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GB TV: Tiwa Savage On Female Artists Having to Work Twice As Hard As Their Male Peers.

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Credits;
Producers | Kam Tambini & Greg Poole
Editors | Israel Nava
Cinematographer | Sam Henriques

In ‘Moments With: Tiwa Savage,’ Okay Africa had a sit down talk with Nigerian star about her childhood, never taking ‘no’ for an answer and Fela Kuti’s inspiration on her new single “49-99.”

Tiwa Savage recently stopped by our offices during her visit to New York Fashion Week in promotion of her latest single “49-99.”

The Nigerian artist spoke in-depth with us about her childhood audition for the church choir in Nigeria, the memory of her first breakout moment, Fela Kuti’s inspiration on “49-99,” the global success of Nigerian music and much more.

Moments With” is a cross-brand series between Okayplayer and OkayAfrica, bringing viewers in for an intimate moment with some of the most iconic names and people to watch in entertainment.

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MEET JUNIOR PSL: Young Ghanaian Rapper Championing Road Safety With His Songs.

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Ghanaian hip hop artist Junor PSL has joined forces with the Road Safety and multimedia communications company PSLmuzik group to promote road safety during the upcoming festive season. The lad has released a single on traffic safety titled, "Road Safety", campaign intends to reduce fatalities in a country where thousands of people lose their lives on the roads every year.

This is in response to road traffic accidents around the country, 90 percent of which according to Minister of Transport and Infrastructure Development are caused by human error. Released last month, the song will be used as a campaign tool against drunk driving, driving without a licence, failure to adhere to road rules and driving while fatigued among other mishaps that have caused loss of lives and injuries on the country’s roads.

Junior PSL is determined to use his voice and experiences in ensuring that the roads are safe for all that use them. According to him, in the song, he will hold road safety campaigns around the country. As a musician I feel it is my duty to educate and inform people on pressing issues affecting our society. PSLmuzik group signee implored drivers to be cautious on the roads during the festive season, and urged the government to fix bad roads in the country.

Watch Video below;

https://youtu.be/loyVvq2_a84

Kingsley Baffour Awuah aka Junior_PSL, a member of PSLmuzik group ( consisting of Scrip_T and Pappy_PSL) He officially started music around 2008 and released 1st official single (Foowaah) on 2016 after a couple of mixtapes. He studied Architecture at Central University in the 2018 and now working as a recording artiste and an Architect.

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KING PROMISE: Future Custodian Of Ghana Music.

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“Bro, I have been on the road, and trying to promote my new album,” King Promise tells me via a telephone call from Kumasi. A few hours before we speak on the phone, he explains that he was talking into another mic as a guest on a talk radio show, announcing to listeners that his debut album “As Promised,” was worth their time. King Promise sounds mildly hyped – his vocals undulates when he refers to the project released in July, 2019 – as his current promo run has been a success. “I’m just happy for this project, it’s been a long time coming!”

Born Gregory Promise Bortey Newman, the 24-year old Nungua Native is one of Ghana’s most exciting young voices redefining the soundscape of West Africa. First gaining recognition as a collaborator on The Ghanaian Vision DJ’s ‘Double Trouble, released in July 2017, Promise embraced the limelight with a string of local releases. But it wasn’t until his work on ‘Oh yeah’, a sappy romantic ballad where he began to come into his own. Other songs such as ‘Selfish’ and ‘CCTV’ elevated him beyond Ghana to other parts of the continent, including neighbouring Nigeria, Kenya and South Africa, where his music has found new homes. His stock has grown, paid performance requests have come from some of the most distant places. In 2018, he toured the USA, playing sets across venues in Washington D.C, Ohio, Philadelphia and Worchester.

In December, his headline concert in Accra, titled Promise Land was sold-out, with supporting performances from a handful of local stars including Sarkodie, Medikal, Stonebwoy, La Meme Gang and Sister Deborah. “I’m sorry I keep mentioning King Promise’s name, he is my best artiste of the whole Ghana,” Afrobeats superstar Mr. Eazi disclosed in an interview on Hitz FM in 2018. It’s a praise that has been echoed in many corners which promise processes as necessary inspiration rather than external pressure. “It means more motivation to keep growing because it means we are doing something great,” King Promise explains. “And you know, to be acknowledged as one of the best is a big thing, so it therefore gives me inspiration to keep going because it means people love what you’re doing. So it can only get better.”

With the streams pouring in, and his base of supporters expanding, Promise has come a long way in two years. It’s a journey that began in Nungua, a town in Accra where he was born to Francis Newman and Angela Quaye, businessmen who raised him with music. “My father had a good taste in music,” Promise remembers. “He only played the best stuff and these are things that have influenced me to be the kind of artist that I am today, because of the kind of music he played at home and the music I heard growing up.” That music comprised a variety of genres. Traditional Highlife grooves, mixed in with Dancehall from Shaggy, and pop from the boy groups Westlife and Backstreet Boys formed the foundation of his music education. “When you listen to my music, you feel like a lot of highlife vibes and then you feel like some R&B vibes in it and then you feel like Afrobeat in it and sometimes some dancehall,” Promise explains. “So like, so many different genres and all of that shaped me to be who I am today.”

