We’ve waded through endless tulle and storms of sequins this week. But beneath the spectacle, what we really saw was a lesson in storytelling.
As 'Wicked' finally arrives in theaters globally this month, the fashion world is taking a collective breath after witnessing perhaps the most committed, protracted, and thematically rigorous press tour in modern Hollywood history. For nearly a year, Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande haven't just promoted a movie; they have inhabited a visual universe, turning every premiere and photo call into a live-action extension of Oz.
While method dressing, actors dressing in character on the red carpet had become the new normal ever since the 'Barbie' press tour of 2023, Erivo and Grande have elevated the concept into high art. They moved beyond mere cosplay into a sophisticated exploration of duality, using couture to map the emotional landscapes of their characters.
The Glinda Aesthetic: Archival Sweetness
Ariana Grande’s approach to Glinda the Good Witch was an exercise in disciplined etherealism. Guided by "Image Architect" Law Roach, her wardrobe was a deliberate rejection of the modern, leaning heavily into archival pieces that evoked a timeless, almost fairy-tale quality.
Her look was never just pink. It was bubblegum, blush, rose, and icy pastel, rendered in textures that defied gravity. The defining moment of the tour was the reliance on vintage, specifically an archival Givenchy (from the Alexander McQueen era) worn in Paris. It was a high-fashion flex that signaled this wasn't just costuming; it was fashion history.
Whether in custom Balenciaga or Giambattista Valli, the silhouettes were vast. Giant pannier skirts, enormous rosettes, and cloud-like tulle served to make Grande look diminutive, fragile, and almost untouchable, a perfect visual metaphor for Glinda's bubble-bound existence.
The Elphaba Aesthetic: Architectural Strength
If Grande was the cloud, Cynthia Erivo was the lightning bolt.
Styled by Jason Bolden, Erivo’s challenge was greater: How do you evoke the Wicked Witch of the West without resorting to Halloween clichés? The answer lay in structure, severe tailoring, and a color palette that moved beyond literal green into deep emeralds, onyx, and metallics.
Erivo utilized her athleticism to carry clothes that would swallow a lesser presence. The focus was on imposing shoulders and architectural shapes. The custom Louis Vuitton looks she favored throughout the tour used heavy fabrics and sharp lines to create armor, suggesting Elphaba’s defensive exterior. Instead of pointed hats, Bolden utilized avant-garde headwear and aggressive accessories, particularly with a custom Dior look in Mexico City, a black, hooded gown that felt monastic yet threatening.
The Visual Duet
The genius of the 'Wicked' press tour was not in the individual looks, impressive as they were, but in their juxtaposition. Erivo and Grande rarely matched; they counterbalanced. When they stood together on a red carpet, they created a vibrating visual tension representing the film's central conflict.
As the lyrics to the film's opening number suggest, "No one mourns the wicked," but in the case of this press tour, everyone will mourn the end of these red-carpet moments. They didn't just wear beautiful clothes; they used fashion to build a yellow brick road straight to the box office.
Uzo Njoku, a Nigerian-born visual artist, holds a B.A. in studio art from the University of Virginia. She was also an MFA candidate at the New York Academy of Art. Her art is reminiscent of African heritage, particularly Nigerian culture. Her versatile skill set majorly presides on the creation of functional art. The pieces she makes are often replicable pieces of digital art, which are made into patterns and printed onto fabric, wallpapers, kitchenware, and signage. She has worked with several brands like Apple, Tommy Hilfiger, and Yves Saint Laurent.
Uzo started exhibiting her work in 2020, with group and solo shows in the United States and across Asia. In the second quarter of 2025, she announced plans to host her first African solo exhibition, Owambe, as her way of paying homage to her Nigerian roots. This admirable feat was made public after several months of planning, and personal funding. Despite her transparency concerning the exhibition planning, sponsorship, and aim, she received a fierce rebuttal, notably on Twitter, now known as X.
Digital mobs are a common phenomenon in the virtual space, mostly on social media platforms. They are inevitably formed when certain parties decide to influence the masses to follow their train of thought, often at the expense of another individual/group.
In Uzo’s case, she was accused of appropriating Yoruba culture for personal gain as a person of Igbo descent. Her work often involves the use of symbols, and she was accused of mixing Igbo with Yoruba signs and intentionally misspelling Owanbe as Owambe, claiming that the original spelling is the former.
The major force behind this virtual injunction was the Yoruba Progressive Elites Forum (YPEF), a group claiming to protect the Yoruba culture from expropriation. Other parties with the same interest fanned the flames of this discourse, garnering support with votes on a petition to stop the show’s hosting in Lagos as originally intended. This cause was further backed by legal claims and cultural interference by some traditional title holders indigenous to Lagos.
Despite the constant vitriol Uzo received, she continued to provide publicity for her work, engaging with the positive feedback and collaboration requests she received on X. She also doubled down on spreading accurate information about her intentions with the show, using her social media pages and eventual news platforms provided. In the spirit of making her exhibition every bit Nigerian, she introduced interactive measures to create an immersive experience for visitors.
The fabric she made especially for the show, dubbed "Government of the People," was sold on her website weeks before the show opening, alongside potential outfit designs. This spurred the interest of many art lovers and individuals who naturally grew curious about her tenacity in the face of such menacing threats. On the set day, Uzo’s Owambe opened at a set location in Ikoyi, Lagos, with daily viewings set at UzoArt NG, Victoria Island, Lagos. Visitors came adorned in dresses made with the theme fabric. They had interactive sessions, including a draw-and-paint segment.
The show opening was a success, and testimonials from visitors attested to this fact. However, the malicious crusade did not cease. Some individuals clowned the event, mocking its simplicity and coterie. In her characteristic manner, she pointed out the reasons for it. The mechanism of these organized attacks pointed to a larger plot, alien to Uzo’s attempt to honor her roots through art. The socio-political sphere of the Nigerian-X (Twitter) community has been rife with tribalistic comments and bigoted acts, with the overarching aim of placing one tribe above the other.
Owambe is beyond an art show. It speaks to the artist’s vision to document Lagos’ vibrant culture through art. It also reflects her determination to create and inspire beyond the unexpected obstacles she encountered.
Growing up in an Angolan-Congolese household in South London, it’s hard to say which impacted Ceebo more, but the truth is you can hear the influence of both in his latest release, ‘Blair Babies’. The project covers the political reality of the generation born in the UK between 1997 and 2007, which, for anyone unfamiliar with British politics: the years Tony Blair served as Prime Minister of the UK. Since its invention decades ago, rap has always been a medium for criticising the conventional narrative and resisting against ‘the man,’ and Ceebo carries this torch forward, focusing on postcolonial London and the institutions that continue to stand against the latest generation to come of age.
Ceebo began recording music in 2019 but has been rapping since his playground days in secondary school, rapping cyphers with his friends in between classes. Following school, he attended Warwick University, graduating in 2024 with a degree in politics and sociology. This extended education allowed Ceebo to really develop his artistic voice alongside his academic foundations. This gives him a unique position in UK rap in his ability to address social issues from not only a position of lived experience but also of highly sophisticated education and nuanced understanding, leading to incredibly well-rounded projects. This was shown clearly in his first two major releases, ‘Bluquet’ in 2023 and ‘LAMBETHNOTLA’ the following year. This garnered him a cult following in the UK underground scene, all waiting with bated breath for his next album as hype built and built. Now 23, ‘Blair Babies’ comes at a very important moment in his career.
“Being Gen Z is engendered by a feeling of hopelessness in the face of a world built and shaped before our input.” Ceebo asserts in the spoken word opening track, preluding the album with an explanation of his intent. The decision to set the tone by breaking the barrier between artist and listener plants the narrative seeds of this album and shows his seriousness on the topic, establishing clarity and not just wanting the songs to speak for themselves where a message may have been lost. Following the monologue, we begin to roll through this beautiful sonic environment which is so far removed from the bleak message Ceebo was giving.
This angelic movement quickly slides us into the first proper song of the album ‘captain roscoe with a crossbow’. Instead of his now-familiar voice, we are greeted with another familiar voice, a flip from Dizzee Rascal’s ‘Brand New Day’, the fourth track on 2003’s ‘Boy In Da Corner.’ The choice is not random. ‘Boy In Da Corner’ is a cornerstone album in UK rap history and certainly one most kids from London would have grown up with. Furthermore, the track ‘Brand New Day’ is certainly more on the conscious side of Dizzee’s usual braggadocio, and he uses the track to speak on very similar topics to that of this album, an unfiltered representation of spending your youth in London. By interpolating this track, Ceebo is acknowledging the musical shoulders he is standing on while also highlighting how little has changed in the decades since ‘Boy In Da Corner.’ It is a fantastic way to work both of these things in before even beginning to rap himself and shows how conscious Ceebo is with each track on this album.
Not every song sits lowly in the problems of London and ‘buzzball summer’ is suited to a South London motive in mid-July, with production reminiscent of past British hits from the likes of Dave and J Hus. Being held in comparison to these megastars is nothing if not a compliment. The next song, ‘Pentecost of Living,’ with its beautiful beat juxtaposing brutally authentic lyrics, draws comparison to a new generation South London starboy, Jim Legxacy, who actually had a hand in the production. This exciting collaboration is so obvious and cohesive, it only generates hope for more from this pair in the future.
The narrative chain holding this album together through various beat switches and vibe changes is true authenticity, and Ceebo is seemingly unphased about the idea of being utterly vulnerable. He uses songs like ‘the gospel (according to Tony Blair)’ and ‘always’ to convey this concept of a “Blair baby” to its fullest extent, with all the hopelessness and wasted potential that comes hand in hand with it. He doesn’t just say it himself; he even uses Blair’s own voice to underline how absurd the whole situation is. Hearing the voice of the man whose policies shaped so much of this landscape echo through an album about generational fallout makes the disconnect hard to ignore. It is almost surreal. The same political era that promised opportunity ended up producing conditions that boxed in so many young black men, and Ceebo does not want to hide this.
Not only defined by his strong political standpoint, Ceebo does prove his rapping ability on this album to great success. Songs like ‘018’ and ‘jook’ both have the feeling of an instant hit, the latter especially. With its smooth beat and punchy hook, it instantly conjures the idea of being performed live to a screaming crowd.
The final track, ‘Ceebo 3:16’ cements his message, with another monologue speaking on the problems faced by those in the UK now: racial tensions, cost of living, and numbing ourselves to what we have to overcome. Ceebo’s eloquent speech in both critical examination and political calls to action works well to undermine the excerpt of Blair we heard midway through the album. It completely resists the often conventional narratives surrounding young black men in London and instead pushes agency over fear. Blair had tried to define that generation during his leadership, and Ceebo aims to finally talk back, reclaiming his own narrative.
