When words failed and the world felt too loud, music held me like a language I didn’t need to translate.
I was 11 or 12 when I discovered music.
Actually, what this means is that I discovered my affinity for music at that age. Of course, before then, I had been hearing and listening to songs. You couldn't live in the world without hearing some music every day. And you surely couldn't live in Nigeria without hearing music blasting from speakers in music shops, pubs, hotels, restaurants, and sometimes even fuel stations. You were also certain to see guys walking on the road with MP3 players, their loud music shaking the air around them.
A rather unfortunate scenario is having a neighbor who cares nothing about whether your eardrums suffer or not. Or one who loves trouble and is just waiting for you to come knocking on his door to complain about the deafening music disturbing you from next door. Or one who seems to think noise pollution increases his lifespan. Or one who thinks, “Screw the world. Life is a shit show, so let me blast some fun into my heart.” In any such case, well, you either learn to enjoy the madness, endure it until the neighbor is evicted, or find another peaceful house to move into.
So yes, I had been exposed to music long before I turned eleven. But it wasn't until then that I discovered its soothing quality. I began categorizing songs based on my mood and how they made me feel. I started paying more attention to lyrics and how the words resonated with me.
It was an uncle from my mother's side who helped me with this life-changing epiphany. He introduced me to singers like Adele, Jay-Z, Phil Collins, Celine Dion, Whitney Houston, and a few others—I hope my Nigerian readers won’t begrudge him for listening mostly to foreign artists. He was convinced they made more meaningful music than Nigerian artists, who, honestly, had lyrically empty songs with nothing but heavy beats as their only merit.
I shared the same belief until I got older. Frankly, many of our singers here have little value or message to share through their music. However, the Nigerian music scene is no longer oversaturated with just hip-hop. Now, we have cool Afrobeats, soul, and Afropop. My favorite Nigerian artists include Omah Lay, Chike, Johnny Drille, The Stoic (formerly known as Ignis Brothers), Chale, Kaline, Dinachi, Flavour, and Phyno.
Admittedly, there has always been the highlife genre and folk music from way back, with iconic figures such as Chief Osita Osadebe, Oliver De Coque, Bright Chimezie, and Mike Ejeagha.
But enough of the digression. Music is a kind of magic that requires no wands or spell books. I rarely go a day without listening to a song or two, some on repeat. It’s both therapeutic and refreshing. Many times, when I’m feeling emotionally down, I just put on my earphones, play some music, and let myself be carried away by the artist’s voice, the rhythm, the lyrics. Besides reading fiction books and watching movies, music is one of the ways I cope with mental and emotional stress.
I also listen to music when I’m in a reflective mood. It helps stir nostalgia, making me reminisce about the past—people I used to know, places I used to be, and how much I miss those moments and shared memories.
Music helps me write. It’s as if I can channel my emotions better when I’m working on a piece. I get to pour my heart into my writing. I get to focus on nothing else but the words. Trust me, many of my best pieces were written this way—though not all my masterpieces came from this process.
During my adolescent years, I wrote a lot of sad pieces because I listened to incredibly sad songs. Believe it or not, I used to go online specifically to search for “saddest songs” or “songs that will make you cry.” I was in a dark place then, navigating the quirks of teenage mood swings and all the drama peculiar to adolescence. Nevertheless, I appreciate those years because my consistency in writing helped shape the writer I am today. It made it easier to find my voice and style.
Yes, I still listen to foreign artists like Christina Perri, Adele, Shania Twain, Phil Collins, and Cyndi Lauper—I know, there are more female singers in my list!
Anyway, I’m certain I’m not the only one who believes in or appreciates the magic of music. Why else would there be millions of monthly streams on platforms like Spotify, Boomplay, and Audiomack? People need something to dance to, something to make them forget the unending worries of life. They need something to soothe their sadness, to fill the emptiness in their souls. We all need, once in a while, to hear a reassuring voice accompanied by harmonious beats and rhythms.
Indeed, I hope all recording artists understand that they are sharing a timeless gift with humanity. Even after they are gone, their melodies live on. It’s an alluring legacy to leave behind—their footprints in the sands of music.
As for me, I’m an excellent singer—at least in the bathroom or while doing my thing in the toilet. Occasionally, my neighbors outside my window get to be blessed by my bathroom vocalizing. Whether you believe it or not, well, that’s up to you.