Promise says although his father was influential in his choice of career, he found out about his music career when he blew up while studying for a degree at Central University. He graduated in 2017, a feat that enabled that his music received parental blessings. “I personally like to learn. I love education. When I was in school, I loved being in class, I loved listening and all of that,” says Promise. “Just like I love my music, I also like to learn. So it wasn’t really hard for me to keep my eyes in school. The only issue, I’m not going to lie, is the distractions, missing a couple classes here and there. But at the end of the day, I was determined to go through and I did it.”

You can find that pursuit of growth in his July-released, 15-track debut album, As Promised. The project leads with Highlife harmonies layered over lyrics drawn from youth, happiness, and the beauty of being in love.  On album lead, ‘Commando’ he reinforces his undying love for his lady with sappy lyrics that come alive with syrupy crooning: “Maybe me anever see another girlie like you/The way you move your body move your body, me alike girl/Come make abi your commando/Ago fight for you, commando.” The single, another career hit, was picked out of over 30 songs recorded for the project. Promise tells me that although his recording process results in hits, he never sets out to deliberately make them.

“I had no theme in the beginning but it was more of love, happiness and just having a good time that was all I was trying to put out. I actually didn’t even put like a number together,” he says. There’s also a glow in his voice when he talks about Wizkid, the Nigerian superstar who was a guest on smash hit single, ‘Tokyo’. The Killbeatz-produced song was made in Ghana, as an organic labour of love between both artists. “What you hear on ‘Tokyo’ is Wizkid’s first take. Wiz just did one take and it was perfect. We were just in the hotel room, we didn’t even plan it. It just happened. I also jumped on it, did my verse. He came back to Ghana, we shot the video and boom! It just took over,” Promise says, smiling.

Life for King Promise should be lived with happiness. And why not? He is young, he is rich, and he is in a prime position to influence his country’s music for years to come. There has been some weak talk about him taking the baton from legendary Highlife greats, and ushering the genre into the future as a custodian of the culture. Ghanaian Highlife is famous for its legendary performers, including E.T Mensah and Nana Ampadu. The genre is influential as a musical export running throughout sub-Saharan Africa and taking diverse forms in different countries.

African music has been the subject of a scramble by the major labels, with Universal Music, Sony and Warner Music stepping up operations across the continent and signing up talents to deals. Promise has had to watch his colleagues including Stonebwoy, and Cina Soul snag deals to amplify their music to a broader audience in foreign spaces. He believes that it is necessary for these partnerships to happen, as it benefits the culture to make the music travel. But he isn’t looking at getting signed to an American record label right now. There’s still space for him to grow into locally and on the continent. “I’m signed to a label in Ghana called “Legacy Life Entertainment” and that’s owned by Killbeatz who is a legend out here and Africa in general,” Promise says. “And this is a label I’ve been able to work with, with them having my interest at heart and wanting me to go all the way to the top and we are just taking our time working on the music and progress has been immensely beautiful and it can only be better. So I’m in no rush for no big label deal whatsoever.”

Despite possessing one of 2019’s best albums, Promise believes it’s the smallest of achievements on his belt. True legacy, he believes, comes from inspiration, and spreading your blessings beyond your family. He dreams of a time when his existence will be motivation for Ghana’s youth, looking to get ahead in life. “Considering where I’m from, who I am to believe that I could be who I am today and actually push for it and be here today?” he asks. “It’s something that’s crazy!” I want the youth from the ends, when they look at me, they should be able to say “if King Promise did it we can do it.”

(This article was written by Joey Akan; he tweets via JoeyAkan)

(Source: tushmagazine.com.ng)

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AYA NAKAMURA: Afropop’s Reluctant Face Of Empowerment.

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With its sweet melody over a beat made for couples’ dancing, Aya Nakamura’s track Djadja sounds, to anglophone ears, like a love song. With the video fast approaching 300m views on YouTube, this catchy afropop song made Nakamura’s the queen of the French urban music scene last year. But while the 23-year-old’s voice playfully switches between singing and soft rap, the bittersweet track finds Nakamura calling out a guy who has been lying about having sex with her. “You think about me while I think about making money,” she sings (in French), witheringly. “I’m not your mother / I’m not going to lecture you.”

