Recently, social media, particularly X, was abuzz with reports of the leak of  Legend of Aang: The Last Airbender in light of Paramount Pictures's decision to forgo a theatrical release in favor of a debut of Paramount+, its streaming platform. While the move was widely viewed as a strategy to drive streaming viewership, the leak quickly shifted industry attention. 

Animators behind the project have publicly discouraged consumption of the movie, framing it as a direct affront to their work. Yet, beyond the immediate controversy, the incident reflects a broader pattern: leaks are increasingly tied to audience dissatisfaction and evolving distribution strategies, an intersection the industry continues to underestimate.

The intersection of institutional missteps and digital vulnerability is increasingly difficult to ignore. Studios are making distribution decisions that often sideline audience expectations, even where legacy is involved. First released in 2005, Avatar: The Last Airbender remains a culturally and commercially significant property, with a multigenerational fanbase and proven expansion value through The Legend of Korra. 

Anticipation around The Legend of Aang: The Last Airbender was therefore not incidental but tied to nostalgia, franchise continuity, and monetisation potential. Against this, Paramount Pictures’ decision to bypass a theatrical release heightened exposure risks. Other cases, from Game of Thrones to X-Men Origins: Wolverine, are reflective that leaks often emerge at the intersection of distribution uncertainty and internal content handling. Based on this, a pattern emerges - these incidents are less about fan opportunism and more about structural vulnerabilities shaped by corporate strategy.

The scale of the problem is well documented. Movie leaks cost the industry an estimated $29 billion in lost revenue annually, disrupting marketing strategies and effacing relationships between studios and their production partners. This is where the structural problem becomes clear. Content no longer lives only within studio walls. It moves across a web of localization vendors, post-production houses, animation partners, and cloud platforms, potential entry points. Employees with privileged access may copy or leak content before release, and early leaks can cost millions in lost marketing value. 

The human cost is just as important as the financial one. The movie's director, Lauren Montgomery, confirmed the film had wrapped up after a four-year production journey, expressing pride in the work while noting its now waiting for release. Those four years of creative labor belong to a group that has already absorbed a blow from Paramount's theatrical reversal. The leak delivered another.

Hollywood has known about its security vulnerabilities since at least the 2014 Sony hack, when  hackers stole and released mountains of private data, exposing executive emails and business affairs that upended careers and relationships across the industry. Years later, studios still outsource to vendors with insufficient controls. Content pipelines still move sensitive files through email. And audiences still find themselves holding a leaked film months before its release date.

The “Aang breach” is not an anomaly but a symptom of lax vendor oversight, audience alienation, and an industry that keeps treating security as a cost centre rather than a creative imperative. Until that changes, the vault will keep breaking open.

(Cover Photo: via X)
IG: @muyiwavstheopp)

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Kenyan R&B singer-songwriter Bridget Blue has quietly built a name for herself through emotionally rich songwriting and a soft, controlled vocal style–first gaining attention through covers before releasing projects like ‘Colours’ (2022) and ‘24’ (2024). With her latest album RNB, she delivers her most cohesive and fully realized work yet.

At just 12 tracks long,RNB feels less like a playlist and more like a slow-burning conversation, one that unfolds with intention and emotional precision. It’s a project that trusts its own pace and in doing so, invites you to sit with it. Across the album, Blue leans fully into a sound that feels intentional, unhurried and deeply rooted in emotion, reaffirming her place in the ever-evolving Kenyan R&B landscape.

Blue describes the album as,”[me being] bare and vulnerable and just pouring my whole soul. It’s what I truly wanted to say for so long.” From the opening notes of ‘Ngozi Kama Jua,’ there’s an immediate sense that this is not just a collection of songs, but a carefully constructed body of work. Tracks like ‘Ni Wewe’ and ‘Mbuzi’ glide into ‘Sober’ with a natural ease, each record feeling like a response to the last. 

By the midpoint of ‘9 to 5’ [Blue’s rebuff of the pressures to be more digestible, singing, "I'm too pretty for a nine-to-five / Too loud for a quiet life / Biting my tongue just to stay polite…”] and ‘Waters of My Enemies’—the emotional stakes deepen, before easing into the reflective warmth of ‘Always Mine’ to reveal a record created with a cohesive narrative about love, vulnerability, self-awareness and emotional release. Even towards the closing stretch, ‘Set Me Free,’ ‘Kuna Yule,’ and ‘Umbrella’, there’s a sense of arrival, like the emotional arc has come full circle as evidenced in her live listening sessions to promote the album at KODA Nairobi.

Lyrically, she remains just as compelling. Whether it’s the tenderness of ‘I Choose You’ featuring Bien–a masterclass in vocal chemistry with over 4M+ streams currently–released late 2024 in the lead up to the album. Bien’s textured, expressive delivery folds seamlessly into her softness, creating a duet that feels rich and layered. Similarly, ‘Mimi Na Wewe’ with Nikita Kering is nothing short of a “soundgasm.” For fans who have long imagined what a meeting between two of Kenya’s most compelling R&B voices would sound like, this track delivers–and then some. Nikita doesn’t overpower or get overshadowed; instead, she meets Blue exactly where she is, and together they create something immersive, lush and deeply satisfying.

And perhaps what’s striking is that Blue doesn’t rely on these features; they simply expand her world. They add dimension without taking away from her center, which remains strong throughout the album. In the broader conversation about Kenyan R&B, RNB feels like a defining statement. The genre has been steadily growing, carving out space both locally and globally; and Bridget Blue’s name belongs firmly within that conversation [with her] stating, “I feel like more true R&B singers are coming up, and I feel like they are not shy about it anymore.”

That ability to captivate in the most ordinary settings has evidently been part of her magic since her come-up. And the growth is undeniable. Ultimately now with ‘RNB’ Bridget Blue is rest assuredly stepping into her sound, with a clearer identity and confident execution–or at the very least, fully realized in this current phase of her artistry.

With the city stretched out beneath them, skaters, DJs, and fashionistas alike gathered on The Mall Rooftop in Westlands, Nairobi, on April 12th, 2026. Staking claim over everything the light touched, event organisers Jelimo Cheboi and Antoinette Apondi of GirlSkate Nairobi assessed the expanse of East Africa’s creative scene from their throne in the empire. The rapid rise of skating on the continent has reached new heights amongst the youth, through tailored communities inviting people of all interests, ages, and abilities to take part and find a home. What Cheboi and Apondi found, though, was a disconnect between the inclusivity advertised and its reality, particularly in the creative space. 

What began as an innocent interest for inclusion and growth has turned into an Eden-esque escape for any creative, honouring the multi-hyphenate, non-confirmative youth in Kenya’s capital. From creating space for women and non-binary people to call home in a male-dominated area to today’s inclusion of music, fashion, and art in their mission, GirlSakte Nairobi’s reach is shedding light on the true vehicle of change, redefining culture for youth in the Eastern region of Africa.

Founded in 2023, GirlSkate has spent the last three years disrupting the marginalisation of women in skateboarding and creative spaces, starting in its home country and spreading abroad. Posting a collection of skating lessons, informative videos, and community events, the organisation was founded on inclusion and has extended its ethos to the East’s blossoming creative economy and more established cities, like London.

Cheboi, who started skating in 2022, recalled getting her first board, saying, “I had never seen a skateboard before or anyone who skateboarded apart from online or the movies or TV shows.” Today, the story has changed, with women openly skating through the streets and exploring self-expression through the community and opportunities it’s created. Her co-founder, Apondi, has been breaking down boundaries in the skating world and felt like the perfect example of what could be achieved, as she grew up skating - often as the only woman - and has been vital in representation and teaching newcomers. “What we’re doing,” Cheboi says, “is creating a more inclusive culture, where everybody is invited, and anyone can be a part of it.” 

Since starting, The Mall has been sort of a ‘home base’ for the organisation. Home to their weekly sessions, lessons, and their Skate & Sound collaboration with Santuri Music Group also based there. The collaboration, intended to inspire a sense of community, brought members of GirlSkate together, creating bonds after expressing one facet of their identities. 

“Skateboarding is a very attractive culture that brings in people from all kinds of artistic disciplines. We have people who are skaters and musicians, graffiti artists, fashion designers, fashion stylists, content creators, photographers, videographers - they usually all find themselves in this place… It draws people together into [a] space where there is so much creative energy, and we encourage a lot of creative collaborations and connections.”

Most recently, in collaboration with the Skateboarding Society of Kenya (SSK), Members of the Earth and GirlSkate welcomed Zimbabwe’s Push Project to the 254, where an impromptu Skate and Sound found skaters as fashion designers and models. Unlike other skate jams hosted by the community, the views and music from the DJ gave way to a runway show of Nairobi-based and Zimbabwean designers spearheading a creative crusade. 

Having caught the attention of VOGUE, the Olympics, and Jordan with their work over the years, GirlSkate’s growing numbers have allowed their vision to follow suit. What are now known as Skate Jams paved the way, allowing aspiring DJs of any gender or skill level to play as skaters and skate enthusiasts hone their skills or catch a vibe. Dressed in popular, homegrown streetwear brands like Studio18 and PE$OS Nairobi, skate skills aren’t the only things expressed against the backdrop of the city’s skyline. Regional collaborations with Rwanda’s Fragile, Uganda-based Tutaabale, and skate shop Skating is Risky! have continued fashion and skating’s affair across borders, with equipment and funding flowing into the community as well.

Larger-scale activations and skate presentations, like Uganda’s annual Nyege Nyege Festival, Tanzania’s Boogie in the Bush events, and the PESOS x Grade Africa Protect the Future Event last month, have brought global eyes, connections, and tourism to the city and the group. Their most recent visit from the London-based skate group, Melanin Skate Gals and Pals, for the Kilele Summit, proves that fact.

Quick as it’s been, though, the birthing pains of the movement have been felt around the continent through the likes of Ethiopia Skate, Nigeria’s Dencity, Surf Ghana, and Skateistan in South Africa, to name a few. Recent statistics show the Middle East & Africa (MEA) skateboard market is expected to reach $224.3 million US dollars by 2030, with specific goals around the continent to recognise skaters to compete and provide representation, particularly as the 2028 Olympics loom. 

Continuing to create space and visibility for youth and women amidst this push remains of the utmost importance to Cheboi and Apondi, as well as coping with disparities in equipment, skill growth, and a lack of skate shops.

“Gaining global recognition is very important because it shows that we are legit - that what we’re doing is [valued] on a public stage. It grows our reach and makes people know that skateboarding exists in Nairobi and in Kenya. That women are running the scene itself. There’s more opportunity that comes with it - we get more partnerships and people [who] want to work with us. Or they want to fund what we’re doing because it’s really difficult to work without any support. ” 

As they look to the future, GirlSkate sees skating in the stars. Cheboi said, “I can’t even believe that this happened in a few years...it’s really grown, and it’s opened up so many possibilities. Now every time we have events or skate jams, we have women participating, women are organising - previously, this was a dream. It wasn’t even possible for women to participate or compete against or [at] the same time as men.”

A recent grant awarded by a South African-based organisation, Skateistan, has given them the funding they need to host a pilot project in June, aimed at improving their skaters’ skillsets. “For now,” Cheboi said, “we’ve definitely shattered a lot of stereotypes and [stigmas]... we’ve won awards to do this, so I think there’s nothing stopping us now.”

IG: @clungaho

Under the creative direction of its founder, Florentina Agu, Hertunba has churned out 16 collections of wearable art pieces so beloved that they've made multiple red-carpet appearances on Wunmi Mosaku. In the earthen backdrop of moulded clay pots and handwoven rafia rested on a wall, their collection was displayed, and it was deeply conceived as it was beautiful. As with most collections, the clothes are regal, structured and in some cases, traditional but still have a whimsy touch to them.

Founded in 2020 on an ethos of sustainable African craftsmanship, Hertunba's clothes are African opulence embodied. This collection takes the meaning behind their brand and extends it by a mile. Titled Akaoru, meaning handwork, the collection is a celebration of craftsmanship carried through 24 looks which includes a few collectibles.