It’s very easy to give an album high acclaim if it holds a socially conscious political viewpoint because of its inherent moral validity. Ceebo goes far beyond this with ‘Blair Babies,’ producing a body of work both entrenched in strong progressive politics and also a richly produced and compelling sound. His authentic voice remains true throughout, and the effect of this is a cohesive and striking message, and all the while you want to move your body or at the very least bop your head slightly. On a first listen of Jim Legxacy’s ‘black british music (2025)’ earlier this year, I was excited at the prospect of a movement in which more artists join his cause of genuine, exciting representation of being British and what it means to feel hopeful in a time of great tension in the country. I asked who would be next, who would follow Jim forward? Ceebo has answered me.
The curtains closed on the 14th edition of the African International Film Festival (AFRIFF) and the 1st edition of the African Film and Content Market (AFCM), which took place from November 2nd to 8th, 2025. For one week, filmmakers, actors, and film lovers filled the city with stories. There were red carpets, panels that ran too long, screenings that started too late, and moments that reminded everyone why African cinema is worth fighting for.
Photo by: afriff
The fourteenth edition unfolded under the theme “Rhythms of the Continent: The Afrobeats Film Movement,” a bold declaration that African cinema, like its music, is learning to speak a universal language that’s unmistakably its own. The festival opened with ‘3 Cold Dishes’, a revenge thriller directed by Asurf Oluseyi, and closed with Flavour’s ‘Afroculture’, a documentary celebrating African music’s global reach, proving that film in Africa has transcended pure entertainment and now touches economy, identity, and power. Beyond the glamour and celebrity sightings, AFRIFF 2025 was a mirror held up to the state of African storytelling, reflecting its promise, politics, and persistent imperfections. The festival introduced the African Film and Content Market (AFCM), which ran from November 3 to 6, an ambitious platform that’s designed to bridge the gap between art and industry. The introduction was a statement of intent that African filmmakers no longer wish to be seen as participants in a global market but as owners of one. There were panels on distributions, co-production, and monetisation, signalling a growing recognition that storytelling has become both cultural currency and economic power.
Yet, the week was not without turbulence. Screenings were marred by technical issues and organisational lapses. Some filmmakers expressed disappointment over film selections that felt uneven, and audiences left certain venues mid-show. But perhaps this, too, is a part of the language AFRIFF is learning – the struggle of a young industry trying to professionalise while holding on to its authenticity. Beyond the logistics, AFRIFF 2025 showcased the soul of African filmmaking. Films like ‘The Fisherman’ by Zoey Martinson, ‘To Adaego with Love’ by Nwamaka Chikezie, ‘Pasa Faho’ by Kalu Oji, and ‘Tokyo Girl’ by Adele Vuko reminded audiences that African cinema is not one-dimensional. These stories explored everything from migration and love to faith and survival, weaving local truths into universal emotions.
At a masterclass on storytelling, Yinka Ogun remarked that African filmmakers must “learn to speak their truth in a language the world understands”. It begged a larger question that was hanging over the festival: “What does authenticity mean in a globalized industry?”. Global interest in African narratives has grown, but so have fears of dilution and of stories being shaped to fit Western appetites. Yet, what stood out at AFRIFF was how many filmmakers are now consciously resisting that pull. The festival’s new focus on markets, panels, and awards reflects a broader transformation in African cinema. African filmmakers are no longer waiting for global recognition and are now building the platforms, negotiating deals, and defining their own terms. AFRIFF is now as much about strategy as it is about creativity, showing that African cinema is claiming its space both culturally and commercially. The Afrobeats panel was a deliberate one because, just as music carried Africa to the world, cinema seems poised to do the same.
Photo by: @JoeyAkan/X(Formerly Twitter)
AFRIFF 2025 wasn't without fault, but the festival's new focus on markets reflects a broader transformation in African cinema. At the closing night at Landmark Center, the air was replete with hope for the future of African cinema. And while the festival may have stumbled in execution, it succeeded in something more meaningful, which is, African storytelling is entering a new phase.
Owekitibwa Nuwa Wamala Nnyanzi, speaking at a Kuonyesha Art Fund event, had warned, “Be very careful about what you're reporting…it is the first call when looking at history.” Though aimed at newspaper journalists and ‘media people,’ his admonition is relevant in discussing the influence of creative expression on culture and ultimately historical representation.
Recently, online reactions to singer-songwriter Olivia Dean’s music and her modest aesthetic sparked widespread praise, with commenters calling her a “breath of fresh air.” One user in response to a critic calling her music “boring” wrote, “they are used to nonsensical lyrics, auto tune and oversexualization. That’s what they call exciting.”
If such sentiment reflects the broader cultural mood, it raises a pressing question: have contemporary creatives, entrusted with articulating the public’s minds and in turn documenting history, grown careless about their role in shaping culture and history, and what would it take to restore creative work to its former glory?
Creativity, the interplay between originality and usefulness, impacts culture in complex ways. It functions not just as expression but as a moral act that influences how identity, experience, and history are understood.
This dynamic is clear in works like Burna Boy’s ‘Collateral Damage,’ which entertains yet also operates as transnational protest because listeners recognise their lived realities within it. With this, creativity becomes both a mirror and a catalyst.
African artists have long understood this dual role. Ken Nwadiogbu’s “recreating his realities” and similar practices across Uganda, Ghana, Kenya and Nigeria show art as cultural intervention, not just mere self-expression.
Yet, a growing cultural fatigue suggests creativity is slipping into moral ambivalence; as Chiara Palazzolo argues, art is never “extra-moral,” and neglecting this responsibility can normalize harm or reinforce stereotypes.
The Olivia Dean moment on TikTok underscores this. Audiences celebrate her artistic intentionality not only for its beauty but for its contrast to what they perceive as excess and moral erosion, revealing a renewed appetite for art that is not just skilful, but ethically grounded.
Olivia Dean for Vogue 2025
Culture and creativity exist in a feedback loop. When artists create, they contribute to the cultural environment; when culture shifts, it in turn reshapes artistic output. This mutual influence can elevate society, but it can also usher in harm when left unchecked.
Across Nigeria and the African diaspora, the loop’s effects are unmistakable. Nollywood molds ideas of romance, gender roles, and success/socioeconomic aspirations.
Afrobeats heavily influences fashion, language, and identity politics. Social media skits often slip from satire into stereotyping, normalizing biases.
The pattern is simple: people mirror what they consume, and creatives, because of their visibility, shape far more than they intend.
Collective ethical creativity, therefore, becomes crucial. Not for censorship, but for awareness that art helps form public consciousness. Works like Falz’s ‘This Is Nigeria’ or Fafunwa’s theatre prove that creativity can challenge norms, expose truth, and reimagine values.
But when creators prioritise virality, shock, or profit without regard for consequence, culture pays the price. The “downward slope” audiences lament is less about aesthetic decline and more about the erosion of the ethical imagination that once anchored African art.
Restoration is not a call for nostalgia but for responsibility. The aim is not to restrict creativity, but to ground it in the awareness that artistic work shapes a society’s moral architecture.
A renewed creative culture would require:
The goal is not to return to the past but to reclaim the principle that made past creative work impactful: art that is both free and responsible.
Returning to Nnyanzi’s warning, the question posed earlier can now be answered. Yes, creatives often underestimate the cultural and moral weight of their work, yet audience pushback shows that restoring artistic integrity requires recognizing creative expression not as mere entertainment but as cultural authorship that must be handled with care.
People, as a result of living, inevitably face the consequences of being life’s actors. We see this manifest as individuals and more importantly, in our interactions as a collective. Though some of these consequences are beyond our control, others, like politics and power, come from our own making.
Admittedly, the tune that politics plays is one that everyday people in culture have learnt to dance to. Moving to the rhythm, they speak up in challenge or support of motions that are in their favour, choosing sides that align with their values and lashing out when politics and power struggles seem to be taking more from them than they are willing to give.
Yet, some actors have removed themselves from the dance altogether.
It is not unprecedented to see African creatives today show little concern to questions of social and political justice. As rapper, Tobechukwu Melvin Ejiofor, popularly known as Illbliss, put it, “there’s a huge percentage of the artistic industry that has basically turned their backs on what’s happening in Nigeria.”
Similar criticism echoed beyond Nigeria as fans called out Ugandan musicians for staying silent during a national protest, accusing them of “playing safe” at a time when voices mattered most.
On social media, frustrations often target stars like Burna Boy, whose global platform contrasts sharply with their domestic quiet.
These moments reveal a widening gap between celebrity and citizenship; a gap once bridged by the politically conscious art of the #EndSARS generation.
Mr Macaroni, aka Adebowale Adedayo, and Falz the bahd guy, aka Folarin Falana leading peace walk to commemorate #EndSARS 3rd anniversary
Silence, theoretically, is viewed by Western and European scholars as ambivalent. It can take the form of resistance and power, but contextually, silence is evidently seen here as cultural dissociation and cowardice; a slow disintegration of culture.
When creatives, whose work shapes collective consciousness, withdraw into silence, culture itself begins to reverberate with emptiness. Art then loses its urgent ability to reflect the people’s pulse. In societies where creative voices once stood as the conscience of the people, this withdrawal feels like betrayal.
It is apparent today that African art has long lost the language of dissent.
From Fela’s revolutionary sounds and Chinua Achebe’s writings in challenge of colonialism to Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s prison writings, and many others, the fire that was once kindled against political and social injustice has slowly died out.
Truthfully, turning away from politics now is forgetting that our most resonant art was born from struggle, not silence.
Audre Lorde’s ‘Your Silence Will Not Protect You,’ and her insistence that refusing to speak out against injustice is itself a form of complicity, feels especially relevant today.
The attitude to keep silent as Illbliss noted, “…for reasons best known to them…”, signals to all who understand the impact of art on culture and society; of the creatives’ disturbing disinterest in anything beyond their art. This distances the creatives from their audience, eroding their moral connection and cultural relevance.
It is important for creatives to remember that in the context of culture's moral voice, the issues they contribute their voices to are equally, if not more, important than the art they create.
African creatives must return to the truth that art is not just expression but also advocacy. The microphone, the camera, the brush, the stage all stand as tools for witness.
And perhaps the question is not whether creatives should speak, but whether they can afford not to because the real risk lies not in speaking up, but in saying nothing at all.
In many Northern and Middle Belt communities, marriage is not just two people joining—it’s families, histories, and everyday rituals intertwining, and hidden inside this tradition is one of the most beautiful cultural practices: Kwallas—the set of plates, enamel bowls, pots, kettles, and household wares presented to a bride as she begins her new home.
