throughout the album, Ayra stays the dominant voice, in control. Its writing is sustainable, production is high-value, and there’s no Americanisation of the features. It’s just real and bad Afrobeats music. Although the arrangement could have been smoother, not moving tempo to tempo without consistently keeping the listener grounded.

    “TYIT21” would garner facile praise and embrace, considering its Zeitgeist hype, convincing rollout, major anticipation, and the currently uninspiring music year. But it’d need time to find its place as that crowning sophomore. This is subjectively a premature evaluation anyway.

    According to Polish poet Stanislaw Jerzy Lec, youth is the gift of nature; age is a work of art. Hopefully, Ayra Starr continues to stay alive to her feelings, with more virtuosos to craft them into songs at every juncture of her life.

    If You’re Trying to Get Into Arya’s Music, We Asked Chat GPT to Rank Some of Her Biggest Songs For You