Very textually rich, the collection comprised handmade pieces from traditional techniques like textile weaving, aso-oke pieces and akwete, alongside pieces from more contemporary handcrafts like crotchet. Beyond fashion-centred crafts, Akaoru is a celebration of other artisanal techniques including woodwork. The collection's only accessories and perhaps most standout pieces are a mahogany bangle and a wood-carved mahogany bag etched with Nsibidi markings, a precolonial writing from Cameron and a few south-eastern Nigeria states. The fabric of some pieces were handpainted with palm tree, hut and other ‘African’ motifs. 

What really makes the collection stand out are little sartorial elements. The parallel-placement of the stripes on the aso-oke, the tail of the wrap dress, the silhouettes of most pieces all point to asymmetry as the brief for the tailoring. In terms of silhouettes, they did something cool with sculptural piece silhouettes. But for the most part, the pieces bring back silhouettes they’re loved for. Like every Hertunba collection, there’s Bubu, this time as a two piece bubu top and pants stamped with the x motifs. The pencil cotton dresses have hand straps that are akin to the surrealist playfulness of Dona design.  

The collection, in general, does a great job of balancing different textures and elements and meaning, but it lacks freshness in creativity. Some pieces in the collection are old or reworked, such as the Dona top and Mowa set. The Ẹwà necklace top, for instance, although beautifully readapted with African beads, is one Pinterest search away from finding the same thing from different designers. Other pieces too resemble each other so closely that they don’t feel distinct. 

For a brand like this that’s had massive attention lately for its artistry, a new collection would have been better off showcasing mostly new designs that strengthen its hold in the industry and define its place. Akaoru will sell because it’s beautiful, but ultimately, it’s yet another example of how a focus on commercialisation can dampen artistic expression. Clearly, fashion designers—especially those who want to make money—have to keep up with trends or predict where things will shift and create along those lines. Generally, designers also try to match the taste of their customers, but when that taste comes through too strongly, it makes the design feel commercial and, therefore, fall flat on the innovative side.

The 2010s Classic African Songs Revisited Through Gen Z

If there were a magical button that could bring me back to a period in time, a music era just for a day, before safely returning to the modern age, then it no doubt has to be the early 2010s. In a time when we were just introduced to the first iPhone, social media platforms were about collecting memories, instead of fabricating them, and everyone was less self-absorbed or micro-online. The earliest tastemakers knew how to test the waters, bringing the vibes organically while getting us hooked to the most legendary dance moves, fashion perks, and community gatherings.

Now that trends evaporate out of thin air and no longer hold the same impact they used to, internet culture tends to recycle the past, claiming it as new, while forgetting what brought us here today. That is what our new content series, Forgotten Jams, is all about: going back in time to reignite a feeling, view the world through a nostalgic lens, and making us whine our waist left and right, even if it is just for one more night.

When we tell you that these songs, theese songs, will forever be ingrained in our memories, there’s no exaggeration here. For a lot of Gen Z’s, now young working adults, those are the moments that defined our childhood, whether you were in South London through the wishy-washy weathers, or stuck in Lagos in the sub-Saharan heat. Deeds Magazine carefully selected a list of songs that have the power to revisit your past self and reignite your inner child that hasn’t felt like themselves since the good ol’ days.

Her Name - Sneakbo

For me, one of the artists who defined the early 2010s is none other than Sneakbo. Coming from Brixton, of Nigerian descent, his bangers always felt close to home and a staple to the broader diaspora community in the UK & Europe. Sneakbo’s ability to mix electronic productions with an Afropop flair, and on top of that, rap lyrics that make your head bop, can only be described as chef kiss. ‘Her Name’ in particular stings like glue because nothing could have prepared us non-Igbo speakers, now as grown adults, for the meaning behind some of those lyrics.

To this day, we don’t know why our Nigerian friends could not have warned us what the word “Ashawo” means, and instead danced Azonto along with us when the chorus hit the speakers. That being said, a moment has been had. All confusion can easily be washed away with a glass of gin and a radio anthem.

Kukere - Iyanya

“Visit IROKING.COM for more Nigerian Music” Are we seeing a trend here? This is because music videos dominated the 2010s, and Nigerian artist Iyanya’s ‘Kukere’ is no different. All you needed was a catchy refrain, captivating visuals, and a few dance moves, and you had yourself a hit song. Iyanya sent waves to the dance floor, adored by children and old people alike. Exactly like the Efik language suggests, don’t worry. And that message was felt as soon as we played this song and sang the first lyrics: “All my ladies / All my ladies”. Wow, they don’t make it like this anymore.

If we’re talking about a song that could unify every African nationality because of its universal rhythm, this was the one. Similar to the timeless video, when you stepped out in a Congolese wedding, and this song came up, you knew it was time to leave the stage and let your uncle do his thing. Looking back, Iyanya really created an uncle riddim.

Alkaiyada - Guru

The entire skit by comedian Lil Win was genius. Perhaps a close candidate that could have competed with Azonto moves at the time was the Ghanaian dance Alkayida. Guru’s song was just the cherry on top. Despite the recent controversies that gave this replay button a bad reputation, in the 2010s, this was a go-to for many young Africans. Not only did people dance to this, but it also brought us one of our first clashes between Nigerians and Ghanians. Truthfully, both regions have always wanted to claim they were first and basically argue about who had the culture on lock.

What many may ignore is that in this period, influence was much more fairly distributed, while today the dominant forces reign from Lagos and key figures in South Africa. Our playlists ranged from Kenyan anthems to Nigerian, Ivorian, Ghanaian, Congolese, South African, and so much more. In its recent surge of international recognition, the gates have shrunken, with African artists in less popular regions no longer being able to reach the continent & beyond like the early internet age.

Antenna - Fuse ODG

When British-Ghanaian artist Fuse ODG came into the scene and brought us hit after hit by cleverly watering down Afropop music, so that it may reach a broader audience, ‘Antenna’ symbolises that era at its peak. Coming of age, we realize that although it seemed like songs such as ‘Azonto’ and ‘Million Pound Girl’ were being played around the world, Fuse’s music truly spoke and connected with diaspora communities the most. This is because he used to sing in English, which was really uncommon at the time, without any sort of mix with native languages.

Moreover, we think that his success can be credited to the dance challenges that came along, specifically from a Manchester duet who had us mimicking every single move in our school breaks. It is safe to say that nobody came as close as the reign of Ghanaians in the early 2010s, and Fuse ODG was a key player in amplifying it.

Oliver Twist - D’banj

Looking back, we really have a hard time explaining the phenomenon, which is ‘Oliver Twist’  by Nigerian artist D’Banj. For example, the music video was completely different from what was popular at the time, which had a sombre look similar to the appeal you would get in an American Rap video. The song didn’t come with any memorable dance moves. Aside from the white male dressed in a  Peaky Blinders-like outfit, there really weren’t any 2010s elements we were used to attributing to–Still, we were hooked.

To think of it, celebrity culture definitely fell into play here. To have a Kanye West appearance at the time, and at the very last minute of the video, really boosted the popularity of the song. D’Banj was big, but the Americans’ Rap appeal was bigger, and there’s nothing like global influence, such as Black American culture, who have dominated culture since the beginning of Hip-Hop.

Songs and eras may come and go, like falling snow; however, Forgotten Jams is forever, and we have a ton more hits to revisit. Make sure to tune in for our next episode!

PRESS RELEASE

Alternative R&B artist kosi returns with a new single “3AM”

On “3AM” she works through the familiarf eeling of yearning for a deeper connection from a loved one and pushes the narrative further by sitting in the feeling, no longer waiting for closure, but recognizing she never needed it.

kosi wants her listeners to move in closer, letting the emotions speak and trusting them to meet her there at those moments that feel intimate, and real.

“3AM”is rooted inAlternativeR&B while still blending textured production with subtle afro and global influences, and is the first single off her anticipated EP“UpTill 5"

kosi opened up 2026 with the single “UNO” ftRigo Kamp in february and followed up with a surpised track “Her Eyes (CryDiary 1.1)” featuring producer Dan Akins where she confronts the feeling of wanting to be someone else.

Still emerging, kosi. is building a catalog with a clear sense of self. Pairing dynamic soundscapes with writing that resonates, each release pushing her artistry forward and cementing her as an artist unwilling to be boxed in.
She isn't chasing a lane.
She's carving her own.

Socials:
IG: @thatkosi
X: @thatkosi
Tiktok: @thatkosi
gmail:kosiofodum@gmail.com

An insight into how to cultivate a lifelong music career in Africa

When we speak of Black excellence, Bassa Zéréhoué Diyilem, better known as Didi B, sits at the pinnacle of that hill. Stemming from one of Africa's busiest cities, Abidjan, Ivory Coast, success wasn’t just given to him. It was something he had to fight for. Today, the heavy hitter is respected amongst culture leaders from all walks of life, as a pioneering voice who populariszed French Rap on the African continent and beyond. Together with Kiff No Beat, an Ivorian Award-winning Rap group founded in 2009,  he reached unimaginable heights for African kids from the streets, ultimately placing Ivorian Rap in the limelight.

Not everyone can claim full-dominance for almost 15 years in the music business, since his debut solo project ‘Mojo trone, vol. 1’ back in 2013. Didi B remains just as good with his pen. Through controversies and hardships, the Rap mogul not only remained on everyone’s music playlists, but he also persevered through it all. The recent release of his deluxe edition of ‘Juventus Nueva Era’ is a testimony to his power hold. Deeds Magazine sat down with Didi B in an exclusive conversation to discuss his triumphs, his shortcomings, and everything that lies in between.

Laurène for Deeds Magazine: Can you tell us who you are and where you're based? 

Didi B: I'm Bassa Zéréhoué Diyilem, known as Didi B, an Ivorian rapper. Sometimes I'm called Mojaveli or Bayo. I'm based in   Ivory Coast. 

It's not every day that we hear about an artist who breaks through in Abidjan. Can you tell us what it was like growing up there? 

Abidjan is the hub of African music. Many artists have seen their careers take off after starting in the Ivory Coast. Like any music industry, it doesn't happen overnight, that's for sure. Abidjan is the city that's always on the go, the city where our neighbors are our second family, the city where young people have supported us since our early days at Faya Flow with the group Kiff No Beat, the city where hospitality is the key word. It's the city of alloco (I didn't say Alokos, lol), attiéké, garba, and grilled fish. I grew up in all of that. I've had, and still have, some great times there. 

For us, as outsiders, when we think of the Ivory Coast, we often think of Coupé Décalé and Magic System. How were you introduced to Rap, and which artists did you listen to? 

Big up to the masters A'salfo, Manadja, Goudé, and Tino! I grew up with this legendary group, but also with artists like Alpha Blondy and Meiway, who are like father figures to me and people I admire for their talent and their ability to stay relevant despite all these years. Like every kid my age, we were into French and US Rap. But predecessors like Garba 50 and Almighty inspired me. I started rapping in Bingerville with my friends Black K and Elow'n, then Joochar and Eljay. After our victory at Faya Flow in 2010, a Hip-Hop competition, we went pro. 

With your friends, you founded a group called Kiff No Beat in 2009. The first African Hip-Hop group to sign with Universal Music. What has your journey been like? 

A journey full of pitfalls and obstacles, but also some wonderful things. We experienced a lot of firsts with the group, notably being the first Francophone African rap group at Coke Studio. The group was heavily supported by Ivorian teenagers and young adults, at a time when Rap wasn't the dominant musical genre in Côte d'Ivoire. In 2010, the group won Faya Flow, a Hip-Hop competition. Following that, with people who believed in us, like DA Carmen, our producer, and Shado Chris, our first beatmaker, we launched our professional career. As for albums, I can mention “Christmas Gift” in 2011, “Jackson Five” in 2013, “Teenage Firecrackers” in 2014, “Cubism” in 2015… along with singles and collaborations. This work has been rewarded with numerous titles, such as “Revelation of the Year” in 2011 and “Best Rap/Hip-Hop Group” in 2012 and 2013 at the Ivorian Music Awards.

Almost 15 years in the business, it’s a privilege to have you with us. What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned? 

I’ve learned that talent isn’t enough. You have to surround yourself with a solid team, be professional, and understand the music industry.

Out of curiosity, was there ever a moment when you thought, “Wow, I’ve really reached the top. Where do I go from here?” Have you ever felt this way in your career, and how did you overcome it?

