Dave, Mavo, AratheJay, Shallipopi and More on New Music Friday
Every Friday, the scene renews itself. The weekend doesn’t officially begin until the speakers start humming. This New Music Friday hums with the pulse of fresh ambition: rappers sharpening their truths, lovers finding new ways to sing about desire, and producers stretching rhythm into emotion. It’s the kind of drop day that reminds you why Nigerian music is never still — always shifting, always alive.
Dave – The Boy Who Played the Harp
Since We’re All Alone in This Together dropped in 2021—Dave’s sprawling, Mercury Prize-nominated epic that turned personal trauma into national catharsis—the Streatham storyteller has been a ghost. A record-shattering collab with Central Cee here, a sparse feature there, but no full-length. No arena tours. No social media flexes. Just silence, broken only by cryptic checklists and a trailer that hit like a sermon. Then, today: ‘The Boy Who Played the Harp’. Dave’s third album arrives not with a bang, but a hush, a 10-track meditation on faith, doubt, and the weight of being “the chosen one” in a world that feels increasingly godless.
The title pulls straight from 1 Samuel: young David, harp in hand, soothing King Saul’s tormented spirit. Dave casts himself as that boy—humble shepherd turned giant-slayer—but the harp here is the mic, the beat, the therapy session. It’s a bold pivot from the raw street operas of his past. Muted production from James Blake, Jim Legxacy, and others wraps Dave’s voice in gospel choirs and sparse piano, like a confessional whispered in a Streatham church. ‘The Boy Who Played the Harp’ feels heavier, quieter, more intimate than anything he’s done. It’s not trying to conquer charts; it’s trying to heal.
Opener “History” rolls in, with Blake’s layered harmonies cracking like falsetto prayers, you’re hooked. Dave name-drops his mum decoding his biblical moniker: “My mum told me what my name really means and the powers just kicked in.” It’s peak Dave—lyrical sleight-of-hand turning autobiography into prophecy. “NO Weapons” sets the tone with divine conviction: “This is God’s plan/He said it to me.” Over a droning bassline, Dave wrestles legacy, growing up in a postcode warzone, now platinum-plated but still haunted by “what if I’m poison?” It’s vulnerable without being maudlin, blending biblical flexes (“Man wanna speak on the scene, but I seen it”) with street scripture.
The midsection is where the harp truly sings. “Chapter 16” is the heartbeat, a grimy dialogue with Kano (his Top Boy co-star) that feels like passing the torch. Kano’s verse is veteran wisdom, but Dave matches him bar for bar, flipping the mic-as-harp metaphor into a manifesto: “What if courage looks like a song, not a sword?” It’s the album’s moral core, proving Dave’s still the UK’s sharpest narrator. Then “Fairchild” lands like a gut punch, dissecting male toxicity with surgical calm: why women fear us, the quiet violence of everyday egos. Nicole Blakk’s uncredited guest verse steals it—raw, unflinching, a reminder that Dave’s world-building shines brightest when he steps aside.
Not everything resonates on first spin. “Marvellous” dips into criminal psychology with vivid sketches, but the juvenile Clermont twins brag jars against the prayerful vibe, like a kid sneaking comics into Sunday school. “Selfish” broods on isolation, sampling Saint Harison’s “Ego Talkin'” to question fame’s toll, but it lingers a touch too long in the echo chamber. And while Tems elevates “Raindance” with sultry Afrobeats silk, the chemistry feels polite, not electric. The closer, the title track, circles back with a Beatles sample (“And I Love Her” via Cláudia Telles), Dave’s flow meditative over harp-like strings.
AratheJay – The Odyssey
Ghanaian’s Afrobeats artist, AratheJay he unleashes ‘The Odyssey’, the 17-track full-length that transforms that flicker into a bonfire. Arathejay’s ‘The Odyssey’ is a hero’s voyage through the “Finding Nimo” series, where Nimo Constantine (his alter ego) battles inner demons, divine calls, and the grind of global ambition. Clocking in at a breezy 50 minutes, it’s a tapestry of Afrobeats pulse, highlife horns, and hip-hop grit—produced by heavyweights like GuiltyBeatz, Samsney, and RankingMadeIt—that feels like a road trip from Accra’s dusty streets to some promised Zion.