To an outsider, Kwallas may look like simple kitchen items stacked in bright colours. But within the culture, they are symbols of identity, readiness, womanhood, and the quiet pride of a family sending their daughter into a new chapter.
Kwallas are not luxury items. They are not meant for show. They are the tools of daily living—the bowls she will cook with, the trays she will serve with, and the pots she will host with.
Each piece is a message:
“May your home never lack.”
“May your hands build warmth.”
“May your marriage be filled with abundance.”
They are functional blessings disguised as household goods.
Even though Kwallas now fill bustling markets, their making still carries the spirit of handcraft. The process depends on the type—enamel bowls, aluminum pots, trays—but the heart of it remains the same: skill, heat, and patience.
For aluminium Kwallas, metalworkers melt raw aluminium scrap or factory-grade sheets in a high-heat furnace. The molten metal is poured into circular moulds, cooled, and then shaped by hand or with spinning machines to form pots, covers, or trays.
Every curve comes from repeated hammering, smoothing and reshaping — a rhythm passed down through generations of northern metalworkers.
Enamelware starts with thin steel sheets. Artisans cut and press the sheets into the shape of bowls or plates. The edges are trimmed and curled for strength, because enamel needs a sturdy frame to cling to.
This is the magic part.
A powdered glass coating — the enamel — is applied to the steel surface. The bowl is then placed inside a kiln where extremely high heat melts the powder into a smooth, glossy finish.
This is why older enamel Kwallas last for decades: the colour is literally baked into the metal.
The floral and geometric designs that brides love aren’t random. Some are sprayed through metal stencils. Some are hand-painted.
Some are screen-printed in layers, each layer baked separately to seal the colours. Each flower is a small act of artistry—a nod to the bright, expressive aesthetics of Northern culture.
After firing, each item is polished until it gleams. Lids are fitted, handles attached, and sets carefully arranged according to size — from the largest pot at the bottom to the smallest bowl at the top.
This is the arrangement brides and mothers instantly recognize at the market.
Kwallas come in vibrant enamel patterns and aluminum shine—bold florals, bright stripes, and polished silver. Choosing them is an event.
Mothers, aunties, sisters, and neighbours gather around the stack, debating quality, colours and what each piece “says” about a bride’s new beginning.
When a bride arrives at her new home, her Kwallas follow. The enamel bowls tell the story of a mother who didn’t send her daughter empty-handed. The pots speak of a family that believes in preparation. The trays reflect the hospitality her culture prizes.
Kwallas today sit beside modern sets—non-stick cookware, glassware, and kettles. But the symbolism survives: a bride enters marriage with hands equipped for warmth, hosting, and building.
Kwallas remind us that culture lives in the ordinary. Not just in ceremonies, but in daily rituals—in how we cook, serve, host, and nurture.
They are a love letter from one generation of women to the next, a reminder that a new home begins with the things that sustain life.
When you press play on "Favourite Girl", the infectious beat gets you immediately. A year on since its release, the familiar sound of the Jamaican instrumental "Diwali Riddim" in the intro, which is sampled on the track, already sets dancefloors and any vibe before Darkoo ushers in the song's verse. The song itself and its remix, featuring Afrobeats superstar Rema, marked a new chapter in Darkoo's journey, inspired by her love for early-2000s music and Caribbean sounds.
The song is unlike anything she has released. Taking the "Diwali Riddim" was a task in itself, considering the number of songs that have used that iconic beat since its release back in 2002. "For me, Diwali Riddim is one of the most iconic jungle rhythms. Taking a cue from how the Jamaicans and the Caribbeans do it: they have a beat, then loads of people jump on it, and they all go viral together. It was exciting for me to jump on such an iconic beat and sound," she shared about using the sound. However, for her, it was not about changing what people already recognise in the sound, but more about making it her own and bringing her own feel and vibe to the song. "My team and I—the writers—and all of us who worked on it were able to bring that to life.
Even in the production, we added many elements to make it feel newer and fresher. You can't change such an iconic beat, so we just added some stuff to give it that extra splash." It was following this song and its follow-up single, "Right Now", which features Davido, that it became very clear what she wanted her sound to be for the EP. "I knew where I was going; I was very much in love with that early-2000s sound. That's all I listened to personally in my own playlist; it was mostly records from like 2000 to 2010. I was listening to the kind of music I wanted to make, and I wanted to write." She shares about the sonic inspiration of the EP.
From taking "Diwali Riddim" on Favourite Girl" to taking P-Square's Gimme Dat on "Focus One Me (All The Sexy Girls)", even taking that song and creating what she did felt like a full circle moment for he, it being one of the songs she grew up on. "That was definitely a record I grew up listening to while living in Nigeria. That was a full-circle moment, being able to sample that record, knowing that I literally grew up listening to it as a little kid." How her inspirations have presented themselves in this project is something you can hear as you play through the project. "It started in the studio, working and educating ourselves and falling in love with the early 2000s, and then realising that this is the kind of music we want to make. So we just decided to go in and go wild with it, creating our own vibe and styles." The results, which included a body of work that felt sonically unique and different from Darkoo's, who has been pursuing music since the age of 15.
It was not until 2019, with the release of her single "Gangsta" featuring One Acen, that her talent was showcased to the level that earned her three MOBO Award nominations. Fast forward almost a decade, and she took home the MOBO Award for Best Female Act as well as Song of the Year for Favourite Girl. Complete with a headline show at London's KOKO and taking the stage at Wireless Festival over the summer this year, has really felt like a celebration at this point in her career.
This moment in time has marked a shift in her artistry, not just sonically but across her creativity as a whole, from her MOBO Award performance to her sold-out show to all that we've seen of her over the past year. And as with anything, it is not just a matter of pure luck and good vibes. There has been a lot at play when it comes to the trials and tribulations that have been a part of Darkoo's journey. The artist's journey is never rainbows and daisies for anyone. For her, it has come with a variety of things, like experiencing depression and navigating her mental health journey, as well as being signed to a major label and then going independent. These are all the things that have taught her how to sustain and continue her journey. "I've taught myself a lot of patience and resilience. Every artist needs to have that. At the beginning, when things don't work out for you, you tend to give up, get tired, and get upset. But patience and resilience are the most important things for an artist that I've taught myself, as I've been in this industry and making music for 6 years." This has definitely paid off, especially in the moments over the last year when you see how her career has evolved and brought her into a different space. The evolution, as it has been, has not just happened in relation to her music but has translated across the different aspects of creativity and the way in which she has expressed herself.
When it comes to her fashion, Darkoo is someone whose style has always shifted depending on the space she finds herself in. From her introduction from Gangsta up until her most recent release, when you look at her, you can see how, as her artistry and creativity have evolved, so has her fashion and the way in which she has been able to express herself when it comes to fashion. "From 'Gangster' to 2021, 2022, I feel like I really and truly had a modern Gangster look —we call it the F-boy look —with Armani jeans and all that type of stuff. I had the specific style —Gucci prints, all this hip-hop, era-specific look." She speaks to her signature style at the time, one that was synonymous with the period when she entered the music scene. The shift can be seen, and where you see her now is the result of her being more in touch with what she wears and how that is reflected in the type of clothes she wears. "I'll say around 2022 to 2023, then 2024, I feel like my style changed massively. I feel like I'm understanding the types of clothes I like to wear —working with different colours, bright and dark colours more, flared jeans and less skinny jeans, and things like that."
If you ask Darkoo what her new style era has been in this current moment, it very much lies in trying out new things and pushing herself, which has expanded beyond her music. This is very evident in the accompanying editorial images, which really took her beyond what she would choose for herself, as we reflect on the shoot that took place before our conversation. "It was definitely outside my comfort zone, but I feel like after the shoot, it made me start thinking about the kinds of styles and things that look good on me. And I want to push myself out of my comfort zone when it comes to how I dress and how I look. It was definitely amusing dressing up and doing things with a different theme, and the styling was definitely different from the kind of clothes I wear." The results feel like a different type of Darkoo, someone who was able to bring the vision to life, and channel a different energy which came out in the images.
Beyond the clothes and the music, it is evident that this moment in Darkoo's artistic journey feels like a turning point in her career. When you take it beyond the music and all that she has achieved, her growth across the board has been incredible to see. Witnessing her moment at the MOBOs at the start of the year and the year comes to an end, it feels like she's gearing up for some more things that are no doubt on the horizon. Speaking to this and what feels next for her in following up on this moment, "I'm in a space figuring out what my next plans are." She shares with me as we wrap up our conversation. She is no stranger to what it means to really put yourself out there and see what comes of it. Where we are, there are certainly miles to go before she reaches her next destination. "A lot of fun has been had, and the next step is for me to mature into myself, into my music, into my brand. Let's get back in the studio now."
Production Credits
Photographer: Jonathan Tomlinso
Creative Director: Zekaria Al-Bostani
Producer: Seneo Mwamba
Production Assistant: Whitney Sanni
Stylist: Jacob R Levine
Styling Assistant: Demi Hali
Abbie Young @y0ungabz
MUA/Grooming: Afsha Kabani
Barber: @h_clipsit
Movement Director: Ayanna Birch
BTS videographer: Geoffrey Konadu-Yiadom
BTS Video Editor: Abdulafeez Malik
BTS Photographer: @haruki.design
Design: @margokatesmith & @ShalemAlone
Writer: Seneo Mwamba
PR: @the828agency
Live at SILO Brooklyn, Arlo Parks unmasks the commonly concealed, uncanny music production process. One large table encompassed the entire stage’s set design, compact with massive MIDI keyboards, TASCAM cassette tape recorders, audio interfaces, decks, keyboards, and a guitar. Sunken red and soft white lights entrap the stage in her new experimental series, ‘Sonic Exploration.’
Born Anaïs Oluwatoyin Estelle Marinho, the L.A.-based and West London-raised singer/songwriter Arlo Parks curates a new way of sharing and experiencing music beyond the traditional performance scene. With shows slated for London, New York, and L.A., these intimate live shows awarded the audience an inside look at her intricate studio process, as she performed old songs from her repertoire layered with unreleased, new tracks.
The picturesque communal stage removed a natural hierarchy commonly present between the artist and the crowd, designing a curated closeness amongst the audience. Alongside producer/guitarist, Baird, ethereal meets ambience, layered with synthy, vintage-forward keys, mellow voice-overs, and futuristic textures, Arlo performs her unreleased track, ‘Heaven.’ This track mirrors Arlo’s light, smooth, emotional vocal approach, albeit with a new percussive, R&B-forward twist.