I tell myself that all the time, when I'm performing, when I release a new project, but I immediately tell myself I have to get to work and do even better. 

One thing we didn't see on the Juventus Nueva Era deluxe edition is a collaboration with a Nigerian artist. Of course, you've already worked with numerous acts like Burna Boy. Are there others in the English-speaking world that you plan to collaborate with in the future? 

I've also worked with Naira Marley and Ziloneesky on other projects. We're also working on breaking into the English-speaking market. In fact, I was the first French-speaking artist to receive Gold certification in Nigeria for my song, "Good Vibes" featuring Ziloneesky. 

There's a new scene developing in the Ivory Coast, similar to the 'Nigerian underground,' also called 'NigerianUG.' What do you think of it? This movement? 

Are you talking about Biama? If you're talking about this new scene, I find it incredible. Seeing young people from working-class neighbourhoods, like me at the very beginning of my career, getting Ivorians dancing to this musical style makes me happy and boosts my creativity. Music is about innovation, but it's also about joy, and that's what Biama conveys. 

It was actually a separate scene, but wow! You are putting us on now. One of the biggest fanatical clashes in French rap pitted you against Himra. Where does your relationship stand today? 

We're focused on the Zénith.

Finally, is there any important news you'd like to share with the public? 

The Ebimpe Stadium for next year.

Thank you for your time, Didi B.

World Creative and Innovation Day is a date set apart to raise awareness of the pivotal role a creative mind plays in human development. African art, whether music or fine art, has always been sidelined for the more accessible and, most importantly, accepted Western alternative.

When I was 15, I lounged in my brother’s Calgary apartment most weekends and was always fascinated by the drums of Fela and Roy Ayers blaring through his speakers. A sharp contrast to the African-American-dominated Rap Caviar playlist I had previously worshipped. The song, “Africa centre of the world”, repeated with a force and authority it takes to pound yam. But “how could that be?” I’d ask myself “How could Africa be the centre of the world, if African immigrants in Canada were willingly avoiding and chastising African art, because of the blessing and burden of the diaspora? But as we blitz through another decade, the tides seem to be turning up here in North America.

The giants of the 21st century, Burna Boy, Tems, Wizkid, Tyla, Fally Ipupa, and more, through their melodies, have brought back gold to our continent, with international triumphs in the US and UK such as Grammys for “Best African Music Performance” and MOBO Award for “Best African Music Act”. Though the creativity that seeps through African content has been finding its way into the frigid country that is Canada, the African musicians here fight for a different type of accolade; that of assimilation, and to be recognized as a musical fusion of two continents is already a win for them.

African-Canadian artists like GNF Ola , Biboye Onanuga, and Raphael Ezeano are a few artists  that I’ve come to enjoy while living in Alberta and being surrounded by country music. Gone are the days where you heard African musicians attempting to imitate the flows and accents seen on MTV. Songs like “pay$tack” by GNF invite listeners into, “bur bur”, the stylised genre created by Nigerian artist Mavo, meshed with the trap-infused beats of Canadian rappers. Both Biboye and Raphael retain the melodies and jazz of Fela Kuti while performing in predominantly white spaces. Raphael, who just got off a Canada-wide tour with Avenoir, brings the saxophone of his African youth on stage to show that there is a balance between his two identities within his art. 

Biboye and his band “good information music” have also caught the attention of Africans and non-Africans alike, with a perfect mix of African jazz and contemporary North American blues. Ugandan singer Jerumi has also made recent waves here, with songs like “Talk is cheap” and “Signs of miracles”. Redefining the RNB scene here, whose foundation was laid by figures like Daniel Caesar and Avenoir. 

Canadian creatives in the realm of fashion and visual arts are also not lagging behind, with brands like Cultwest, 100GB Ani , Azach , and Fiveteen Studios putting the diaspora on the map in a manner similar to the likes of Clint 419, founder of Cortiez and fashion and music filmmaker, Gabriel Moses. “We as Africans see the sun always, and the bright colors have not only influenced my composition, but understanding that I myself am the sun, and my work does not revolve around those I meet here,” says photographer, Ani of 100GB. “I can shine in my own light and melt the snow around me.” This self-assured attitude has led Ani into the backdrop of numerous commercials and editorials within the city, and he serves as a testament to the fusion that is Afro-Canadia.

Cultwest by Eyilola Ajibola uses satirical humor to criticize the capitalist system worshiped by Canadian-African immigrants upon assimilation. With graphics that read “robbers” instead of “Rogers,” (the telecommunications giant that has its fingers in every Canadian industry) Cultwest shows the other side to a soft landing in Yankee and isn’t afraid to call out a system that has neglected his kind. Last summer, Feyisitan Fakolade and Bashir Mustafa of Fiveteen Studios sprang into the Canadian fashion industry with their collection “The Dreamer’s Journey.” Inspired by their Nigerian roots and current lives in China. The Canadian space full of African creatives attracted them to tell a story of relocation and nostalgia through clothes. And for Azach, a sustainable denim brand, Africa isn’t just a spot to farm nostalgia; they have made a name off recycling and repurposing denim in Nigeria and selling it here in Canada, with the profits flowing right where the inspiration comes from. 

Whether the Africans in Canada view the country as something to critique or one to share African stories and clothes with, the freedom to do either is what is raising the value of their work within a national lens. So for every Shallipopi “with the granola and shit”, there is an equal and greater African creative that is proud of their tongue and will inevitably succeed because of it.

We Africans are an understandably prideful people, whose egos have taken us to great heights. But our worship of success may also be what is holding us back from being the true center of the creative world. We often only support established creatives like the aforementioned who have made a name for themselves, leaving only Instagram likes and “well done”s for the brethren that walk amongst us also trying to make it. So buy that handmade scarf; if it's not your fancy, spread the word. And in a foreign land like Canada, community means everything to the African artist trying to retell stories.

Research and investment into BIPOC creativity here in Canada is at an all-time high and has made it easier for the “fobs” among us to not shy away from the term, but use our heritage as an advantage in the creative world. Africa is a talent hub that has continually broken systemic barriers in creativity, and we’ve come a long way not from where we began, but from when the rest of the world started noticing just how magical we were. So on this day recognizing global creativity, take a minute to appreciate the beautiful work that has come out of Africa and crossed over the Atlantic into Canada. As our mothers would say, “charity begins at home.” And for the bigots of the world that still undermine our works, ask yourselves, we are ants to you, but gods to who?

Cover image: Raphael Ezeano

In the time that passed between 2022’s Adultsville and the recently released State of Emergency Vol. 1 British-Nigerian R&B songstress Bellah experienced a shift. k, She released a string of one-off singles, lent her voice on features like and explored a role in Channel 4’s Queenie all the while dealing with health constraints. 

With the release of lead single, “Boo Thang Bootcamp”,  in September of 2025, she appeared primed to reacquaint audiences and fans alike to the alluring vocals and witty composition that caught the world’s ear in the early days of her career. 

Now, coming on the heels of the release of State of Emergency Vol 1, we captured Bellah as she channelled her newfound energy and vibes, which have been so clearly documented on the EP. The title, which feels somewhat fitting for the state of affairs in the background at the time of its release, yet, as you press play, you are once again met with the sonic quality she has brought to the EP.  As the first of two EPs, State of Emergency is only one part of what this new era of BELLAH represents. A Bigger, better Bellah.

You just put out the EP, so how does this feel, and what has this moment felt like for you?

I've been taking it in. I've been trying to rest, I've been trying to chill out. I can scream and shout, but they've actually silenced me. especially on Twitter. I'm like, Oh, you're not coming out of the woodworks.

You took a bit of a break, and now you're back. So even when it was time to come back to music, what said, 'I think I'm ready to come back'?

I feel like I never really stopped creating. I took a break, but I was always creating with this project in mind; it just wasn't as consistent. It was just more sporadic and a bit chaotic. For the whole of 2024, we were looking for a situation where I could release the music, and the moment I got the chance, I was like, ”bet go, I'm ready to do it now.” There is only so much time I can sit on music before I feel like “I'm over this as well. I don't even want to hear this anymore.” So that was what it was. The moment that there was an opportunity to do it,I did.

Do you feel, especially in this current climate, that there is a constant need to always be producing and creating? And how do you think that has impacted   how you feel when it comes to making music?

I find that the thing that's working in my favour right now is that because I took that long break, I made a lot of music. Right now, I'm not feeling the pressure to constantly produce music because there's so much music. However, I do believe there will be a time when I'm caught in the very present version of these events. I already feel that way when it comes to content, just being present, and showing that I'm breathing online. If I could, I would drop my music, log off, and be Frank Ocean, riding a bike in Portugal somewhere. I wouldn't do the internet stuff, even though I'm chronically online. I like to be a consumer of things, and if I don't have anything substantial to offer, I don't want to. The friction between me and this current climate is that I don't want to serve the quantity master, because I serve the quality master. That being said, I also understand that we're in a new space, and the algorithm isn't nice to you if you take breaks. It is a weird balance to strike at this time, because I want all the hard work I've put in to pay off, but I also don't want to be doing stuff for the sake of doing.

State of Emergency, that's quite a bold statement and title for the project, and so where did that title and the whole idea for the EP come from?

I made a song called “State of Emergency,” and it felt so big and so amazing that I named the project after it. So then I was like, okay, this is my brief, and  I'm going to make all the songs underneath this brief. However, there's power in the tongue, and there were so many emergencies happening in and around me. I was like, " Rah”. I didn't even know the state of the world was going to be this nuts when I released the project. So things were becoming more fitting for the title. At first, I was trying to make it with the vibe that we've got a state of emergency in UK RNB, we need something to shift, we've got to ring the alarm, we've got to wake people up. But then it started to be about myself, and self-reflection and self-awareness and questions like what aren't you taking seriously? Ring that alarm. Is it your boundaries? Is it the way you treat yourself? Your health? Is it your mental health? Then obviously, given the state of the world, what it is, I just want people to find 20 minutes of relief from all of the rubbish that's going on. So it took on so many meanings, and when you hear the music, I want you to feel something very visceral; I want that to be urgent, the way you feel. But it is very broad and has so many, and I'm really grateful for that, because you can explore the project in so many different ways. It's such an umbrella term that can be applied physically and metaphorically.

Where did that sound and the palette for that begin, and how did you sort of build that? Was there a specific thing that you were trying to capture with the sounds of the EP?

So every time I went into the studio, I knew the sounds had to be immediate when you heard them. I had songs like that that made the project feel like “Boo Thang Bootcamp” and “Typical”, where you know the moment you hear it, it's fine. But I would go into the sessions and say, "The project is called State of Emergency." So, give me something that speaks to that. And so, for things like “Critical Condition,” I came in with the title and said, “I want to make a song like this, but how do we spin it?” And “Burning Desires” became “Burning Desires”. It was called "Triggered " first, and then I wrote the second verse. And I wrote it before I named the project. So when the project was coming out, I was like, "Oh my gosh, I could change the name to' Burning Desires. '" I can change the hook, and it can fit inside this world, and God just made it work out for me in that way. But I think because my intentions were set on this theme, things were just kind of bending towards my will. Things were just making sense to me.

The Bellah you were you when you first started making the EP, versus who you are now? Where would you say you are now?

The Bellah now is the most assured version of herself. Adultsville feels like I was figuring it out, not only sonically but lyrically. Whereas this feels a lot more introspective and assertive: "These are my boundaries; this is what I'm setting for." These are my terms. So now, I'm in the space of what exploration takes place when we understand each other, because I was trying to understand you, and now I'm telling you what I want you to understand. For me, the question is “what happens when we have a certain understanding of each other?”. Hopefully, I can explore that in certain spaces; I still feel like there are stories I haven't told yet, and I'm excited to write about them. So I will be dipping back into the historical archives, because I feel like there are songs that haven’t come to fruition because things were happening whilst I was writing that I'm like, okay, well, I need to log that for when I do the next one. I'm more assured, more confident, and more understanding of what I want and where I want to be, and I'm less okay with just taking it as it is. I'm less okay with accepting circumstances and excuses. So, I'm more assured, more confident, and more open to making things change if they don't want to. For me, you know,

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You are somebody who has always been open and vulnerable when it comes to the things you talk about in your music, and so even when you open up in that way, is that something you find easy to do when it comes to expressing yourself in that way?