The opener “Zion” crashes in like a prayer unanswered: swirling synths and Ara’s earnest croon over a GuiltyBeatz beat, pleading for direction amid the chaos. “Cover Me” follows suit, a soul-baring plea laced with gospel echoes, setting the spiritual spine that threads the whole project. By track three, “Talisman” ft. Stonebwoy flips the script—Bhog’s reggae-infused bounce meets Ara’s rapid-fire bars about protection in the trenches, Stonebwoy’s patois-laced hook adding that elder-statesman shine.
The emotional gut-punch arrives mid-album with “Jesus Christ 2” ft. Black Sherif, the sequel to Arathejay’s viral 2024 single that already had the continent humming. Over a haunting piano loop from Myx Quest, Ara wrestles doubt (“Why the chosen ones dey suffer?”), and Black Sherif’s gravelly verse delivers the raw testimony—loss, redemption, the weight of being young and anointed. It’s the album’s anchor, a confessional that turns personal scars into communal hymns.
From there, the journey zigzags: “Fire” ft. Bella Shmurda brings Nigerian fire with its amapiano swagger and tales of burning bridges for breakthroughs; “Put Am On God” is a defiant rally cry, sampling highlife legends to affirm faith over fear.
The back half leans into romance and revelry without losing the thread. “Only Fans” is cheeky escapism—Ara’s falsetto gliding over trap snares about digital desires—while “Alhaji Popping” channels pure joy, a bubbly ode to lavish nights with Twi ad-libs that beg for a club remix. Standouts like “Ahoufe” ft. O’Kenneth & Beeztrap KOTM deliver drill-edged bravado on street survival, and “Say I Do” ft. Savara adds Kenyan soul with its R&B sway, a tender vow amid the voyage. Closer “True” fades out on ambient waves, with Ara reflecting on authenticity.
‘The Odyssey‘ turns Arathejay’s solo sketches into a shared epic. It’s the sound of youth grappling with eternity, one talisman at a time.
Shallipopi, Gunna – Him
Nigerian street-pop firebrand Shallipopi, the self-proclaimed “Pluto Presido” who’s been torching 2025 with hits like “Na So”, links up with Atlanta’s drip king Gunna for “Him”. Produced by a squad of Cole YoursTruly, Geno, Progrexx, and Budee, it’s a hazy, head-nodding hybrid: booming basslines laced with snappy snares, swirling synths that nod to late-night Benin City triumphs, and just enough melodic menace to glue the continents. At its core, “Him” is a cocky manifesto—two kings proclaiming their throne, blending Pidgin swagger with Southern silk.
The track ignites right out the gate with Shallipopi’s intro chant: “Way, way / Only one Pluto Presido, they call me Shallipopi / I’m him, I’m him, way.”, over a cinematic beat that hums like a mafia flick score (gentle bounce masking the menace), Shallipopi unleashes his verse with raw energy in Pidgin-English bursts about doubters (“Many tell me I’m not qualified, I ball heavily”) and divine glow-ups (“I met the Lord, and you follow, I’m him”). The chorus seals it with sticky lines that’s equal parts prayer and party starter: “I tell you baby, that’s why I’m him / Many people don show me love ’cause I’m here.” Shallipopi’s ‘Him’ is quotable, replayable, the kind of line that turns a single into a movement.
Gunna slides in for the second verse like velvet over gravel, his signature auto-tuned croon elevating the vibe without overshadowing. “Really him, Louis V, my denim, got [ice] on the timbs / When they see my car, yeah, that’s one of them,” he purrs, painting luxury eclipses and starstruck stares. It’s vintage Gunna—effortless boasts about whips, washes, and women who clock the glow-up—layering Atlanta polish onto Shallipopi’s grit. The interplay is seamless, Shallipopi’s bouncy, street-rooted flow crashes against Gunna’s laid-back menace, creating a push-pull that keeps the energy surging.