She then backtracks to her 2023 hit featuring Phoebe Bridgers on ‘Pegasus,’ from the ‘My Soft Machine’ album. Under a calm, moody, nostalgic blue light with synchronized head nods and sways from the audience, this pop bop falls nothing short of simple, resonant genius. Arlo has a beautiful way of conveying deep emotion through her soft cadence, accompanied by her vulnerable lyricism.
“Blue jewels 'round your neck (Ooh) / You cool my distress (Ooh) / Loose cherries, hot breath
I'm overwhelmed (ready?).
“I spun 'round and screamed, “‘I feel elated when you hold me’” / Then you got shy and beamed, “‘I think it's special that you told me’” / I think you're special 'cause you told me (Ready?) / I think you're special 'cause you told me / I think you're special 'cause you told me”
Arlo released her new single ‘New Desire’ ahead of her ‘Sonic Exploration’ show as a teaser of her new sound experimentation over the past two years. Taking the stage lights back to sunken red, she hits the decks with Baird on the guitar, playing a light, uplifting harmony. This track showcases Arlo’s sonic evolution, marrying her signature lo-fi, pop sound with a new electronic, punchy percussive feel. A late-night session with Baird inspired this track, all culminating from a voice note she received in May that “made her feel like a teenager again - tender with new magic.”
Arlo comes full circle near the end of her show with her 2018 debut single ‘Cola,’ rocking the crowd with its heavy, unforgettable, groovy bassline. Currently at 48 million streams on Spotify, the funk-inspired record juxtaposes against the melancholy of unrequited, toxic love, as the crowd emphatically sang,
“So take your orchids / Elsewhere, elsewhere / I loved you to death / And now I don't really care
'Cause you're runnin' 'round over there / Yeah, you're runnin' 'round over there / And now I don't really care.”
Pulling the audience into Arlo’s new, current, and future musical worlds, the timeless nature of these live shows expands the culture of sharing music that is in process. In an age of chronic automation, the dismantling of overt polish and perfectionism retains the art of the fundamentally undone.
Momentously dark, brooding, heavy piano chords strike a succession of strings at record timing, to open ‘History’ — the first cinematic track of the album.
“I'm from South where they struggle with sayin' your name / But it's easy when pronouncin' you dead on the scene… / You know it's history in the makin' (Ooh) / Shall we make it?”
Setting a commanding tone for Dave’s new full-length project after almost four years, the sharp, melancholic wit that is persistent in Dave’s storytelling collectively complements James Blake’s spacey, atmospheric production. Together, they offer listeners an uncanny opportunity to momentarily exist in a live conversation between Dave and Dave’s inner psyche. As harmonious vocal ballads juxtapose the dark, emotive questioning on the state of one’s existence, UK rapper Dave elucidates deep introspection and emotional turbulence in ‘The Boy Who Played The Harp.’
Hailing from Brixton, South London, British-Nigerian artist Santan Dave, born David Orobosa Omoregie, emerged onto the rap scene in 2015. His brilliantly precise freestyle on the underground rap channel Blackbox fused anecdotes of his real-life struggles into an enticingly hypnotic rap cadence– resonating with listeners drawn to his authentic delivery. The tenor of his lyricism narrates the realities of growing up in the Streatham district in South London, where a broken criminal justice system directly impacted his family and upbringing. Through the years, he has built a massive base: from winning a Mercury Prize for his release of ‘Psychodrama’ in 2019, to securing a MOBO award for his sophomore studio album, ‘We’re All Alone in This Together.’
Dave bases the album’s title on Biblical King David, who plays the harp in the Book of Samuel to soothe King Saul’s evil spirits and demons. The harp’s power to relieve Saul’s darkness parallels Dave’s strong connection to music and the enormity of its ability to dispel deep, complex emotions. This theme expands across the album as Dave unravels the varying depths of his anxieties – a damaging criminal justice system, an increasingly rushed and algorithmic-focused creative process, and the existential weight of the passage of time.
Already charting at #5 on the UK Official Singles Chart, Tems and Dave collaborate on ‘Raindance’ – a light, sweet record fusing afrobeats, afroswing, and rap. Dave’s heavy cadence and Tems' soft vocals provide a colorful texture to the song, indicative of the creatively expansive approach he brings to his records.
‘Selfish’ runs almost counter to the energy in ‘Raindance’ – where a haunting piano follows a descriptive narrative throughline of Dave’s pensive fears of never finding love, hesitance of therapy’s efficacy, and anxieties of running out of time. He introspects on a series of what-ifs:
“What if I'm selfish? / What if the kids just wanna be kids / What if my fear of doin' it wrong's the reason I haven't been doin' it right? / What if I never find love? / What if I'm damaged? Or what if I waited too long / Or what if I'm faded? Or what if anxiety's growin' inside me / That I might have left all my best years behind me? / Or what if I'm scared as I touch twenty-seven / That you don't appear in my idea of heaven?”
Building on themes of introspection, one of the most brilliant moments on this project is ‘Chapter 16.’ Featuring Kano with Dave, their back-and-forth banter almost mimics an off-guard, unscripted conversation between two friends simply catching up.
Dave: I moved out West, and it's nice in these days, we drivin'
Kano: Ah, your lifestyle bougie (Ah), lifestyle bougie (Ah, cool)
I used to push a silver Porsche with two seats
Dave: (Of course you did)
Kano: Leatherbacks, cosy baby seats in the SUV
You know I've been Naij' and I've never had Egusi
Dave: (So, blud, what was you eatin'?)
Kano: Fried plantin
Dave: You ain't have the pepper soup, G? And it's "Plantain"
Dave has always looked up to Kano, one of East London’s top grime rappers. While chatting about pepper soup, egusi, and the correct pronunciation of plantain, Dave delves into deeper ruminations on his hesitations, reservations, and general obscurities he wrestles with as an artist in this generation. What does it mean to excel tremendously as a rap artist in a world that is simultaneously on fire?
Kano encourages Dave to remember the power of presence, community, and perspective, especially in an unforgiving music industry.
“You got a lot of years ahead of you / Some years'll worsen you and some will better you / If it's not positive, drop it, the street's residue / But keep a piece of yourself when you're sellin' you../ This game ain't for the throne, and kings are checkable / It's to be a better you, envy's inevitable / And please take pics with your friends 'cause I'm tellin' you / This industry attention will sever crews”
Dave’s relationship with the creative process is paramount in this album, as he notes in ‘My 27th Birthday’
“But when I'm all alone, I won't lie, I question myself
Am I self-destructive? Am I doin' the best for myself?
I know I love music, but I question the rest of myself
Like, why don't you post pictures? Or why don't you drop music?
Or why not do somethin' but sittin' and stressin' yourself?
Ten years I been in the game and I won't lie, it's gettin' difficult
This shit used to be spiritual…
[and] why we countin' the numbers, how the music make you feel?”
These lines of worry are accompanied by call-and-response echoes of "everything's fine,” noting the cognitive dissonance Dave feels between making good music and the innate pressures of conformity associated with that. Impending social pressure and fear are heavily prevalent in the creative process. Creating for creation’s sake, for Dave, seems to have lost its fervor, as he describes how the music process used to feel much more spiritual. In a world of increased automation and algorithmic agility, audiences forget that there is a real person behind the music, with a large dedicated team committed to bringing an artist’s vision to life. In Dave’s recent Instagram caption, he highlights how formative those four years were for him and his music, emphasizing how his search for purpose guided him in the birth of his third studio album.
“You wanna know the reason it's taken me four years?
It's not 'cause I'm surrounded by yes-men and sycophants
It's 'cause I'm with producers and people that give a damn
It's me who's gotta carry the pressure, I live with that”
Lauryn Hill speaks to a similar theme, underscoring the importance of living life to create good art.
“I’m not in the studio right now, and everybody thinks I’m crazy / Time is running out, and you have a window / For a while, I listened to that / Music was created / But it wasn't my best / There was no substance because there was no experience / …Never be afraid of not knowing / Think in doses / Think in experiences”
Refusing to be prescriptive, the nature of Dave’s storytelling invites listeners on an emotionally introspective journey through the labyrinthine of his creative mind. Each worry, hesitation, abundance, and proclamation Dave expresses design the sonic, melodic, and phonetic structure of each record.
King David and his harp,
Santan Dave and his pen.
“My ancestors, my ancestors told me that my life is prophecy
And it's not just me, it's a whole generation of people gradually makin' change
There ain't a greater task
Shift that, make a name, make a start
They don't know what they're facin' when they ask
With the will of David in my heart
The story of the boy who played the harp.”
Collapsing tenderness, pain, restraint, and beauty, Dijon’s ‘Baby’ record somehow manages to carry fragmentation and completion all at once.
“I’m rife with contradictory ideas.”
This contradictory essence presents itself in his 2025 album, ‘Baby.’ Listeners are brought into Dijon’s futuristic take on a traditional stomp-clap Americana sound in the first track, ‘Baby!’, then transported two decades in reverse with ‘Another Baby!’ and its nod to 1990s Prince sensibilities. As ‘Yamaha’ fields remnants of a lo-fi, neo-soul nostalgia akin to that end-of-a-movie score feel – we’re then pulled into a textural, grainy experimental folk experience in ‘Kindalove.’ This playful, mosaic music-making refuses the conventional binary of sound. By exploring and dissecting a wide range of influences distinct to his taste, he functions as a sonic filter that outputs a glitchy, avant-garde, spacey final production—pursuing the limitless potential to craft a great record.
Washington state-born, Maryland-bred, and now LA-based artist and producer Dijon Duenas, began his eclectic music journey nearly thirteen years ago with his R&B duo Abhi/Dijon. In 2016, he moved to LA to start his solo career. Inspired by Frank Ocean and heavily emotive R&B lyricism, his single ‘Skin’ reached notable acclaim, now amassing over 62 million plays on Spotify. His inspiration for music ironically came from his own intense criticism of it. While at the University of Maryland, he came to terms with the reality that if he wasn’t putting his own songs out there, he had no business brazenly ranting about the work of others.
From his One Battle After Another acting debut, in addition to his upcoming musical guest appearance on Saturday Night Live in December, Dijon is closing in on a momentous year– most notably, with his 2026 Grammy nominations announced earlier this month. With nominations for Producer of the Year, Non-Classical, in addition to Album Of The Year for his contributions to Justin Bieber’s ‘SWAG,’ he also had his production hand in Bon Iver’s 'SABLE, fABLE,' co-producing ‘Day One’ featuring both Dijon and Flock of Dimes. Dijon notes that he was able to attach to some version of the vocal idea with the help of Michael Gordon, also known as Mk.gee. The team went through 35 different channels and dissected every stem of the production, unmuting and muting to see which idea worked. In an interview with Zane Lowe, Zane noted that “This was the equivalent of pulling all the tape off the reel, laying it on the ground and deciding to just figure out what you're gonna cut.” The on and off beat cadence in ‘Day One’ was actually a Pro Tools mishap, with Dijon noting,
“It made sense, weirdly, and everyone picked it up and remembered to pause… I'm not smart enough to do stuff like that… [consciously].”