I've grown up with a mom who has allowed me to express myself in a way that lets people see beyond the surface. She is a social worker, a psychotherapist, all that good stuff. So, I've been having complex emotional conversations from a young age, and as a creative person, it's easy to write about these complex feelings because that's the nature of the conversations I have at home most of the time. Musically, I just surround myself with people who are better than me and who create a safe space for me to have these nuanced, complex conversations. And so, I think when the conversation meets the musical ability, it creates Bellah. I love speaking to people, I love getting through to people,  beyond the surface level. I love encouraging people. I love understanding that trauma plays a big part in the way we communicate and interact with each other. I love that everybody has their story, and I'm also aware that everybody's not able to communicate their story the way that they need to or as effectively, and so that's why I believe sometimes putting things that people are too scared or too shy to say in songs gives someone an outlet for something because they may not have known how to articulate that before they heard the song, or before they spoke to me. So I think the human experience is much deeper than people make it out to be, and I want to be part of helping people uncover it.

Even in striking that balance of you being able to still have certain things that you know are yourself, and you know how to sort of toe that line and just make sure that you as a person are also protected within yourself?

I don't think I toe the line in the sense of, ”this is what I want to share with the Internet, this is what I gotta keep.” I think that because these experiences are my own, no one will ever fully understand what I'm going through.  So, my vulnerability comes from trying to get us as close as possible to the understanding we need, so that your empathy or understanding can be triggered. I feel like even when I speak about my sickle cell, I can tell you how much it hurts, but you will never know, because you don't have it. There are things I keep away from my social media, like personal things: this is not a conversation I need to have; this is just mine. But the things that I choose to have a conversation about, I really try to let people in as much as possible, because I know there will always be a certain door that you can't open, because it's not your door. However, I can get you as close to the stage as possible, so that you have an understanding of who I am. I think that makes artistry more interesting. I think it makes people more invested in other people's stories. Sometimes I find a disconnect between specifically more RNB artists that I don't really know because you're making such emotional music, and there's nothing for me to like, grab onto, and it's not to say that I want to be nosy and know your life, but there's nothing for me to connect the music and the person as one entity. So, I try to give people an experience where they know this has come from a place, and I understand the place it's come from, even if it's in my own special way.

Those are the moments that you actually need, because those are the moments we actually are able to, you know, check in with yourself. Yes, happen to be like, okay, you know what I am. And you know, there's always the whole thing about one's identity and, like, you know who you are versus what you do. And, yeah, especially when you are someone who's like, you know, a performer or just like, in any sort of, like, outward-facing position in life. You know, people see anything, okay, oh yeah, that's a doctor. She's diseased. But it's also about being like, "You know what?" I am that, yes, but also I'm, I'm more than that as well, you know? And sometimes you don't get to actually realise and understand what that is, until you're out of that space, space?

That is what happened in my time down, the Self Realisation. My mom always says that you're a human being, not a human doing. I live by that now. So, when I say I'm more assured, I'm like, okay, cool. The music is amazing. Everything I'm doing is amazing, but if I stopped doing it today, I would still be just as amazing. I just know that this is the music being low-key, part of my rebellion. It sounds mad, but as I exist right now, these things are not supposed to be working for me. So, it feels like my own version of a revolution, like a middle finger to the systems at be. I get to live my experience, do my human experience the way I want to, not the way you've told me and everybody else I should, but again, all these realisations happen, like you said, in the downtime, yeah, yeah. And I think, because of the downtime, I get really excited to do the things I want to do.

Coming back

My excitement for music right now is because of the downtime, because I have a completely different approach. Whilst I was creating great things, there was an air of desperation that wasn't the good kind. It wasn't the desperation that would get you out of bed in the morning. It was the desperation that came from a very empty place, the kind of desperation that needed Validation to satiate it. Whereas I feel like the desperation I have now isn't about others' validation, but for seeing what I am capable of, seeing what I can do in my time here. I feel like my life is a bunch of really big side quests. So, like, world domination is one of my side quests. How do we get a Grammy side quest? You know, like, and it helps me just wake up in the morning and do what I need to do. And, you know, feed, water, what I need to water, feed, what I need to feed, knowing that the amalgamation of the things that I'm doing is me and not just this one thing, and not just this one sector, So everything's a side quest, which makes everything the main quest, which, you know, in turn, makes everything the side question is a complete circle.

Even as we've spoken about, where you are now, like even in what you've in, what you've just said, and everything, what excites you about, like, you know, this new space that you're in, and just like this new era, and everything?

I'm excited that, for the first time, I’m being my most authentic self, and I’m finding that people are drawn to me more. The idea that people are witnessing me as I am is exciting because it means they're here for the growth, for the journey. And so, the thing I'm most excited about is taking everyone on this journey with me. It's really edifying and heartwarming to know that people just want to see me, not a version of me I put on.

For you, what has been the difference in, you know, creating volume one and then being in the essence of volume two?

Volume One was supposed to be longer, and we had to split it. So some of the songs on Volume One are on Volume Two, and then I'm creating fresh new energies to go on Volume Two, and I think that's what it needs. So I’m excited to kind of curate something based on what we had and how to elevate it. So I can't wait to feel the New Energy and be excited. I feel like volume two will be the one I listen to a little bit after it comes out, since it will be fresher and newer to me., I've cleared up the space in my brain. I'm waiting for the new, fresh downloads. I can't wait for the new downloads. I can't wait to bring the new confidence into the studio. Well, I have it now, but I can't wait to see how that manifests in the studio. So yeah, that's the energy I'm entering with, excitement, anticipation, bigger, better Bellah period.

Team Credits:
Photographer & Creative Director: Will Sousa @wc_sousa
Producer: Seneo Mwamba @seneomwamba
Creative Producer: Zekaria Al-Bostani @zek.snaps
Makeup Artist: Lake Sanu @lakesanu
Hair Stylist: Tomoya Jasmine Eastwood @valoreuk
Fashion Stylist: Jaden Salman @jadensalman
Styling Assistants: Evrade Loredana @evradeloredana & Daniella Fitzgerald @daniellafitzz
BTS Photo & Video: Rimaz Yousif @shotbyrimaz
Design: @dianeadanna
Writer: Seneo Mwamba @seneomwamba
PR: @ourhousepublicity

In August 2010, a teenage Wizkid posted on X: “I like Fally Ipupa’s music nd style!! lol.. tho I don’t understand wat he say’s bt d tin jst sweet!..” A year later, in October 2011, he was back: “gatto do something wit fally ipupa too!!…” He eventually did - on 'Yakuza', roughly a decade ago. Now they have 'Jam'. Some things are simply inevitable.

West Africa has always felt the pull of Fally Ipupa’s sound travelling across borders, subverting language and cultural barriers for years before any formal introduction was necessary. “Jam” is one of those moments.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

For the West African listener encountering Fally Ipupa properly for the first time, the context matters. Often referred to as the “Prince of Rumba,” Fally is a Congolese musician known for his tenor vocals and his fusion of Congolese rumba, soukous and ndombolo.  This year marks 20 years of his solo career which began with the 2006 release of his debut studio album Droit Chemin. Set to honour 20 years of relentless hits, he is set to release his eighth studio album, XX with performing two back-to-back sold out shows at the Stade de France.  

“Jam” sits within XX as  a reunion of sorts, the two artists having last worked together roughly a decade ago on ‘Yakuza’.  But those old tweets reframe the collaboration entirely. Wizkid’s admiration for Fally did not begin in a studio. That is the most honest kind of appreciation there is, and ‘Jam’ sounds like the product of it.

The song does not rush. Fally’s vocal runs carry the weight of the track while Wizkid moves alongside them, unhurried, his delivery fitting the soukous-influenced rhythm rather than pulling against it.  Producer Trésor Riziki keeps the production clean, blending organic and electronic textures without crowding the space the vocalists need.  The soukous-influenced rhythm underneath is the kind that the body recognises before the mind does - familiar on first listen, satisfying on every listen after. The hook is simple and stubborn. It stays.It does not demand anything except attention, and it rewards that attention without making a fuss about it.

When fans found those old tweets and replied “Now we have Jam” -  they were marking something beyond a release. Fally Ipupa has spent two decades being one of the most significant artists on this continent. That this is many people's first proper encounter with him says less about the music and more about the walls that have kept African scenes from fully hearing each other.

IG:@ffeistyhuman

Think about the last time you saw a movie trailer. It was probably a few minutes long, told you a bit too much about the story, and ended with a loud thud and a release date. In contrast, now think about the last time you were scrolling through TikTok or Instagram and saw a fifteen-second clip of a character looking incredibly cool, perfectly synced to a music track. If you’re like most people lately, that short, punchy clip likely got you more excited for the movie than the actual trailer did, and it’s probably the reason you’ll end up at the cinema this weekend.A ‘Creed’ edit by TikTok creator Areq went viral on the platform, raking in over 200 million views and 21 million likes, that alone says a lot about the edits community. 

 A massive community of creators, most of which are film fans, are currently turning movie edits into a cultured art form. With smooth slow motion, sharp cuts, and clean transitions, they don’t just edit scenes; they elevate them, giving the movie a different feel.These edits work because they are very direct. They grab your attention immediately, focus on feeling instead of explaining the story, and use music to carry the video. Unlike trailers that try to tell you everything, these edits just make you want more.

Giant movie studios, realizing they can’t beat these editors, have begun including them in their marketing strategy. Lionsgate, the studio behind massive box office hits like The Hunger Games and John Wick, now post their versions of "fan-style" edits created by editors hired off TikTok. Felipe Mendez, Manager at United Talent Agency (UTA), who has been instrumental in leading Lionsgate’s TikTok strategy, notes that this shift wasn't a desperate pivot but a natural evolution of a brand that respects the internet. "Lionsgate was already a leader on TikTok before I started working with them three years ago, doing things that were cutting edge”, Mendez explains. "The studio was one of the first ever brands to embrace TikTok as a real marketing channel. With that, we’ve always looked towards the Internet as something to understand and celebrate, and that means constantly seeing what's next and what's up and coming”. This approach has set a new benchmark for the industry. According to Mendez, the success of these edits has fundamentally changed  the standard of social media marketing for studios. It is no longer enough to simply chase the latest viral dance  to stay ahead, brands must innovate within the medium itself.

TIKTOK EMBED:

Recently, Ryan Coogler, the director behind Black Panther, reacted to a viral edit of his Oscar-award-winning movie, Sinners. 

One of the most interesting things about these edits is the music. While many use various genres, Nigerian editors have started pairing Hollywood scenes with  Afrobeats. There is something about the rhythm and the energy of Afrobeats that fits perfectly with a smooth movie transition. Whether it’s an action hero walking away from an explosion or a stylish character entering a room, the beat makes the scene feel different 

This trend isn't limited to live-action movies, either. The anime community has jumped in full force. It’s becoming common to see legendary fight scenes from shows like Naruto orJujutsu Kaisen edited to the latest Afrobeats hits. Seeing a high-intensity anime battle synced up to those global rhythms creates a whole new energy that fans absolutely love. It brings two massive cultures together in a way that feels totally natural.

This trend is doing something amazing for the music industry, too. Every time a movie edit using an Afrobeats track goes viral, it pushes that song to millions of people who might never have heard it otherwise. It’s helping Afrobeats become a truly global sound. A person in a different part of the world might see a clip from their favorite movie, love the song playing in the background, and suddenly they’re a fan of a new artist from Nigeria. There is no label strategy behind this, no coordinated rollout, just instinct and creativity. Yet the impact is real; a single edit can move a song across continents.

However, Mendez clarifies that these edits aren't necessarily "better" than trailers, they just serve different worlds. "I think they are just rather different things," he says. "A fan edit on a big screen... would probably not perform as well, as the audience is so different. TikTok is the domain for fan edits." He sees a future where the two styles learn from each other, stating, "Trailers are evolving and so are fan edits... it’s exciting to see how the two could converge for something really new."