Mavo, Davido – Shakabulizzy (Remix)
When a street anthem gets the Davido treatment, you know it’s about to level up—from neighborhood cypher to global takeover. Lagos’ rising street-pop prodigy Mavo (real name Mavoshie Oghenevwevo), who’s been stacking 2025 wins with remixes like “Escaladizzy” ft. Ayra Starr, Shallipopi, and Zlatan, drops the “Shakabulizzy” remix today via Kilogbede Records, teaming with Afrobeats emperor Davido (O.B.O.), produced by the Grammy-nominated Dibs (Seyi Vibez’s go-to).
The three-and-a-half-minute banger flips the original’s gritty solo flex into a dual-threat manifesto. Clocking infectious percussion, piano stabs that pierce like traffic horns, and a bassline built for owambe parties, it’s pure escapism: hustle hymns laced with luxury drops, all in that signature Pidgin swagger. “Shakabulizzy” explodes from the jump with Mavo’s chorus chant: “Kilo, e don sour, holy water / Give her Cana’ make she update, shakabulizzy.”
Mavo owns the verses, skating over Dibs’ buoyant beat with eccentric bars: “Follow you again? Me I no dey follow you again,” ditching distractions for paper chases, then flexing Balenciaga bags and ego egos. His flow’s elastic—half-rap, half-melody—capturing that raw Benin City-to-Lagos energy, like a hustler’s diary set to groove.
Davido crashes the party midway, his verse a masterclass in charisma: “We dey focus on Naija, dem dey focus on paper / And if them enter one thing, dem go vanish like NEPA”. He layers humor over grit, escaping poverty with Igbo smoke and turn-up anthems, his auto-tuned purr syncing seamlessly with Mavo’s grit. “Shakabulizzy” is a certified heater, with a vibrant, replayable texture that hijacks your playlist for hours.
Tyla – Chanel (Single)
23-year-old South African siren, Tyla, fresh off her WWP (We Wanna Party) mixtape in July—packing hits like “Dynamite” ft. Wizkid that racked 50 million streams—has been teasing luxury anthems all year. After an engaging rollout, Tyla unleashes “Chanel”, a three-minute empowerment elixir produced by Ian Kirkpatrick and P2J. I’Chanel’ is a glossy fusion of her signature log drum pulse with R&B silk and pop sheen: buoyant bass that bounces like a Birkin on a strut, shimmering synths evoking haute couture spotlights, and Tyla’s honeyed vocals demanding the upgrade. No features, just her—sultry, assured, turning a designer’s name into a love-language litmus test. Amid pre-drop drama with Yung Miami accusing her of “stealing” the vibe, Tyla drops unbothered, letting the track (and its video) do the flexing.
The hook hooks instantly: “If you say you love them, put them in Chanel,” crooned over a hypnotic groove that’s equal parts club mandate and romantic ultimatum. Tyla’s verses glide in with playful shade: “He said he love me, but he ain’t buy the bag yet,” flipping status symbols into self-worth sermons, her delivery a velvet whip—teasing, triumphant, textured with those breathy ad-libs that make you lean in. The bridge builds to a euphoric drop, amapiano keys swirling like confetti at Fashion Week, before circling back to that inescapable chorus. It’s Tyla at her most evolved: less wide-eyed ingenue, more mogul muse, demanding reciprocity in a world of fast fashion feelings.
The accompanying video is a pure visual feast—black-and-white elegance meeting playful surrealism, directed with nods to Karl Lagerfeld’s archives. Tyla morphs into a quilted handbag (that iconic white hula hoop from SS2013), struts in FW1991 bombers modeled by Evangelista and Turlington, all while dancers vogue in tweed. It’s a love letter to the house that dressed her VMA win (Best Afrobeats for “Push 2 Start,” her second straight), shot with that glossy intimacy that screams “put me on.” Amid the Yung Miami beef—where the City Girls vet claimed Tyla “ran off with my song” after a snippet share—Tyla’s stayed silent, but the video’s wink feels like armor: elegance as the ultimate clapback.
Tyla’s “Chanel” captivates without overwhelming with a polished enough feel for radio rotation and raw enough for late-night scrolls. The production sparkles with log drums thumping like heels on cobblestones, and Tyla’s charisma carrying the lighter lyrics.
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