This same DIY versatility in his production technique was paramount while he was in the studio with Justin Bieber’s team for ‘SWAG.’ Collaborating with production powerhouses Carter Lang and Dylan Wiggins, Dijon described the environment as “non-demanding or entitled”, where “unpredictability met comfort.” This way, everyone could bring their natural selves to the table to make something genuinely human. With ‘Daises’, co-produced by both Dijon and Mk.gee, the layering of Mk.gee’s heavily detuned, baritone-esque guitar riffs, along with Dijon’s emotive vocal melodies and intentional spacing between production sequences, guided the build for the record. It became a massive hit, now nearing over 418 million streams on Spotify.
The brashness of the Beastie Boys, to the reverent, sensual, emotive vocal phrasing of D’Angelo, to A Tribe Called Quest’s irregular jazz-inflected chords, all the way to the whimsy, genre-fluid textures of the Dust Brothers, Dijon’s catalogue of inspiration expands extensively across time, genre, and style. Dijon’s music has been described as existing in a liminal space, characterized by out-of-tune pianos, demo-like records, 80s nostalgia, and a simultaneous pop sensibility and inadvertent pop subversion. His music embodies subtle nostalgic undertones and cross-genre sonic montages. The music feels familiar, but difficult to place.
In the interview with Zane Lowe, Dijon shares that he doesn’t actually know when a record is done, but rather “knows when something isn’t good.”
“It’s physiological – you just know when something is wrong.”
Dijon’s first track, ‘Baby!’ was started almost four years ago. Originally meant to be a Shania Twain old-school country storytelling track, Dijon retooled it and broke it down over the piano over the years. This piano breakdown gave rise to a more emotional vocal phrasing than the original demo. ‘Another Baby’s’ heavily Prince-inspired influence jokingly pushes for the idea of another child. Prince’s ‘If I Was Your Girlfriend’ provides a beautiful production mirror to ‘Another Baby’ as both tracks possess similar gritty, transient, atmospheric textures – with punchy, gated reverb on the snares.
Although Dijon did not drop a single before the release of the full album, ‘Yamaha’ was the most listened to song on the record, with over 7 million streams since its release. In this upbeat, cinematic love song, Dijon’s emotive phrasing and vocal inflections give life to the written words in ways that the words alone could not have evoked.
“Baby, I'm in love with this particular emotion / And it’s sweet / You in this particular motion / You shouldn’t hide it, honey / You should own it and show it / Big loving—that’s my heart / And you own it.”
Two weeks before Dijon and his wife’s son was born, ‘Kindalove’ was born. Dijon and his band produced a loop, invited some friends over, and with both of these essentials, everyone started singing into the mic, like the classic days. This is one of the most important ways Dijon masters that sonic sound that feels really close, like you’re in the room – a live show, a tiny desk, making music in the garage. His omnidirectional mic picks up every subtlety in the space – from vocals, to walking, to stomping, to breathing, to clapping. These textures give each song its dimension, picking up sources around the room to shape an audible depth to the sound. This production style works to recapture that sense of intimacy in live performance.
Vocals serve as a utility to give dimension to the record. Most often, the vocals dominate over the instrumentation and sonic production, but for Dijon, these elements are in communication with each other. One isn’t above the other; the vocals are instruments. By speaking and feeding off each other, a vocal collage is created within the narrative of each song—a dialogue, an interweaving storyline.
Not only is his music-making process non-linear, but the music itself also exists on a non-linear plane – making way for special, fluid, genre-bending sounds.
The disorder in process rejects conventionality in favor of awe. By disrupting algorithmic automations and creating novelty, we invite human error.
“I’m still trying to figure this out. Whatever you like about me, I’m still trying to change and undo. I don’t have an understanding of the end.”
Oluwapelumi Dada was on his bike in San Francisco when he spotted Sam Parr jogging through the neighbourhood. Dada chased him down, out of breath, and pitched an idea: an app that would let you apply for jobs the way you swipe through dating profiles. Parr, founder of The Hustle and serial entrepreneur, posted about the encounter to 1.7 million followers on X. He called Dada the kind of young founder you bet on early, and he wasn’t wrong. Dada had turned down internship offers from Tesla and Dell to build this thing full-time.
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That thing is now Sorce. And the question it's actually answering isn't about convenience or gamification. The question is whether the job market's fundamental infrastructure, the way talent and opportunity find each other, is broken beyond what "incremental" improvements can fix.
The data says yes. A typical computer science student applies to 100-200 internships before getting a match. In the current market, that number often doubles. Each application means re-entering the same information into different portals, rewriting cover letters for companies that may never read them, managing passwords across dozens of sites. Sorce figured the bottleneck in job search is not actually discovery, but execution. LinkedIn hosts over 15 million active job listings. Indeed aggregates 45-50% of all online job postings worldwide. The jobs are there. The friction is in getting to them.
Sorce's answer: swipe right, and an AI agent navigates to the company's website, fills out the application, generates a tailored cover letter, and submits. What takes 15 minutes manually now takes a few seconds. Dozens of logins become one unified interface. The experience becomes seamless.
The founding team reads like a bet on Nigerian technical talent at the highest levels of American tech. Dada, the CEO, interned at Tesla and Dell while studying computer science at Huston-Tillotson University in Austin. Daniel Ajayi, the CTO, graduated from MIT and interned at Citadel Securities and Nvidia. David Alade, who built the iOS app, studied at Northeastern, worked at JPMorgan and the Network Science Institute. All three are Nigerian. All three are 21 and 22 years old. They met on X and built the first version of Sorce in seven weeks.
The numbers since launch show what viral adoption looks like when the underlying product actually works: 500,000 users, over 20 million swipes, more than 2.5 million job listings in the database. Users have landed interviews at over 150 companies including OpenAI, Nvidia, SpaceX, Coca-Cola, Samsung and Visa amongst others. Over 1,000 people have secured jobs interviews % offers weekly through the platform.
The investor roster includes Founders Inc. and Y Combinator. Angel investors include Opeyemi Awoyemi, co-founder of Jobberman, one of the biggest job boards in Africa, and Adewale Yusuf, founder of AltSchool Africa. Dada joked that the man who built one of Africa's largest job boards is now investing in his job app. The symmetry isn't accidental: African founders are building global infrastructure, and the people who understand what that looks like are paying attention.
As with AI and other new technology, critics aren't wrong to ask questions. Some argue that automating applications dehumanizes an already broken system, that if AI is applying and AI is screening, hiring becomes algorithms rejecting algorithms. Others point out that terms of service and compliance questions remain unresolved. And there's the scale question: Sorce's AI agent works across thousands of employer portals with constantly changing structures.
But if anything, the team has shown they can ship through complexity. Matthew Trent, a Canadian intern who joined through Sorce itself, rebuilt the search infrastructure to understand meaning rather than just keywords. Search for "someone who talks to people and writes stories" and journalist roles surface. That change doubled engagement. The team is now six people, described by Dada as "cracked."
Sorce positions itself against LinkedIn the way Uber positioned against taxi commissions or Airbnb against hotel pricing, not necessarily as a better version of what exists, but as a different category. LinkedIn is a professional network that happens to have jobs. Indeed is a job aggregator that optimizes for volume. Sorce is trying to be the execution layer, infrastructure that sits between candidates and opportunities and removes all the friction in between.
Whether they get there depends on whether the marketplace can flip. Right now they're building the supply side: candidates, applications, proof that people land interviews. The demand side, employers paying for access, recruiting teams using Sorce as their talent pipeline, is next. Dada has said a funding round is coming that will reveal more about the company's trajectory.
But the thesis itself is already validated: job hunting is broken infrastructure, not a discovery problem. Whoever fixes the plumbing eats the market share, and Sorce is a wild card who showed up with the tools the industry did not know it needed to fix this plumbing issue.
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The closing night of kwn’s with all due respect tour was a perfect celebration of tthe monstrous year the R&B songstress has had. Having witnessed her take the stage at the top of the year, where she opened for Kehlani as part of Crash World Tour, to closing out her debut headline show, which sold out instantly. It was a moment to witness as she embraced the love from her hometown show, ending the tour on a high note.
The energy at The Outernet was electric, with fans eagerly awaiting her arrival. When she appeared shortly after 9:30 to her EP intro ‘bite me,' the crowd erupted in cheers, singing along passionately to fan favourites from the EP and her previous material. The crowd's enthusiastic participation, singing word-for-word and dancing along, vividly conveyed the strong support and created an immersive atmosphere for readers.
The significance of this moment for kwn is not lost on her at all who before performing the emotionally charged “Lord Outside” reflected on the events over the last year and getting to this point in her journey. “this time last year I was selling Worst Behaviour for £1.99, I was on working at Amazon, I was working at a restaurant with my dad, I thought it was all going to shit I can’t lie but i never gave up and I figured at some point it was going to get better and it did it” For anyone who has been on the journey since wn way or another will know that the graft has been real and efforts and hard work it was taken to be on that stage is one that a real moment for her.
Considering it was the final show of the tour, there was no way she was not going to bring out a guest. Having brought out Scribz Riley at the show before, there were several options from Jordan Adetunji, FLO, and maybe even a secret Kehlani-in-London situation. And even though there was no Kehlani appearance, she did invite a fan onstage to join her as she performed “Clothes Off”. However, the crowd was treated to the appearance of girl group FLO, who joined her for their collaboration “talk you through it”, which delivered the energy on stage and was a standout moment of the show.
“I’m so grateful for every single person in this room, thank you so much for everything, I really appreciate it”, she shared towards the end of the show before closing out her debut headline tour. This is, no doubt, just one of my significant moments with her, as she will continue to rise from here on if this show and this past year are anything to go by.
When I speak to Victony, I notice he has an uncanny air of calm. His words are carefully considered and his voice has a lilt that evokes the whoosh of a gentle evening breeze. It’s around this time last year. The year is drawing to a close, which means his annual Bonfire Concert—which I would attend—is imminent. Mirroring his mellow aura, our conversation meanders, taking leisurely stops at an array of topics. His aunt, Linda Opara, who’s also on the call, even chimes in. She tells me he’s not always taciturn. Sometimes he is more boisterous. “With friends, there’s never a dull moment with him. He’s either cracking jokes or mimicking some funny personality.” I notice Victony’s icon on my laptop screen jerking around excitedly: he’s laughing.