This is what makes the edit community so powerful. It operates without a formal structure but with a deep understanding of attention and emotion. While studios are filled with talent, Mendez points out that fan editors have a unique edge: "The best fans/TikTok editors understand how algorithms move and what the platform pushes forward." By embracing this, studios are "scaling these incredible communities and platforming the fans of our franchises."

Ultimately, while much of this work goes unrecognised, the impact is undeniable. As Mendez puts it, the goal is to create "systems that are inherently built to grow" with the internet. Beneath the surface of these quick scrolls is a level of creativity and influence that continues to shape how culture moves online.What looks like simple, quick content is actually a new way of telling stories, led by creators who understand what people want to see almost instantly.

Over the past decade, Afrobeats has expanded far beyond its Nigerian and West African roots, evolving into a global sonic language that moves fluidly across continents. It’s everywhere and still somehow treated like it’s on the verge of arriving. You hear it in clubs in London, in TikTok audios in New York, in playlists that cut across continents without much concern for geography. The artists are touring globally, collaborating widely, building audiences that don’t need to be explained into existence.

Its growth has been driven less by traditional industry pipelines and more by digital ecosystems–streaming platforms, diaspora communities, and social media circulation. In many ways, Afrobeats has already achieved what older industry models would define as global success: sold-out tours, charting records, cross-genre collaborations and cultural influence that extends into fashion, dance and internet culture.

Put all of that together and you start to see the pattern: there isn’t one way to do this. But the Western music industry still tends to act like there is. It’s an assumption that says more about how we’ve been taught to measure success than it does about the current state of Afrobeats.

Recently, a clip reposted by Afrotoday–featuring a self-proclaimed superfan of Ayra Starr urging her to “go back home” and abandon her U.S.-facing trajectory. The logic is simple: her attempts to expand into the U.S. market aren’t landing as expected. But the statement reveals something deeper than critique. It reflects a lingering belief that Western validation remains the ultimate benchmark, even as the structures that once upheld that idea begin to shift. 

For audiences raised on linear narratives of success, local recognition followed by Western breakthrough–the current landscape can feel unsettled. But for artists, the reality is far less linear and far more fluid. For Starr, signed to Mavin Records but internationally managed by Roc Nation and operating within a broader global distribution network, she exists between markets that demand different things from her. In Nigeria and across parts of Europe, she is already a fully realised pop star distinct, recognisable, and culturally embedded. In the United States, however, her presence is still forming, often arriving in fragments rather than as a fully constructed narrative.

That gap is not a failure of artistry. It is a reflection of how different systems process visibility. Across the industry, her peers illustrate just how varied these pathways can be. Tems has moved through prestige collaborations and film placements, building a quieter but deeply rooted presence in Western markets. Burna Boy has prioritised global touring, creating scale that exists largely outside the need for American radio validation. Rema achieved a rare crossover moment through viral success that translated across markets. And Tyla has been positioned in alignment with Western pop frameworks, making her rise more legible within that system.

Taken together, these trajectories don’t suggest inconsistency. They expose the limits of a system still measuring success through “breaking America,” an increasingly outdated metric that fails to account for how Afrobeats actually moves. The American market, in particular, continues to rely on legacy systems: radio play, rigid genre categorisation and slow-burn artist development cycles built around control. Afrobeats, by contrast, thrive in environments that are fast, decentralised and borderless. Songs travel before artists do. Hits emerge organically, often without the kind of label orchestration Western systems are designed to manage.

To understand this friction more clearly, it helps to return to the genre’s roots. Afrobeats can be traced back to Nigeria and music icon Fela Kuti, widely considered the architect of Afrobeat. Popularised in the 1970s, Afrobeat merged American jazz and funk with traditional Yoruba music. Over time, that foundation evolved into Afrobeats–a broader, more fluid umbrella used to describe contemporary West African pop music that draws from those origins.

Afrobeats, then, is not a singular genre but an umbrella term often used to describe contemporary West African pop music. And it is precisely this fluidity that resists easy categorisation within Western industry frameworks.

For decades, Western labels have positioned themselves as the site of global arrival–the place where genres are not just heard, but confirmed. To succeed within that system is to become legible on its terms.

But Afrobeats complicates that logic. Western labels are now navigating a steep learning curve, moving from early indifference to aggressive and at times clumsy investment. Major players like Sony Music Entertainment and Universal Music Group have established offices in Lagos, tapping into a market that has already proven its global viability. Yet the issue remains whether these institutions understand the nuance of Afrobeats, or if they are simply repackaging it for Western consumption.

As Afrobeats Intelligence host Joey Akan notes of Ayra Starr’s trajectory, “With Roc Nation’s proven U.S. market dominance and Mavin/Universal’s backing, she’s poised to become Nigeria’s next global breakout.” The infrastructure is clearly in place. The ambition is undeniable. But infrastructure does not guarantee understanding because the challenge has never been about access but translation. Not translation as language, but as framing. How do you present a genre that is already global without reducing it to a trend? How do you introduce an artist to a new market without flattening what makes them distinct? How do you work with movement rather than attempting to contain it?

What appears, on the surface, as a stalled crossover may not be a failure at all. It may be a system struggling to catch up. That reframing shifts the conversation entirely. It suggests that the question is no longer whether Afrobeats can be absorbed into Western systems, but if those systems can adapt to something that does not centre them. And that is a far more difficult adjustment to make.

It requires abandoning the idea that there is a single, definitive version of success. It means recognising that an artist can be globally influential without being universally legible within every market. It means accepting that not all forms of cultural movement are designed to translate cleanly and that forcing them to do so risks losing what made them powerful in the first place.

The fan in the viral clip might be asking Ayra Starr to go back home. But the more pressing question is whether “home” and “away” still function in the way that statement assumes. Because if Afrobeats has already redrawn the map, then the idea of a singular destination, of one place where success is finally confirmed–no longer holds the same weight. And if that’s the case, then the real challenge isn’t for the artists. It’s for the system still trying to make sense of them.

Closing out the UK leg of her My Ego Told Me To Tour, Leigh-Anne played London’s O2 Kentish Town Forum and brought a show of high energy excellence and a true celebration of this era. Bringing the album to life was an experience and a half from the moments she appeared at the top of the Staircase before making her way to the stage, which she shared with her band members and sole female dancer. It is very apparent that she is not shy, nor is she new to being on stage.

Drawing on R&B, Dancehall & her Caribbean heritage, she showcased on the album the blend and mix of sounds that translated perfectly on stage; the vocals were sharp and on point, and the emotional intensity of the songs was firmly on display. The emotional moments that came through in some of the tracks, mixed with the fiery intensity of others, really brought the words and feelings she poured into the album to life in a way that felt so real and raw.

Standout moments included a special appearance by her husband and twins, who came on stage behind a screen protecting their privacy for the second-to-last song, “Heaven,” which was written about the two. As well as “Dead and Gone,” which really brought to life what felt like a different kind of Leigh-Anne, accompanied by a recording of her X-Factor Audition, it was a brief moment of history about who she was then and, more importantly, who she is now. One thing Leigh-Anne will never not display is the love she has for her fans or her Leigons, as they are known, and so them joining her on stage for the “Tight Up” & “Friends” dance segment was a special moment for the select few that were chosen on stage, one of which included the viral sensation who brought Tinashe’s “Nasty” dance to life.

That moment and the show as a whole were very strong, offering and once again solidifying where Leigh-Anne sits in her artistry, bringing to life the essence of her ego and pouring it out on the stage, was really a sight to see. The stage that was set with a few window screens some of which were shattered, and all masked with caution tape labelled My Ego Told Me To,  the lighting moved between shades of green and red, the dancer dressed in an identical outfit to Leigh-Anne’s, except in black, and the band played the instruments and brought to life the sounds of the album. Overall, the show felt like a real warning to those out there: this is a different Leigh-Anne, and she is somebody to watch out for.

At Lagos Fashion Week’s more deliberate offshoot, Woven Threads VII, the question shifts toward whether anyone is actually doing the work. This past weekend, Woven Threads VII returned with CRAFTED, a programme centred on material, process, and circular design. Curated by Sunny Dolat, this year’s edition brought together designers working across textiles, reconstruction and material innovation, alongside talks and live demonstrations focused on reuse and responsible production. While the programme leans into the language of circularity, what emerges on the ground feels more uneven, and far more compelling: African designers negotiating what it means to make clothing responsibly in real time.

“Craft” carries its own visual shorthand. Across the weekend, the collections that cut through were the ones that pushed beyond reference, with the process staying visible and unresolved. Alongside the talks and workshops, the presentations offered a clearer read on where designers are actually pushing the conversation forward. These were our standout selections from the weekend that stood out for how clearly they approached craft beyond concept, and more as something embedded in how the clothes are made and worn.

Hertunba presented a collection grounded in material identity and surface storytelling. Handwoven textiles carried repeated motifs referencing familiar environments, applied with precision across garments. The silhouettes stayed controlled, with peplum tops, wide-leg trousers, and layered sets that held their shape while allowing for movement. It felt considered from start to finish, with a clear visual language running through each look. In a space where craft can tend to lean expressive, Hertunba’s restraint reads as intention.

Pettre Taylor moves in a more unstable direction, focusing on construction and variation in technique in their presentation. Dyed textiles, knit structures, crochet, and patchwork appeared across the collection, each look introducing a different approach to making. The silhouettes shifted between loose, draped forms and more defined pieces, with layering used to build depth. This variety holds everything in place. Craft here reads as labour, present and unresolved.

Eki Kéré takes a steadier approach. The repetition of leaf cut-outs, raffia, and textured surfaces creates a through-line that makes the collection easy to follow. There’s a clear commitment to reuse, but what stands out is the consistency —materials reworked across silhouettes without feeling repetitive. The shapes, wraps, wide forms, layered pieces, stay familiar, which lets the surface work do the talking. It’s less about impact, more about building a recognisable language and sticking to it, and this presentation was undoubtedly Eki Kéré.

Kokrobitey Institute sits somewhere in between experimentation and presentation. The emphasis on visible processes like knots, loops, and hand-altered textiles keeps the focus on making, but at times the garments feel secondary to the technique. That said, when it clicks, it’s strong. The looser silhouettes and suspended elements give the materials space to move, and the weight of the textiles comes through. It’s a collection that prioritises process, sometimes at the expense of finish, but that is part of its appeal.

Oshobor understands pacing. The opening looks were clean, tailored, grounded in neutral tones, and set a clear foundation. When texture comes in, it shifts the entire collection: fringe thickens, surfaces become heavier, silhouettes expand. The contrast between smooth and textured is where it works best. Some of the later looks push volume to the edge, but the restraint in colour keeps everything held together. It’s one of the more visually immediate collections, with a strong sense of how each look occupies space.

What ties these designers together is a shared insistence on process. Within a wider framework that includes initiatives like IRAPADA, focused on tracking and repurposing textile waste within Lagos’ fashion ecosystem, Woven Threads VII allows these ideas to take material form.

Across these selections, what stands out most is clarity. Each designer approaches craft differently, through control, accumulation, repetition, or material experimentation. In a programme centred on process, that balance is what separates a good idea from a collection that actually stays with you. CRAFTED landed clearly in its openness and allowed these designers to treat craft as a working condition, something to move through, test, and hold in place. Because if Woven Threads VII is mapping out a circular fashion system, these designers show what that looks like up close.

King Promise Gives An Inside Look into his New Joint Album with Mr Eazi

Let me remind you that the new joint project ‘See What We’ve Done’ by King Promise and Mr Eazi is not just your mere industry get-together. King, a Highlife award-winning Ghanaian artist, and Mr Eazi, the Nigerian Banku Music champion, are joining forces in celebration of a lifelong brotherhood. This is almost ten years in the making, coupled with an unbreakable friendship that we are fortunate enough to witness it through a sonic delight. You asked for it, and the famous pair delivered–with every second’s warm ambience and serenading lyrics reminding us all how much we’ve missed hearing the two together. 

This should come as no surprise, after supporters have been anticipating for years for an official comeback of Afrobeats’ favourite duo. 9-track of pure expressionism twisted in Twi, English and Pidgin, existing within the realm of Afropop/R&B, and they all trace back to a studio session in Accra in 2013. Since then, the brothers by spirit have garnered flourishing careers, settling in a world of romance. Deeds Magazine sat down with King Promise to unfold the collaborative album and set the record straight: Ghana’s and Nigeria’s undeniable bond is here to stay, and at full display in ‘See What We’ve Done’.

Laurène for Deeds Magazine: When you first announced a collaborative project, it really took the world for a spin! We had seen your friendship blossom before our eyes, with you recently attending Eazi’s wedding, but nothing could prepare us for this sonic ride between the two soft giants of West Africa. Tell us, how did the idea for seeing what you’ve done initially come about?

King Promise: It was actually very organic. Mr Eazi and I have built a real friendship over the years, beyond just music. We’ve always appreciated each other’s sound and the space we each occupy in Afrobeats. This is the right time to create something together. It started from our fans actually calling for more music from us after our initial collaborations had all been epic. We obviously have individual careers and mad personal schedules, so it's taken quite a while. Still, finally, after a few years of the fans asking and us also wanting to do it, the album is finally here.

Listening to the album carefully, it’s ‘Dabedi’ all over again, but times a hundred! If I’m not mistaken, in 2018, this was our first official introduction of you two together in the same music realm. Little did we know as supporters that almost a decade later, ‘See What We’ve Done’ would be at our front door. Why was it important to unveil the project now in the year 2026?

Yeah, “Dabebi” with Mr Eazi was definitely a moment and looking back now, it almost feels like a seed we planted without even realizing how far it would grow. I think what makes See What We’ve Done special is timing. Back then, we had chemistry, but now we have experience, growth, and a deeper understanding of ourselves as artists and as people. We’ve both evolved, sonically and personally, and that reflects in the music.

Speaking of nostalgia, on the single “That Way”, you reinterpreted the American Pop classic, “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys. It’s like the song was given a new breath of life, a refreshing outlook, and some African sun rays, of course. Who came up with this brilliant mashup?

I did. Haha. The idea first came from a conversation I was having with my manager early last year as I was working on my next body of work. We spoke about sampling more records that made sense after the success of my song “Favourite Story” He said, “Why not do something different for the next one from a boyband?” That sounded epic to me, and after going through some of our fav boyband classics, “I Want It That Way” spoke to me instantly. It’s one of those timeless records almost everyone grew up on, so there was already that emotional connection. Honestly, that was one of those moments that just happened most naturally. 

Fast forward, I had already gotten in the studio with Guiltybeatz and Jae5 and made the record just before I went to Dubai for Eazi’s wedding. We were in a car heading to the wedding when I played it for him while we were catching up, discussing music, and what the next steps were for each other. That was the birth of See What We’ve Done because we agreed on that drive to finally make it happen.

There was a time when you couldn’t speak of Ghana without Nigeria in the same sentence. In the early 2010s, which I like to call the prime of Afrobeats, the two regions were in constant battle with each other. But it was healthy competition! Whereas now, it seems like the limelight has mainly shifted to Nigeria, specifically Lagos. This joint project brought some of that early feeling back. I wonder, where’s there some of that friendly rivalry during studio sessions?

I get what you mean, because that Ghana–Nigeria dynamic has always been part of the culture, and it definitely pushed the sound forward. But for us, it’s never really been about competition; it’s more like motivation. I think what this project shows is that it’s not Ghana versus Nigeria, it’s Ghana and Nigeria. When you blend those two energies, it becomes something bigger than both sides. At the end of the day, it’s all about making great music that represents where we come from.

‍On a lighter note, I think the main theme of this project is love. During my first listen, I wrote down the following: “The theme of love throughout See What We’ve Done reflects the stage of each artist’s life, and comes at the cost of an unbreakable brotherhood.” King, can you tell us three things you love about your friend Eazi?‍

First, I’d say, ambition. Second, his mindset. He’s always thinking bigger than just music. He thinks about business, impact, and legacy. Being around that kind of energy pushes you to show up in your own way. Lastly, the goal is to enjoy life, be himself and not let anything stress him.

We can’t talk about music without looking at the current soundscape. One thing about both of your contributions is that you’ve always been in your own lane and prioritized growth with your listeners over the music industry. Do you believe there is intentional, timeless, African music of substance, circulating in the mainstream arena right now?

Yeah, I definitely think it exists, but you have to be intentional about finding it, just like the artists have to be intentional about making it. The mainstream today is very fast. There's a lot of music coming out, a lot of trends, a lot of moments. But within all of that, there are still artists creating timeless, meaningful African music. Music that isn’t just for now, but something you can come back to years later and still feel.

Thinking about you as a duo, it really does make sense now. Of course, we had Asake and Wizkid release earlier this year, Tems and Dave working, Angélique and Ayra Starr surprisingly. How would you say that you manage to stand out from the crowd?

I think first of all, it’s a beautiful time for the culture, seeing collaborations like Asake and Wizkid, Tems and Dave, even Angélique Kidjo and Ayra Starr, it just shows how wide and powerful African music has become. For Mr Eazi and me, I think what makes us stand out is the intention behind what we have created. It wasn't put together by a label or management. It wasn't orchestrated by anyone, but a friendship of about 13 years from boys to men. We’re not just putting songs together; we've built a body of work that reflects our journey, our friendship, and our growth over time.

You’re known as tastemakers, trendsetters and trailblazers not only in Africa, but across the world. Who are emerging artists, either from Ghana or Nigeria, you think we should be tuning into today?

There’s a lot of exciting talent coming up right now; honestly, it’s a great time for the next generation. From Ghana, I’d say keep an eye on Black Sherif, OliveTheBoy, Lasmid, Arathejay and Kojo Black. I would leave Nigeria to Eazi.

When this interview is released, the project will most likely already be out by now. Is there an important message you would like to say to your long-time supporters?

First of all, I just want to say thank you. To everyone who has been rocking with us from day one, and to those who are just discovering the music now, I don’t take any of it for granted.

This project with Eazi is really a reflection of growth, patience, and staying true to ourselves. And the fact that the fans have allowed us to evolve, to experiment, and to still support us at this level means everything.

Finally, this is an exclusive, by the way, I’m speaking it into the universe. Can we fans expect some tour dates for the album anytime soon? If yes, when?

I like that, you’re putting it out there already. We’re still putting things together, making sure it’s done the right way

Thank you, King Promise, for your time.

We've discussed the Toronto music scene for some time, noting artists such as Dylan Sinclair and Aqyila as key representatives of Toronto's R&B. Now, as these artists make their mark, they highlight the region's rich, growing talent.

Amongst those artists is also Chxxry. As a child of two Ethiopian immigrants who made their way to Canada, she is also part of the Canadian R&B story.  Her musical presence became known through her viral hit “Main Character,” released last year. However, before the moment happened for her, she was somebody who had been a part of the music scene for a minute. As someone who grew up singing, it is not foreign to her. Her debut single, “The Falls”, introduced her with a darker, somewhat more alternative vibe that drew on Toronto R&B natives The Weeknd and PARTYNEXTDOOR and very much set the tone for R&B artists to come.

Now, 4 years since her debut, she is creating something for herself and pushing beyond what is expected from her. With two EPs under her belt, she is ready for her album, expected to drop later this year. The first single of the album just arrived. “Hall of Fame”  is an introduction to this new era and is the first taste of what we can expect from the album, and  has been described as “pre-party for my album”. Having just concluded her opening slot on Mariah The Scientist’s Hearts Sold Separately Tour, playing for audiences all over the world, it's clear that this is a new chapter in Chxrry’s story. We met Chxxry and spoke about everything from her musical journey so far to her time as an artist in Toronto, redefining her sound, her upcoming album, and more.

Hi Chxxry, great to meet you. Starting at the beginning, what was your initial introduction to music?

So both my parents immigrated to Toronto from Ethiopia and didn't speak English. They both sang in a choir, so growing up, my parents just made us sing a lot. They made us sing a lot of Christian songs, Ethiopian songs, all my home videos, all my early childhood memories were of singing that was weirdly our love language, and that was what bonded us and bridged the gap of us being first gen and them being immigrants. So that's just really how I got into music, it was through  my parents,

And was there a particular moment when you knew that singing was something you wanted to do beyond just being a hobby?

I think it was my brothers; they just weren't as good as I was. So it was obvious when we would all sing, and it'd be like she sounds really good, like, she's really standing out. And then I remember the choir director at my church. He went to my dad and said to him, " You know, she could really sing, like, you should really take this seriously”. And my dad had a friend, actually, who was adamant, like he used to tell him that you need to do something, this kid can really sing. And I just became known for it. I used to sing at birthdays and weddings, and I just became the girl who could sing. So my parents eventually became undeniable. I was just really talented and just really good at it.

So even with your parents knowing about your talent and hearing it from people. Did they foster that creativity and support that talent within you?

No, they didn’t. I love my parents; they're amazing people. My mom exposed me to a lot of different things and was very lenient. My dad, on the other hand, was really strict. I think, as immigrants, they don't really know any other way than hard work. They didn't understand the Internet. So even when I went viral, and I told my dad, he didn't really get it. I was like, " Quit your job. I'm famous. And like, I wasn't. But to this day, he thinks that story is so crazy because he's like, "What do you mean?" But he doesn't get it that people can get famous overnight.

Being in Toronto and just the music scene there. How did you find being around the music out there, and what was your experience of it?

I think it was intensely moody. There was a moment when The Weeknd, PARTYNEXTDOOR, Drake, and Daniel Caesar all emerged together. LR&B felt dark and atmospheric, and we set the tone for the rest of the world. Every R&B song you heard traced back to Abel or Drake; that defined Toronto’s sound. We shaped dark R&B, turning it into the movement R&B became. Now, I believe we’ve entered a new era. What I’m creating stands apart—it’s vibrant and original. The city hasn’t seen a woman bring change like this before. I’m genuinely excited; I feel my album will launch something entirely new. After everything I accomplished last year, I know this year will be even bigger. The music is about to take off.

Speaking to your own music and finding what that sound was to you, how did you discover that for yourself?

I think, naturally, being from Toronto, my taste was definitely darker, moodier R&B in the beginning, for sure, but I think now I just want to create my own legacy and start my own stride, you know. And I think “Main Character” was the start of me being like I figured it out, this is what I want to do. And, now I'm entering a new flow state, yeah.

You just put out your new single, “Hall of Fame”. Tell us about the new single and the process of making it?

I was heavily inspired by older pop songs and was searching for the feeling I had when I listened to them as a younger person. And I really wanted something that was also a nod to my city. It was actually the last song I made for this album. When my producer played me the beat, I knew it was the song that the project was missing.

How do you feel this particular single introduces us to what we can expect from the album?

“Hall of Fame” is basically the pre-party for my album. It's like a glimpse into my real life and the outer ego of the world that is Chxrry.

You've spoken about the album, which I know is coming out later this year. How did you find the sound, and what vibe did you want?

I don't want to keep doing the same things, and I don't want any album to sound like the last one. And I always want people to be, like, excited about what I'll do next. I still always want to push the envelope. So even when I dropped “Poppin Out”, that was so different for me. Yeah, and I was so nervous, I was like, oh, it's not slow, it's not dark, like, and I think it felt like me. It felt like the real me, you know, not like, well, this is where I'm from, this is what I'm supposed to sound like. It's what I'm supposed to like. It just felt free. And I think people read that, and I think people were really into that. So just keeping that energy, I just kept that, kept on going with that, even with the new album and everything.

If people have never heard the music before, this is their first taste of your sound. How would you describe this album as not even like an introduction to yourself, as to who Erry is about?

I feel like this album describes me as just brave. I think this album is gonna show them that I want to be more than just a moment. I want to create something timeless. Everything I do. I just want it to mean something. I want it to inspire people. I want to be inspired. And, yeah, I just want to do new shit, like I don't know. I never want people to know what I'm gonna do next. The shit part about the internet is that if something's different and exciting, it always just has to be like, ridiculed so harshly, until it becomes normalised, I guess, and everybody just has like, one brain, and it really sucks. But I know that there's a reward for being different, and I know there's a reward for taking chances and trying to push art,

You just finished opening for Mariah The Scientist on tour, and you played shows internationally, so what was it like to see people respond to your music and just see the different crowds everywhere you went?

It was amazing. I didn't even know this many people knew me, so I'm really excited and blown away every day by the crowds, how much they engage, and how they sing the songs. It makes me want to come back for my own headline tour and do this all over again.