We start talking about his debut album Stubborn, which many regard as the best Afrobeats album of 2024. He asks what I think. “When one listens through, they get the feeling that you’re excavating portions of your personal life, even though you don’t divulge too much detail,” I reply. When you listen to Stubborn, a 14-track compendium of sonically varied tracks bound together by the theme of defiance, you feel as if Victory is on the cusp of divulging intimate knowledge to you. You wait with bated breath, it’s on the tip of his tongue, you feel it. He dances around it, skirts it, teeters at the edge of absolute vulnerability. Surely this moment of revelation will arrive, you think. It never does.
Hearing my characterization, he tells me: “That’s as close as I could get to being vulnerable. Future releases will be more specific because, putting out the album, and the reception by my fans, everything has given me the confidence to put myself out on records a bit more.” Listening to the Very Stubborn, an 8-track EP which he recently released, will leave you feeling like, after years of observing him through the scrim of celebrity, you finally have Victony within close distance. The project is of course replete with bangers; we get all the good stuff we’ve come to expect from a Victony project.
Consider V.S. Freestyle, which, by way of its blasé songwriting structure and feel-good melodies, calls to mind Fireboy’s Peru. Here he sings about his busy itinerary—the result of chasing money—before segueing to lyrics in which he lusts over a brood of women. But lyrics are not the focus here, melodies are. His usual knack for poignant melodies is on display here. Sometimes, like on the hook, it feels like he’s floating ever so slightly above ground as his voice flutters; gravity is a suggestion for him. Tanko and Skido, which feature collaborations with Afrobeats greats Terry G and Olamide respectively, also benefit from a palpably joyful atmosphere. In another world, Tanko is the official AFCON theme song.
But the project is at its most successful when Victony slips into a diaristic register. As he excavates emotionally fraught experiences, through lyrics that pulse with disarming honesty, you feel as if you’ve finally arrived in his world. Way Home, featuring Shorae Moore, can feel intense. It’s as if his primary intention here is to disgorge years of pent-up emotions in the three minutes the song runs for. Trying to right his wrongs; wending through dark memories; doing damage to his lungs and kidneys: are among the topics he explores.
“I was seventeen with a dream now I'm feeling like a slave to the dream I've been chasing,” and “If I check my Twitter they compare me to Benson, compare me to Rema, compare to Omah Lay gan/ But they don't know where I come from,” are just two instantiations of the trove of poignant lines that speckle the song. In some sense, Way Home feels like the more lucid companion to Street Affair, from his Stubborn album. He’s still a young man navigating the vagaries of adulthood and trying to find his way back home—home, here, being something close to childish innocence.
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In December of 2023, I was in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania, for a holiday trip and to visit family. During my time there, it was nearly impossible to find any spaces to meet fellow young people with creative interests outside of just nightlife activities. I remember asking my cousins for recommendations of creative spaces, and all they could suggest was an art gallery called Rangi.
Fast forward two years, and I had the pleasure of interviewing Vintage Space, a fast-growing creative collective based in Dar es Salaam.
Vintage Space was founded in 2024 by BM, a Tanzanian creative, as an online space for selling and exchanging vintage clothes. It went on to develop into a vibrant online community of young Tanzanians who shared a love for creativity. Upon gaining a surge in online following, Vintage Space transitioned into offering in-person creative experiences that channelled art, fashion, and music into a cultural incubator.
BM, now the Creative Director of Vintage Space, is an accomplished photographer and videographer in his own right, having worked with African artists such as Vanessa Mdee, Juma Jux, Sho Madjozi, and others within the Tanzanian, South African, Kenyan, and Nigerian music scene.
At some point in his career, BM felt jaded by his work with artists and began looking for a change in his creative endeavors. Although grateful for the opportunities, he was tired of just being the man behind the camera and wanted to create something of his own. As a person who found self-expression through fashion, BM began collecting vintage clothing items and exchanging them with his friends and the community of fellow vintage enthusiasts. From there, he found Vintage Space and turned it into one of the first and most popular creative collectives out of Dar es Salaam.
Since its establishment, Vintage Space has grown into an ecosystem of young Tanzanian creatives who come together to express their creativity through fashion, art, and music. This collective has gone on to host highly sought-after curated events across the city, partnering up with local brands, artists, designers, musicians, and businesses to bring innovative experiences for local creatives to be in community with one another.
Vintage Space is not just your regular curated event group; it’s a community of Tanzanian creatives who are choosing to define youth culture in their own language. They are creating a new path that questions convention in favor of a more expressive society that speaks through design, style, and cultural movement.
Now, my words won’t do justice in articulating the impact of Vintage Space. Hence why I interviewed BM to help us understand how this collective is shaping a new creative identity for Tanzania.
What is Vintage Space? And what inspired you to start this collective?
Vintage space started as a space where we can bring our people. We felt like the creative scene here didn't feel like us. Everybody was just doing their own things, like it felt so individual. So, for vintage space, I wanted to have this space where we can just come together and express ourselves through creativity. And that's why we started Vintage Space.
But our entry point was just selling vintage stuff. We started to collect these thrifted, unique clothes. Cause for me as a Tanzanian, I felt so bad when I go to these stores here in Dar es Salaam or in TZ in general. You might have money, but you go to these stores and you end up finding nothing you like.
So, we started collecting these vintage pieces and shared them with the people who also would like to purchase them. We then opened an Instagram and called it Vintage Space, because I didn’t wanna call it a store since I don't want it to be a store. I want it to be something bigger than just a store. I want it to be more of a community, more of a place where you can come, tell our stories and be ourselves. We then started selling stuff online, documenting these outfits. Then we started to build a following of people who loved our content and all that.
We got invited to this popup, we documented the whole popup. And we saw a lot of people coming together. And I was like, maybe we can do more of this but just bring our people as Vintage Space. We had already built a strong community online, so now we are taking this thing to in-person.
Who is Vintage Space curating these creative experiences for?
Vintage space has grown into something bigger than just clothes. It's more of a community. We have built a creative ecosystem where we have a lot of creatives coming together. One of our biggest demographic, I would say is creative youth. We have a lot of creative youth coming together and just expressing themself in a very creative way.
Because it felt like all these other spaces that we had, they felt old and not modern, they don't speak our language and they don't look like us. We want to create a space where we can just come together with people who are like-minded and just get creative. It's not just about fashion, painting, or clothes, but sometimes it's also about music. It's about the language you speak, it's about the way you see things. So it's deeper than just one thing right now. It's a cultural movement.
How do you go about incorporating art, music, as well as fashion into these experiences that you curate?
I feel like music is more of a soundtrack to whatever you're doing. Even if you're a painter, even if you're an artist. When you are, when you're sewing, when you are painting, you just listen to music. They say music is what is used to decorate time and art is how we decorate space. So for us, we just found a place where we can connect all these things together. We're just connecting music, connecting culture, connecting fashion, connecting creativity, and just creating this one thing that's culture in general.
When it comes to our events, we give opportunities to young designers that have brands they want to showcase. But we also have people of any sort of art form. Some are painters, so now they have a space where they can come and showcase whatever they're doing.
And for us, Vintage Space, it's not about just selling stuff. It's not a popup anymore. It's more of a space where we come to tell our stories. So if you have a brand, you want to have an audience, you want to speak directly to your audience, Vintage Space is the place to be. You can meet people who speak the same language as you. They dress like you. Everybody is an individual, but at the same time, we speak the same language.
What role does the actual physical space play in determining what kind of experiences you can curate?
We don’t let a space define the event. It doesn’t matter where we are, at the end we will always have the same kind of people, vibe, and energy just in a different kind of way. For us, it’s more about the experience, and less about the space.
First of all, we are curating the look and the feel of the space. And the second thing we get to curate the music. What kind of music are we going to listen to? It's not just about us having a dj, just playing random music. It’s about having people who understand the culture. Play the kind of music that resonates with the culture and sometimes it’s even about the kind of graphics you're using for the event. You don't just wanna bring these crazy backdrops and just over brand it. We're not throwing an event. This is not even an event to us, this is a space where we get to create. We are creating that environment where everybody feels safe, feels like this is my space and I can just be myself.
What impact, if any, has Vintage Space had on the current landscape of the creative scene in Dar es Salaam?
The impact is that now we have a little bit of representation, that's the first thing. But the second thing right now, we have a hub of young creatives and we are inspiring more people to get creative. Like you see young designers who design special outfits for our events. They are going to the market, sourcing fabrics, sewing the clothes, designing it, and coming to the [Vintage Space] events. So to me that's very huge. Right now you go to Vintage Space, you see these young designers meeting a photographer, and the next day you're seeing this photographer linked with these designers.
We are creating our own opportunity now. We don't wait for people to come and say, okay, right now you can have this. We don't want to be used by big brands as just content creators who are influencers for them. We are creating our own brands, by using our own resources, which are the people just coming together to make this magic. I feel like Vintage Space is more of a pioneer, but everyone can create their own [space]. We need more creative communities like these.
When I look through your instagram, I mostly see a lot of fashion that is inspired by the west. Can we expect any efforts from Vintage space to showcase fashion that is rooted in the various Tanzanian cultural attires?
We are very proud of our culture but growing up we didn’t see enough representation of Tanzanian youth culture. So when you go online, the only cool thing that you see is from abroad. We have created a space where people now are starting to show up because people used to feel shy to just dress nice to go somewhere. We have young designers. But to be honest, this is something that we have to work on. As a community in general, not just Vintage Space. I feel like we have all been inspired by these global celebrities, global musicians, global painters.
So, there's no way I would just go out there and just dress like a Maasai guy. It might be cool, but something is missing. I don't know what's missing, but I feel like we have to find the connection between the old and new and just to bring that together. But it’s good to have an identity. Your identity isn’t only about fashion. When you come to our events, it's not just about copying what’s happening out there. We’re creating a space where we combine things that inspire us with the things that are really us, and finding something unique.
These events are just a few months in the making. So we are still planning on doing workshops.
For example, I had this opportunity of meeting with this amazing fashion designer from Zanzibar, Farouq Abdela, who had styled people like Nina Simone, [Princess Diana, Mos Def, Salif Keita, Maya Angelou] and even worked with U.S. Presidents (Bill Clinton). So to us when we do this kind of work, there's not much representation of people from here doing amazing stuff internationally. But we have a lot of talents. At our last event, we had this designer called Goat Leon. We had him create a collection of 20 pieces and gave him an opportunity to showcase those pieces to a thousand people. To us, that's building a space where we get to create, we even made a proper campaign for him. We documented his creative process and posted this to a wider audience.