What would you say has been like, the growing moments that you've experienced, even just being on your journey so far?

I think every single day I have, like, Aha, like, moments like, I don't know, like, every day I just feel like things click, more and more. There are so many things I've heard along the way. I'm not really an in-the-moment kind of person. I don't realise things in the moment; I always realise them way after the fact. I tend to miss signs and advice, and I'm someone who learns from experience, so I'm just learning as I go. I think what I'm trying to say is that my learning really happens in reflection, rather than in the moment.

What are you looking forward to, even in the next stage of your journey?

Honestly, just seeing where this music takes me, like, what new opportunities it'll bring, what new places I'll see, being inspired by new people and by new things, like all these things, create the next album and create the next era, and, yeah, life is just it's not really about one moment. It's about like multiple, so that's what I look forward to.

During a recent interview with NandoLeaks, songwriter, producer and singer Omah Lay did not hold back when speaking about, Elmah, the newest artist signed to his record label—Boy Alone. “She’s Insane”,  he said.

The Nigerian hitmaker, who launched the imprint as an extension of his creative movement, used the conversation to introduce fans to the rising talent and explain the unconventional personality behind the artist, which drew his attention to her. 

Before her connection with Omah Lay, Elmah had quietly built momentum. With her soulful tone and emotionally driven songwriting skills, she made covers and snippets that blend Afrobeats with R&B and alternative influences.  Her early single “New Boy In Town” introduced listeners to lyrics  born from vulnerability, self-doubt, loneliness and the search for acceptance. It captured the emotional experience of stepping into unfamiliar territory, and it resonated with listeners because it was widely relatable, especially as her delivery feels intimate and honest, which makes it feel like she’s voicing emotions they struggle to articulate, which are qualities that have become defining traits of Afrofusion’s new wave. 

Her visibility  intensified when she appeared on his latest album “Clarity of Mind”, on the track  “Coping Mechanism”  

‍making her the only guest artist on the project, an opportunity that screams confidence in her potential. 

This artistic alignment is precisely why their collaboration feels natural, as they operate the same emotional territory that Afrofusion has come to represent: introspection, heartbreak, longing and spiritual reflection wrapped in mellow rhythm. Where Omah Lay leans towards haunting melodies and confessional storytelling, Elmah brings a softer but equally emotive tone. Together, their voices create a complementary dynamic, his textured and aching delivery with her airy, reflective presence. 

For Elmah, the moment marks the start of a breakthrough in her career. For Omah Lay, it signals an evolution in his journey, not as an artist but as a curator of a new talent for his imprint. However, if his words are anything to go by, the world would soon understand why he called her “Insane”, a remark that hints at an artist whose creativity, energy and artistry may be as unpredictable as they are compelling and could challenge expectations, therefore making unforgettable impressions. 

Following Coachella weekend 1  which unfolded over three days at the sun-soaked Empire Polo Club in Indio, California, the internet has been abuzz with glossy videos of music stars performing to crowds stretching into the horizon. As is now tradition, fans, many of whom followed the performances through timely clips circulated on social media, have spent the past few days engaging in spirited conversation about the performances that moved them the most. Sabrina Carpenter’s opening-day performance, which saw her deftly whizz through hits like “Espresso” and “House Tour” against the backdrop of a flamboyant stage decked out with a diorama of Los Angeles’ hilly terrain, has earned high praise for its delightfully theatrical mien. Meanwhile her blithe dismissal of a fan’s zaghrouta—a shrill ululation used in some Arab cultures to express excitement—as “weird” has earned her, perhaps, an equal amount of backlash. 

Performances by other acts—everyone from Iggy Pop to Young Thug and Offset, who was wheeled onto the stage a week after being shot in the foot—have similarly sparked a litany of reactions. Nonetheless, none of the performers has polarized the internet as intensely as Justin Bieber. On a sleek stage replete with curves and a dim ambiance that brings to mind a Star Wars set, the prince of Pop sang along to some of his biggest hits playing through a live-streamed YouTube feed, projected on the large screen behind him. His performance, the most-viewed in Coachella’s history, has split viewers in half, and set a litany of conversations in motion. 

Last week also brought with it a surprising new turn to the long-running hostility between Nigerian rappers Odumodublvck and Blaqbonez. Last year, the former friends began exchanging subliminal disses on social media. The tensions between them have since ballooned into a spate of scathing diss tracks and, more recently, a devastating play by Odumodublvck, which is either brutally genius or underhanded, depending on who you ask. 

In this installment of PopTakes, I pull apart the conflicting opinions attending Justin Bieber’s Coachella performance as well as Odumodublvck and Blaqbonez’s  long-running beef as a point of departure.

‍Justin Bieber’s Coachella Performance Was a Full Circle Moment 

Justin Bieber took the Coachella stage wearing an oversized peach hoodie and dark baggy pants to offer stirring performances of numbers from his 7th studio album Swag, which finds him luxuriating in a sedate, stripped-down universe where longing and earnest self-excavation exist in a charming equilibrium. Just when fans had begun to wonder if he’d perform any catalog songs, he plopped behind a traditional streaming setup, and performed some of the biggest songs from his catalog, many of which were requests from fans who had tuned into his YouTube live stream. The symbolism is hard to miss: a performance perfectly calibrated for the streaming era. The performance also doubles as a callback to his early days, when he leapfrogged to the center of the global zeitgeist after several of his chintzy YouTube videos went viral. 

Any discussion of a Justin Bieber performance reliably generates conflicting opinions, in part, due to his hectoring stardom and his influence on popular culture over the years. There’s something about cheering on or scrutinizing the action of a global star who came of age before all our eyes. All of this notwithstanding, Bieber’s Coachella performance has unleashed a level of debate we haven’t seen in several years. At least, not since 2023, when Frank Ocean clambered onto the stage an hour after his performance was scheduled to begin, performed unexpected reworks of fan favorites, ended the show abruptly and pulled out of his scheduled second week performance. Fans have characterized Bieber’s Coachella performance as a charming journey down memory lane. Meanwhile, his critics have called it lazy and uninspired. Where were the pyrotechnics, backup dancers, live bands, elaborate stage design, and similar elements fans have come to reliably expect from a Coachella headliner? 

What this line of criticism misses is that spectacle doesn’t necessarily translate to a good performance. More than spectacle, a great show deploys poignant and considered storytelling to bring the audience into an artist’s world. Bieber remains one of the few holdouts from an era of pop culture when discovery still felt organic and communal to audiences. We all watched him upload cover after cover on YouTube until he began his surreal jaunt to the zenith of popular culture. All of us who watched his rise, hold years of memories in our hearts, memories that trace back to his early days as a YouTube cover artist. Many fans and critics have reported feeling strangely heartened by the performance. A recent GQ interview described it as “thrilling and cathartic.” In Chris Willman’s review of the show for Variety Australia, he describes it as “a trip down memory lane.” In the hands of another artist, a meta karaoke show might have struggled to resonate but for Bieber, it hits all the right notes precisely because it feels authentic to him and harks back to a shared experience with his fans. 

As Odumodublvck and Blaqbonez's beef reaches a Fever Pitch, the Nigerian Hip Hop Scene Reckons With An Uncomfortable Question 

In light of recent events in the Nigerian Hip Hop scene, we find ourselves reckoning with the uncomfortable question of whether beefs—historically a major prong of Hip Hop’s upholstery—are beneficial to the culture. Last week, “ACL,” Blaqbonez’s diss track on which he bitterly decimates Odumodublvck, disappeared from streaming platforms. As the ensuing bedlam settled, word spread that Odumodublvck had exploited a loophole in the licensing agreement for the beat, purchased it for himself, and took down the song. 

This situation illustrates the state of beef culture in Hip Hop today. They have evolved from a lyrical sparring session to something much darker.  In Jay Z’s widely-circulated interview with GQ’s Frazier Tharpe a few weeks ago, he ardently comments on the current state of the once sacred pillar of  Hip Hop saying, “We love the excitement and I love the sparring, but in this day and age there’s so much negative stuff that comes with it that you almost wish it didn’t happen”.

Exchanging diss tracks no longer suffices and increasingly rap beefs translate into harmful real-world consequences. Much has been said about how the beef between Drake and Kendrick Lamar galvanized an increasingly lethargic Hip Hop scene. What many forget, however, is that at the height of the beef, a security guard was seriously injured in a drive-by shooting outside Drake's Toronto mansion, and an OVO store in London was also vandalized. The beef between Odumodublvck and Blaqbonez has similarly resulted in skirmishes between members of their respective camps. 

The excitement supplied by rap beefs now appears to be fleeting. Just as the Drake-Kendrick beef has not slowed down Hip Hop’s retrenchment from the American mainstream, despite its short-term gains, Odumodublvck and Blaqbonez’s beef has not translated into lasting wins for either party. Which brings us to the question of what purpose beef serves today in Hip Hop? Hip Hop heads might chafe at the suggestion that beef culture might be a net-negative in today’s world but that appears to be the case. Collaboration, like Jay Z suggests, might be a more effective strategy for achieving success. 

Sarz is more than a name in Afrobeats—he's a pioneer whose influence crosses continents. His legacy is built on innovation, mentorship, and relentless excellence. Sarz has shaped a generation's sound and inspired many artists. Protect Sarz at All Costs is more than a collection of songs; it celebrates his journey, creative evolution, and the resilience that fueled his rise from humble beginnings to global acclaim. As Sarz continues to push boundaries and uplift others, his story proves the enduring power of passion and vision.

Sarz’s sound is instantly recognisable—bold, innovative, and uniquely his. As a cultivator, he has built an inspiring career with a clearly identifiable sound. Wherever you hear it, you know it’s a Sarz beat. Now, at this pivotal point, he’s breaking boundaries, stretching his creativity beyond music, and redefining what it means to be an artist.

As part of our Cultivators Issue, we captured Sarz in London after the release of his debut album—a moment that seemed to crystallise the energy and vision he brings to everything he does. The photo shoot didn’t just showcase his style; it offered a glimpse into the creative force that has propelled his career for over a decade. Born in Benin City, Edo State, Sarz began tinkering with music software as a teenager, but quickly grew into the architect behind the soundtracks of Afrobeats’ biggest stars. His unique ability to identify, nurture, and elevate talent is evident in the careers he’s helped launch and sustain across genres. Now, as he steps into a new chapter, Sarz is not only pushing his own boundaries but is also empowering a new generation through the Sarz Academy—a platform that’s already produced some of the most sought-after producers in the industry. His influence extends beyond music, as he explores fashion, mentorship, and other creative endeavours, proving that his vision knows no limits. Far from finished, Sarz continues to shape culture and inspire, making this just the beginning of an even greater legacy. 

We've known you for a while, but this particular album feels like not even a career introduction, but more like another level. How do you feel this moment represents a particular point in your journey so far?

I'm so grateful to God for making this happen. Because sometimes, even with all the talents and all the connections and everything you have or think you have, if it's not going to work, it's not going to work for you. So I'm just grateful to God for this growth, and it's been an amazing journey. I feel like I still have so much to give, and not many people, especially on the Afrobeat side of things, have careers that are this long and still feel fresh. So I'm just really grateful for that. And, I also have to pat myself on the back for just working hard, staying consistent and evolving.  

What would you say has been the main driving factor, or the thing that you felt has made you keep going, keep doing music and just keep going the way that you have?

It's a mix of passion and discipline. I'm so passionate about music, I don't see myself doing anything else. I think I would feel purposeless without music. And also the discipline to keep going even when I don't feel like it's because there are times where life happens, or even in the music industry, you things don't go your way and things happen, and it can rub you the wrong way, and you feel like quitting, but you don't, because you have discipline to keep going. I know I still have so many more ideas I want to put out into the world. I really feel like I want to empty this vessel before my time is up.

Was there a particular thing that made you feel like music was something you wanted to pursue and explore in terms of how you express yourself?  What was the motivating factor,  or is it just something that has always been a part of you?

Music wasn't a part of me when I was young. As far as I know, no one in my family has a musical background. I would say that, in my early teenage years, when I started to discover music for myself and developed a taste for it, I found myself drawn to producers. I listened to a song because a producer I liked made it, and I found myself more intrigued by music production. I didn't care much for lyrics; as long as the song had a great beat and vocal melodies to go with it, I was fine. So I've always just been that way inclined. A friend of mine introduced me to a certain music software, and I tried making a beat. That was a light-bulb moment in my life when I just knew I didn't want to do anything else but make music. That is how my journey started. I was so passionate about it that I would make 10 beats a day. That's all I did for a very long time until I found a foot in the music industry, and the rest is history.

just in terms of, like, now being the moment that you thought, Okay, I'm gonna, I'm gonna do this album now, as opposed to, like, I'll just put out a few songs, or, you know, maybe, like an EP or something. Why did you feel like you wanted to present like a body of work in this particular format, like in this current time?

I can't really explain why I chose now, but I think that, now that I've put it out, it will be easier for me to just keep expressing myself, you know, through albums and other things. I don't have a reason to do this now. I've been making EPS with some of my frequent collaborators, and I just think it's time to do things on my own. I've been producing music for a long time, and I'm exploring other ventures. It's part of growth, it's part of evolving.

Protect Sarz At All Costs was a special project in the fact that it's your debut album. What about the process of making this album felt different to the previous bodies of work that you've done?

because I'm very involved in producing music for other people. I don't just send beats and have them release the song. I'm very involved in the song arrangements, with ideas and sometimes with who's mixing the song. Like, I want to be very involved and hands-on. So the creative process isn't that different from what I'm used to. The process that was different was more about putting together a compilation or collab album with a lot of people on the track and trying to fit them together cohesively and make it make sense. Sometimes you have certain ideas for certain people on the track, and you play the track to them, and it doesn't resonate with them, so you have to go back to the drawing board to figure out something that works with them. which can then lead you to make other decisions for the other tracks, so that it makes sense as an album.  So that part of the process was different, having to think of this as an album rather than just a track, and producing for someone you know, collectively.

The opening track, Grateful, sets the tone for the rest of the album. How did it come to be, and why did you want to start the album with this particular song?

It just felt natural, and I felt right to start with being grateful. WurlD and I have collaborated on so many songs, so we usually just catch up on what's going on in our lives. The day we made this song, we were just talking about how far we've come and how grateful we are for everything.  Where we are,  the ups and the downs and sometimes conversations like that inspire songs. I remember, mid-conversation, he just started singing, and we just put it together. It just felt right for  the album to start that way,

How did you find it to whittle it down to these particular 12 songs and sort of craft, like the sound in terms of, like, even, not just thinking, like the tracklisting, but just like the sonic palette of the album, if you will. Like, how did you, how did you come to pull all of that together, to bring it together to these 12 songs?

There are two types of artists. They are the artists that make 100 songs and streamline to 12, and they're the artists that make 12 songs and know that those 12 songs are going to work.  I think I'm one of those who, if I'm going to make a 10-track album, I'm probably going to make, like, 15 tracks, just to have backup, because I really believe in my ideas. If I believe in an idea, I work on it until I'm satisfied. I don't like having a bunch of tracks just trying different things. If you just feel the slightest discomfort,you throw that away and be like, Oh, that's not working. It's really about being fluid and just, you know, making things work with the ideas you have. You know, you try someone on the track. If it doesn't work, you know, you try the next best person on. You just keep going until you find what works.

The intentionality, and even talking about this, this particular album, what was the intention that you had, or the intention that you set for what you wanted this album to be, if there was one at all?

My intention for this album was to inspire people, especially from where I'm from, from this side of the world, to know that you can do anything if you put your mind to it, and you don't have to be mediocre. You can really push yourself and set a standard.

What would you say has been like, the changes within yourself you've seen evolve over the years? When you talk about, you know, growth and evolution and things like that?

Music has opened doors for me that I would have never imagined would be open. Music has given me opportunities to be exposed, to be self-aware, and to become the person I am now. It has created opportunities to find these experiences and take what I need from them. I'm really, really grateful for that, and as we speak, it keeps, you know, it keeps opening doors. It keeps giving me a life worth living.

When you think about your background and how you grew up, what? Yeah, what is that done for your family and how they respond to that, and how they've seen what you've been able to do, what has the experience been like for you and then be able to see your career go as far as it has?

So there was a lot of friction with my choice of how I was spending my time, which was on music. As a young teenager, there was a lot of friction and kickback because my parents didn't understand that career path. And thinking about it, I guess they were projecting their fears that I wouldn't succeed, but the moment they saw I was serious, and I started making a living for myself, all that changed. And it has really shaped my family in a way that my nephews have been encouraged to do what they want to do, which I think is a byproduct of the success I've had in music. I'm just very grateful for choosing music. I didn't go to university, so I was up against the wall. I only had one option: to succeed in music. That gave me tunnel vision to make sure this career path I chose works out. So I'm just very grateful to God for everything. This is why I  chose that track as track one, it's very important, and meaningful to me, because I am very, very, very grateful for this life, because if it didn't work out, I don't know, maybe I'll be asking you for a job now.

Even for you and your legacy, and as you know, the impact that you have on people, I know you've got your academy that you do now. Even in terms of like yourself and thinking about that. How does that feel for the next generation of producers and artists? Is that something that you think about often, when you think about how far you've come, and you've reflected on your journey and like, when you see the next generation of young creatives coming up, and what that and what your impact has been on them?

I think about this a lot, and this is one of the reasons why I started my academy, just to help people who go through things like this, because it's very common in Africa for parents not to support the creative industry. Like, if you know your kids have a passion for the creative industry. I know how hard it was for me to get where I am, and it's easy for someone from where I'm from to look at me and say, if this guy can do it, then I can do it. Compared to a producer like Metro Boomin in America, for example, it feels far away and almost unreachable. But if you see that I can do this, you see me in Lagos, you know I'm human like you. You know that our struggles are very similar, so if I can do it, it inspires people like me to do the same. In our academy, we've been able to help a lot of creatives have careers, and some of them are among the best producers in the Afrobeat space today. So this is something I really think about, you know, and I'm here to be of service.

I know music is the hub. But in terms of your other creative pursuits, whether it be, you know, like your style and your fashion, and other sides of your creativity. How do you feel like you express yourself differently through the different creative things that you do?

Its expression. The more confident you become, the more you want to express yourself; the more exposed you are, the more you want to express yourself in different ways. I love expressing myself through fashion. I love expressing myself through fitness. I love expressing myself through anything that interests me.  Whether it's tech, gadgets, or movies. I have concept ideas, and I just love expressing myself in my own unique way.  I think that the more exposed and the more confident you are, the more you start to express these things, and not just for you, maybe just to inspire people. That's a big thing for me, I really just want to be myself so I can inspire other people to be themselves. In a world where you know everyone has a crowd mentality and wants to blend in with what everyone else is doing. I would want to express myself because I have that self-identity.

What are you looking forward to most in terms of what's coming next and what excites you about the future of the Sarz journey?

I'm really excited to see myself grow in so many ways, beyond music. I'm really excited to take my DJing career to greater heights. I have my upcoming show, Fabric Live, on April 24th, which will be a new experience for me. I have a lineup of exciting artists, and it's going to be a great night. I'm really excited to try out other genres of music, you know. Really excited to like, just, you know, diving into other creative ventures. I'm really excited to take my swimming lessons seriously and become a swimmer in 2026.  So many things I've just really opened up to growing, and not just in music. I feel like music is there; it's going to do its thing. Just the other pillars of what makes Sarz. I’m really excited to do a cultural collaboration with the academy and people interested in music across the world. You know, there are so, so many plans.

Credits:
Photography: Ahmed Idries @haruki.design
Creative Director: Zekaria Al-Bostani @zek.snaps & Ahmed Idries @haruki.design
Producer: Seneo Mwamba @seneomwamba
Grooming: Dalila Bone @dalila_mua
Fashion Stylist: Rhys Marcus Jay @rhysmarcujay
Styling Assistant: Annabel Webster @annabeljwebsterstylist
Co-Director: @_faysalhassan
Co Producer: Nadeem Ahmed: @nadderz_photography
Design: @shalemalone | @dianeadanna
BTS: Blair Watson @blairs_cornershop
Writer: Seneo Mwamba @seneomwamba
Studio: @plainwhitestudio_

Zubaboy is Aiming for Global Recognition

When you think of Congolese music and its artists roaming the continent, who are the first names that come to mind? Fally Ipupa? Koffi Olomide? Theodora? Tiakola? Well, let me introduce you to Pson, a Congolese artist who feels just like a gift that keeps on giving. Why does he stand out from the crowd, you may ask? While everyone else in the continent sticks to traditional sounds such as Soukous or Rumba, the Zubaboy adds a bit of flair to the mix, making him one of the most exciting acts coming from Congo.

Pson Zubaboy, or Pson in short, is a 30-year-old Congolese artist born in Kalemie, Eastern Congo. Growing up, Pson listened to a lot to the late Congolese legend Papa Wemba and American R&B icon Craig David. He is one of the founding members of Zubaboy Music, a label based in the region. Beginning his music career around 2017 with a few standout singles across the years, it was his debut album, ‘Classik’, in 2025; however, that really brought him to the limelight. For a small-town boy,  at first, his sole mission was simply to merge his hometown, Lumumbashi and the capital city of Kinshasa, bridging the gap between a long feud of different ethnics and native languages. As his career grew, so did his interest. He began incorporating sounds from Nigeria, Ghana and Tanzania, whilst choosing to sing in English, Swahili and Lingala.

Congolese people are naturally very formulaic; they stick to what they know and are very good at it. It is all in their avant-garde high-end fashion, best known as La Sape, their distinctive food like Kwanga and Pondu, or perhaps their naturally comedic appeal. Unfortunately, that leaves little room for innovation and evolution, which, for most, is a natural course of time that every genre or culture will inevitably be struck by. But not in Congo! You see, music enthusiasts still swaying some ndombolo steps to Koffi Olomide’s ‘Héros National’ or Fally Ipupa’s ‘Original’ like there’s no tomorrow, and rightfully so. Rumba is a dance music ingrained into Congolese culture, from the movements to the fashion sense, everything becomes like a second skin to the listener, deeply rooted in the cause. For a country that constantly faces persecution, an immense social gap, and general devaluation from all of its neighbours, pride is of great importance. In this case, it almost becomes a tool for survival, a way of life. And although Pson is experimenting, he is undoubtedly cut from the same cloth.

It goes without saying that Pson has a deep respect for traditional Congolese rhythms. Pson isn’t abandoning his musical roots. He fuses contemporary sounds, such as Jersey club and Afrobeats, with key Congolese elements, for example, Congolese popular singing cadence, to amplify them. Now, a whole world that only Congolese people and their diaspora could relate to opens up before an extended young and eager audience. Worlds are colliding, and it urges a cultural dialogue. The result? A sound that feels both familiar and refreshing at the same time. Take ‘Ebele’ for example, one of his biggest singles thus far, adored by anyone who enjoys fast dancing rhythms and a catchy hook. 

While perseverance is at the centre of African identity, pushing boundaries can contribute just as much greatness for the cause. Let’s take fashion, for example: although traditional clothing is still practised around the continent, the use of modernity, such as streetwear and online trends, not only is utilized to showcase wealth, but also makes African artists relatable to younger generations within and outside of the continent. Through carefully curated styles and visual aesthetic, it gets to target a larger pool of listeners, who perhaps wouldn’t have clicked on the song then, but now are more curious and willing to participate in a genre that wouldn’t have appealed to them otherwise.

As African music continues to gain international recognition, Pson plays a key role in pushing the movement to the world. In recent years, French Afropop, a diasporic subculture in France, has risen in popularity. As new listeners grow more and more curious about the Francophone African contribution, this also brings eyes to their country of origin, such as the Ivory Coast, Cameroon and Congo, where Pson is based. It is not about just participating in the global arena; it is about reshaping it. By effortlessly blending a Congolese essence with a modern soundscape, Pson is actively contributing to the conversation, making it possible for Africans to stand on the main stage. Although other regions, such as Nigeria and South Africa, have helped shed light on the continent, there’s still a long way to go. And we are confident that Pson Zubaboy is a key player in this phenomenon that is worth watching.