Do you plan on expanding your events and activations beyond Dar es Salaam to other cities across Tanzania?
Yeah for sure. We wanna export this culture to a wider audience, cause this is how we live, eh, and we are not imitating anyone. We wanna grow, but we are proudly local. We want to do a proper tour, go to Arusha, go to Zanzibar. We want to cross countries, go to Kenya, Uganda, and Rwanda. This is just the beginning for us. And we want to connect with more people globally, not just East Africa.
For nearly two decades, Flavour has served as one of the most enduring custodians of African musical heritage—an artist whose work expands the vocabulary of contemporary sound while remaining anchored in indigenous identity. Afroculture, his eighth studio album, is a carefully curated archive of sonic memory, cultural continuity, and artistic ambition. Across 13 tracks and seven diverse collaborators, Flavour constructs an expansive, cross-continental conversation on what African music has been and what it still dares to become.
The project opens with an elemental force. The Baaba Maal-assisted title track, “Afroculture,” immerses the listener in a torrent of ancestral energy—Senegalese chants, rapid-fire drums, Oja flutes, triumphant brass, and a choral backdrop that feels like the swell of an ancient ceremony. Flavour blend into this world and becomes its vessel, shaping an immersive overture that announces the album’s cultural thesis with absolute clarity.
“Bambam” slows the pulse without diminishing intensity. Pheelz’s presence enriches the track’s emotional fabric—his harmonies and verse dovetailing seamlessly with Flavour’s impassioned delivery. The percussion remains the axis: bouncy, warm, unmistakably Afrobeats. Then arrives “The Eagle Has Landed,” a jubilant return to highlife’s electric guitar and piano-rooted nucleus. Here, Flavour performs with the swagger of a genre’s reigning custodian, reveling in his authority with a heroic sheen.
The momentum carries into “I’m On Fire,” where highlife’s cadence meets the pulse of Amapiano. Heavy kicks, shakers, and dance-infused progressions give Flavour room to glide with renewed vigor—an apt metaphor for an artist continually proving his vitality. “Pansa Pansa” with Kizz Daniel offers an inspired intersection of highlife and contemporary Afropop, illustrating how tradition can evolve without shedding its essence. Both artists create a spirited, unbothered groove that reinforces highlife’s potential to thrive within the modern Afrobeats structure. “Ada Bekee,” featuring Waga G, is one of the album’s strongest experiments as it serves as an exuberant fusion of Congolese Soukous and Igbo highlife. The brisk guitar work and kinetic percussion become a symbol of pan-African musical cross-pollination executed with remarkable fluidity.
The album’s emotional center emerges with “Orente,” where Qing Madi’s velvet-soft presence transforms an R&B reimagining of Nelly and Kelly Rowland’s “Dilemma” into a tender exchange of vocal chemistry. It serves as a deliberate breather and a soulful descent from the project’s high-tempo peaks, mirrored again in the spiritually textured “Big Masquerade (Okukuse),” a drum-laden, gospel-tinged meditation that highlights Flavour’s gift for sonic atmosphere. Then comes the wildcard: “War Ready” featuring Odumeje. The track is an electrifying mosaic of hip-hop bounce and blaring trumpets, punctuated by Pentecostal chants and unapologetic bravado. It is divisive by design, an artistic gamble that underscores Flavour’s refusal to create within safe margins. “Isabella” welcomes Brazilian hip-hop act Azzy for a bright, fast-paced, cross-continental love declaration. The synergy between both artists is refreshing, offering a glimpse into the expanding global grammar of African-rooted music.
“Jidenna” reinstates the gospel fervor, merging choir arrangements with Amapiano undertones. Flavour crafts a motivational anthem, rounded out by a radiant trumpet outro that elevates an already inspiring performance. “Big Moves Only” returns to the ritualistic depth of his heritage—Oja, traditional drums, Igbo rhythms, and Ijele resonance coalesce into one of the album’s densest cultural statements. Here, Flavour technically says, No dilution. No compromise. The final cadence, “Ife Di Mma,” is highlife in full bloom—percussive, dance-forward, deeply communal. It closes the project with the warmth of a homecoming.
In its entirety, Afroculture is a triumph of cultural stewardship. It reaffirms Flavour’s authority as a performer and also as a guardian of indigenous sound, one who understands the necessity of evolution yet refuses to abandon the spiritual and cultural DNA that defines highlife. The album’s seamless interweaving of Afropop, Soukous, R&B, Gospel, Amapiano, and traditional Igbo textures demonstrates that the future of African music is strongest when its past is not erased but expanded. In an era where commercial pressures often nudge artists toward homogenized global sounds, Afroculture stands as a counter-narrative—proof that evolution does not require dilution. It shows how indigenous genres, often sidelined in the contemporary mainstream, can sit at the centre of modern expression without feeling antiquated or ornamental. Flavour doesn’t sample culture for aesthetics—he embodies it, curates it, and actively carries it forward.
Days ago, while futzing around on the social media platform X, I stumbled onto a rather unusual set of pictures of American rapper Ice Spice. Contrasting her typical look—usually a colorful ensemble tied together by her trademark blonde Afro—she wears a black dress, hiked up to her thighs, as she leans forward on a dark motorcycle. Her blonde afro is nowhere to be seen in this picture. Instead, a dark, matted mop of hair adorns her head. With the fierceness in her eyes, made all the more prominent by the dark eyeliner around her eyelids, she looks like the front-woman of a punk band. The caption reads: “Ice Spice for Alexander Wang.” Soon after I spotted the post, and enthusiastically liked and retweeted it, I began to see it everywhere on my timeline. And as excited fans extolled this new look and offered theories about a possible shift in her aesthetic direction, the view count began to rise steeply. Imagine my utter and abrupt surprise when hours later I noticed the community notes had affixed a disclaimer onto the post: “This is AI. Ice Spice did do an Alexander Wang campaign for Spring 2024, but the styling and set were completely different.”
I was disappointed that the brilliant shoot wasn’t real, disappointed that my excitement was for a farce. But more than that, I was disappointed in myself and, frankly, conflicted because I didn’t recognize it as AI. Even after learning of its AI provenance, it still looked no less real to me. I zoomed in, honing in on her fingers, which are wrapped around the bike’s handles. Awkward fingers used to be one of the easy tells of AI-generated images. Here, her fingers look natural, as does every other thing in the picture. After my initial self-flagellation, it dawned on me that AI is beginning to closely approximate reality. Gone are the days when a discerning mind could easily identify an AI-generated image through easy tells such as wonky fingers, rubbery skin, and poorly textured hair. With this new status quo, we find ourselves with a list of new dilemmas to grapple with, many of which take center stage in this installment of Pop Takes.
Consider Fave’s decision to feature an AI band that plagiarized her song after the AI version of the song began to accumulate success on TikTok. There’s also TG Omori, the celebrated Nigerian video director, who has come under intense scrutiny in the past few days for tapping AI in the design of the cover for Flavor’s imminent album Afroculture. Beyond the AI conversation, this installment also tackles the backlash BurnaBoy has faced in recent days.
Fave Finds Herself In The Center of Afrobeats’ Most Heated AI Debate
It all started about two weeks ago when Fave posted a clip on her X account. Here she narrates the story of how she dropped a slow sultry ballad entitled Intentions only for it to be eclipsed by an AI version made without her consent or knowledge. Her tone in the clip is somewhat conciliatory and she rounds up by saying: “It’s my lyrics, if someone else or something else wants to make their own rendition, why should I care? At the end of the day, the message is still being passed across”
Just when the matter had started to recede to the periphery, Fave popped out, this Sunday, with a remix featuring the AI choir, Urban Chords, which plagiarized her song. This remixed version finds her singing the melodies in the original AI version while a medley of sterile, machine-generated voices plays the supporting cast.
The backlash and ensuing conversations have been intense—hardly a surprise, AI remains a polarizing topic. One of the most puzzling questions in all of this is why she decided to release the AI version. In her official statement, she casts the AI version as inevitable, cleverly absolving herself of blame. “My song ‘INTENTIONS’ is on the very short list of songs that I wrote about myself… I struggled with accepting the things I could not change and in the face of change, I staggered too. So when my Mum and my friends told me about an AI version of my song being on the net and my fans began asking me to release it, I struggled sooo hard to accept that. But that’s the old me. It’s happening so why fight it?” She writes.
But of course it wasn’t inevitable. Urban Chords, the AI group that plagiarized her work, is a repeat offender. This year alone it has plagiarized Asake’s Badman Gangster, Sarz’ Getting Paid, Olamide’s 99, and a host of others. All of these songs were swiftly taken down by their respective labels. All of which is to say Fave’s decision to legitimize the AI version of Intentions was a carefully considered one. The song had been gaining momentum on TikTok, it’s been a little more than a while since she last scored a hit song. The long and short of it is that she was tempted and took the bait. Nonetheless, all of these point to the reality that the AI revolution is already underway. If previous technological revolutions offer any insight, it’s that there’s nothing we can do to stop this. That said, it’s important to present a new path for human-machine collaborations that prize human creativity and favor humans. It’s in this regard that Fave’s collaboration with Urban Chord falters. It sets a terrible precedent by rewarding a rapacious AI group that clearly doesn’t value artists or art.
Burna Boy Faces Intense Backlash After Sending Out A Sleeping Fan From His Concert
Since that rather eventful night at the Red Rocks Amphitheater in Denver, when Burna Boy sent out a sleeping fan from his concert, the 34-year-old, self-proclaimed African Giant has faced an unremitting blitz of criticism. In the clips of the incident circulating on the internet, we see him berate the sleeping lady and her partner, before threatening to halt the concert until she leaves. “Please take her the f*ck home, fast, fast. Bro, I’m not doing any more songs until you take her home” he says. Giving her account of the incident, the lady blamed her lassitude on losing her child’s father, an incident that has weighed heavily on her. She also said Burna Boy arrived late, which contributed to her sense of tiredness.
In recent days, Burna Boy has been mired in what is perhaps the biggest controversy of his career. TikTok is awash with clips of people calling out his behavior, some have even taken to posting clips in which they cancel their tickets to his shows. On X, the vitriol against him is so virulent, it has devolved into something of a targeted campaign against him. Yesterday, he cancelled two shows, presumably the result of the wave of cancellations.
I personally feel that this whole situation would have been contained if he had issued an official apology and compensated the lady in some way, maybe a scholarship for her kid who just lost their father. So much time has passed and so if he does that now, it will only come off as performative. Nonetheless, a heartfelt apology is the first step to rescuing the situation.
William Mundala, best known as Tiakola, is a 26 years old French-Congolese artist who is destined for greatness. Raised in France in a Congolese household, la mélo always viewed the world from a unique perspective. After years as part of a music group, he decided to take matters into his own hands and began making solo music. To this day, Tiakola is one of the few Afro-Francophone acts to break into the English-speaking music market, all organically.
Now ready to make his mark, Deeds Magazine accompanied Tiakola on a journey of a lifetime: a return to his roots in Kinshasa, Congo. We sat down with the young star to get a glimpse into his mindset as he continues to cross musical barriers and expand his sonic landscape.
Laurène from Deeds Magazine: Good day Tiakola, would you like to introduce yourself to our Deeds audience?
Tiakola: Yeah sure, I’m Tiakola, a French artist from La Courneuve where I grew up. I began my journey in a group called 4Keus before I ventured into a solo career.
Before we talk about your transition; you were born in France but your origins are from Congo. What does your heritage represent to you today, especially after having shot your cover with Deeds in Kinshasa?
I am a Congolese child by heart, both of my parents are from Congo and therefore, I swam in its culture since a baby. From the food, to the music, everything is inked within me. It represents my identity, my artistry and culture. In France, we grew up between dual cultures, which signifies to me not only my heritage but also my sense of pride.
That’s very well put and I’m sure like myself, a lot of Congolese from the diaspora will relate. Before you embarked on a solo career, you were part of the group 4Keus. What did this period in time teach you? And how did it help you to forge your own universe?
If I had to do it all over again, I would do it a dozen times more. To start within a group is a blessing. This is because you’re with your buddies all of the time, you grow up together, you become professional together and also, I think when you’re sharing the spotlight, it helps you to gain confidence in yourself. You’re not alone in facing the pressure of stardom and so, you can loosen up a little.
This brings fond memories… You’re often declared as the pioneer of mélo, a subgenre between singing and rap. How would you define this to someone who doesn’t speak French?
The truth is rap and mélo always coexisted in France. I think I created not on purpose the mélo of Tiakola, so to speak. It’s stylistically a very street mélo, because even though I write rap texts, you can sing them mélo.
That makes total sense. Your collaboration with Yoruba star Asake on ‘Badman Gangsta’ surprised everyone. With this feature, you became the first Congolese-French artist to top number one on the TurnTable Nigeria Top 100. This is a first in history, not to mention Longomba - Ndombolo in the 2000s. How did this link occur and what did you take away from this experience?
It was a very good experience. Asake is an artist I listen to a ton. He speaks for a lot of people through his music. We first met at a studio in London and honestly, we had a connection right away. The energy you hear through the music is what echoed in our studio session, no lie. And when it’s no lie, it makes for great songs.
Yes indeed. One could say due to selected collaborations and your recent tour in the US, you managed to reach a completely new English-speaking audience. Who do you listen to in this sphere, whether it is Afrobeats, R&B or rap?
I still listen to the classics from before, whether it is in Afrobeats Bracket, P Square, Wizkid and in the new gen scene Rema as well… In the US, it’s like Akon, 2Pac, J Holiday, Brandy… In Congo, the gospel side is Charle Mombaya, L’Or Mbongo, Werrason, King Kester and then you get your Fally and Koffi. Also, there is a new cat called Melo, he’s a strong one! I also listen to a lot of Malien artists like Djeneba Seck, Oumou Sangaré and Toumani Diabaté, the catalogue is so big…
This would explain your versatility. If you had the opportunity to collaborate with any artist outside of France, who would be on top of your list and why?
There’s a good amount of artists I think it’d work out well but, bizarrely I don’t really have a wishlist per se. This is because even an artist that I listen to, if there’s no magic in the studio, then it wouldn’t come out and so, I have to be in those rooms before I can give a concrete answer.
We’ll let this one slide… Deeds Magazine loves to uncover new talents. In your opinion, which Afro-Francophone artist should we tune in?
El Mvnolo!
Gotcha. You seem to be at a pivotal moment, between France, Africa and the world. How do you see the evolution of Francophone African music in the years to come?
I think it will go well for our generation and the generations to come. Now we can see that when music is well made, it can reach everyone. And we talk between artists as well, there’s no longer a barrier in language when the alchemy is there, we can head far. There’s no more borders. All artists of the continent can develop here and honestly, it is very nice to see. We support everybody.
Finally, what is next for Tiakola? A new album, a tour, or maybe yet another international link up?
I am working on my second album. I am a slow artist when it comes to my time spent in the studio. I have to work on ideas for months, even years before I’m sure of releasing a project in mind. I travelled, I recorded songs all over the world. We’re also preparing a tour in the midst of it all. And for the new international link up, it will depend on the magic produced in the studio that I mentioned before.
Production Credits:
Photographer + Creative Director: @tj.saw1
Executive Producer: @beni.masiala
Local Producer: Mpoy Tekela Christian
Retouch: @hilucyb
Production Assist: @slowkamunga + Magloire Mabwa
Project Manager: Seneo Mwamba @Seneomwamba & Zekaria Al-Bostani @zek.snaps
Design: @dianeadanna
Writer: Laurène Southe @laurenesouthe
Special thanks to Agnes Tshisekedi and the city of Kinshasa.
JD Sports' "Where Are You Going?" campaign handed creative control to 286 young people worldwide, letting them document culture on their own terms through mobile phones. But beyond the campaign's raw aesthetic and democratic approach to storytelling, the looks themselves tell their own story about how sportswear functions in contemporary style. Three distinct aesthetics, three different answers to where British streetwear is heading.
Jade Thirlwall's campaign look speaks to adidas Originals and the timelessness of heritage, something essential about why certain sportswear codes endure. The burgundy adidas Originals tracksuit she wears simply executes the classic track jacket silhouette with precision. The Classic Track Top (£65) features that iconic three-stripe detailing running down the sleeves.
What makes the look work is the tonal coherence. Burgundy sits in that sweet spot, rich enough to hold visual interest but subdued enough to feel wearable beyond special occasions. The matching Classic Track Pants (£55) maintain the same design restraint, letting the colour and cut do the work rather than relying on excessive branding or embellishment.
She grounds everything with adidas Originals Superstars (£95), and this is where the look's cultural fluency really shows. The Superstar has been a constant in street style since the '80s, moving from basketball courts to Run-DMC to contemporary fashion weeks without ever losing relevance. It's heritage dressing, but it doesn't feel retrospective, just informed.
Shop Jade's Look:
adidas Originals Classic Track Top - £65
adidas Originals Classic Track Pants - £55
adidas Originals Superstar Women's - £95
Chy Cartier's approach demonstrates Nike's technical line elevated through styling, how gym wear has fully transcended its original context. The Nike Training Indy Swoosh Sports Bra (£38) anchors a look that's technically activewear but functions more like contemporary streetwear.
The Nike Graphic Swoosh Full Zip Jacket (£50) introduces subtle visual interest through its colour-blocking and tonal detailing. It's cut slightly cropped, creating proportion play when styled with the Nike Graphic Swoosh Oversized Joggers (£55).
Cartier completes the look with Nike Air Max Moto 2K (£85), which brings Nike's chunky sole aesthetic to a silhouette that nods to early 2000s running shoes without feeling purely retro. The result is a head-to-toe look that prioritises comfort and movement but maintains enough visual structure to feel purposeful rather than purely functional.
Shop Chy's Look:
Nike Training Indy Swoosh Sports Bra - £38
Nike Graphic Swoosh Full Zip Jacket - £50
Nike Graphic Swoosh Oversized Joggers - £55
Nike Air Max Moto 2K Women's - £85
Skye Newman's styling captures New Balance and the soft power of contemporary sportswear. Something is happening right now in streetwear, the embrace of softer colourways and more relaxed silhouettes that reject both the aggressive branding and the hyper-technical aesthetic that dominated the 2010s. The New Balance 740 Overhead Hoodie (£65) in pale pink represents this shift perfectly. It's not trying to look athletic or performance oriented. The overhead cut with half-zip detail creates a looser, more casual line than standard hoodies, it is designed for comfort.
The New Balance 740 Wide Leg Joggers (£55) represent perhaps the most significant silhouette shift in sportswear over the past few years. Where joggers traditionally meant tapered and fitted, these embrace width through the leg, creating a shape that feels contemporary. Newman's look demonstrates how New Balance has successfully positioned itself for a younger demographic that values understated cool over overt branding.
Shop Skye's Look:
New Balance 740 Overhead Hoodie - £65
New Balance 740 Wide Leg Joggers - £55
Shop all looks at JD Sports. Watch the full "Where Are You Going?" campaign on Instagram and YouTube.
When Joeboy was in JSS3, his classmates would chant his full name, “Akinfenwa Joseph”, before the school secretary even began reading the list of students owing fees. The humiliation cut deep enough that the young student told his parents he would never return to that school. But that embarrassment now fuels his mission The artist born Joseph Akinwale Akinfenwa-Donus has channeled those experiences into the Young Legend Foundation, the philanthropic arm of his record label, which just announced a ₦10 million scholarship fund targeting students in public tertiary institutions across Nigeria.
The initiative, launched this November, will support 30 students across public universities, polytechnics, and colleges of education for the 2024/2025 academic session. Each beneficiary will receive an average of over ₦333,000 to cover tuition, accommodation, and other academic needs. It’s the kind of financial relief that might have changed everything for the younger version of Joeboy sitting in that JSS3 classroom.
“True success is not only about what we achieve for ourselves; it’s about creating opportunities for others to thrive,” Joeboy said in announcing the scholarship. “Through the Young Legend Foundation, we aim to support talented young Nigerians, helping them develop their skills, reach their potential, and contribute positively to society.”
The foundation represents more than financial assistance. According to the organization’s announcement, the scholarship program will provide access to mentorship, leadership development, and skill-building programs, recognizing that educational support extends beyond tuition payments.
Young Legend, Joeboy’s record label launched earlier this year in partnership with Warner Music Africa, has been building infrastructure beyond music. The label unveiled its first signee, Kvng Vidarr, in October, and now extends its mission to educational philanthropy. In previous interviews, Joeboy had shared his intention to start the foundation at his alma mater, emphasizing youth empowerment and entrepreneurship development as crucial responses to Nigeria’s employment challenges.
The foundation’s launch also includes outreach programs to secondary schools, with recent visits to educational institutions including Joeboy’s former school, bringing the mission full circle from that painful JSS3 experience to creating pathways for the next generation.
For students currently facing the same financial pressures that once threatened to derail Joeboy’s education, the Young Legend Foundation scholarship represents validation that their circumstances don’t define their potential, and that someone who sat in their position understands exactly what they’re facing.
The Young Legend Foundation scholarship application is open now. Students in public universities, polytechnics, and colleges of education can apply at HERE.
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