The song has been hailed as an anthem for female empowerment and taken on a life of its own: Nakamura’s image was used on posters during recent French protests confronting violence against women. Yet the singer is equivocal about the reaction. “It’s cool to be able to represent black women in France,” she says, “but I have my own way of being, my own way of doing things. There’s a problem when people say, ‘You’re the only black woman representing’ – there are others too.”

https://youtu.be/iPGgnzc34tY

Recently there has been a buzz around French artists breaking into foreign markets, including PNLthe Blaze and Christine and the Queens, but Aya represents something different. Determined and suburban, she talks about making money and dominating men much like Rihanna or Cardi B would. And unlike other French women who have come close to breaking international markets, she is not white, Arab or mixed race. She’s a black woman in an industry known to discriminate in favour of lighter-skinned artists. “Colourism exists in some way everywhere,” she says. “It’s really difficult when there are people trying to pressure you into bleaching your skin, because that’s what they want. You ask yourself: where are we? Why should I do that? This is how I am.”Advertisement

She adds that an idealised image of the all-powerful black woman isn’t helpful. She recently refused a selfie with a fan in Senegal because she was tired from a flight. Media and fans branded her a snob. “People have this image of the black woman who can face anything, but we are just like everyone else.”

In fact Nakamura’s appeal lies partly in her demand for that kind of respect – in her song Copines, she shames a guy who has been checking out her friends – and in her music she doesn’t pretend to be approachable. She seems unfazed by the attention resulting from Djadja. “My concept isn’t about making everyone happy,” she says. “When I’m in the studio it’s about what I like ... I don’t worry about everyone getting what I’m saying.”

https://youtu.be/YaKztd2Lsto

While she appeals to the frustrations that some listeners may share about men, Nakamura also has a softer side. Last month, she released a song called La Dot, about falling for a guy, getting a dowry and wanting “the dream life”. This might seem at odds with some people’s vision of female empowerment, but as a young French Malian woman, Nakamura has her own vision of fairytale romance that speaks to a generation of young women from north and west African backgrounds in France. It takes strong sense of autonomy and self-respect and mixes it with traditional values passed on from older generations.

Born Aya Danioko in Mali – Nakamura was adopted as a stage name, inspired by a character from superhero drama Heroes – she came to live in Aulnay-sous-Bois in the suburbs of Paris with her family when she was a baby. Her mother was a griotte, a traditional Malian poet or singer. “If you come from a line of griots you’re automatically categorised by that,” she says. “They tell people’s stories in the villages, and basically performed the role of the media for previous generations.”Advertisement

This played a big part in Nakamura’s life growing up in France. “On Sundays, the family would come together to eat a big lunch, or if there was a wedding my mum would sing there. They were ‘real’ [traditional] weddings too – that is to say, the groom’s family would have go and pay the family of the bride the dowry in order to marry her.”

In her house, uncles and aunts played a big role in teaching the younger ones about Malian culture. Did these women influence the no-nonsense attitude in her music? “No, that was me,” she says. “I’ve always had quite a strong character, ever since I was little.” She is interrupted by her two-year-old daughter. “It’s like having two jobs,” she says of her life as a parent and a rising star. “I work with my family; it’s very complicated but it’s OK.”

Nakamura pushes back on the suggestion that she is continuing the griot tradition, clarifying that what she does is a little different. Her song about Grammy-award winning Malian singer Oumou Sangaré pays homage to a woman who she grew up admiring, and Sangaré features in the video for the track. “She’s a singer, a businesswoman and she really represents Malian women,” she says passionately. “I really went into fan mode when I met her – she was so beautiful and she really got what I was doing.”

Her success over the past year may have pushed her into the spotlight and exposed her to pressure to meet others’ expectations, but Nakamura is adamant that her motivation lies closer to home: “I really want to show my daughter my story and let her know who we are.”

(Source: theguardian.com)

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STREET DISCIPLE: Kofi Mole.

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In an Abelenkpe-bound Uber cab, rapper Kofi Mole who, due to his bleached dreadlocks and silvery braces, evokes a young Lil Wayne, holds his smartphone to his ear, mumbling half-finished melody over dance-ready instrumentation pouring from the phone’s speaker. Covering his upper body is a Calvin Klein polo shirt, his lower body clothed in tight black jeans ripped at the knees. For footwear, he has selected black and white Vans sneakers. Watching him from my spot next to him in the backseat of the speeding little car, I nod at his method (eyes closed, hands slapping imaginary objects), which is apparently common with musicians. Also in the vehicle is his road manager, also a dreadlocked dark man trading by the alias Dat Boy GH.

Mole is cut from hip-hop’s cloth, and commands mammoth young fandom usually collected under the social movement called “GroundUp Chale.” His mainstream ascendance came via the Kwesi Arthur—assisted “Mensah,” a galvanizing 2018 outliers’ anthem. Other auditory performances, including his lyrical fineness on “Bibii Ba,” a Sarkodie-curated assemblage of emerging rhymesters, was further argument for his demand to not be overlooked as incoming hip-hop Ali.

https://youtu.be/mPapMC69kYg

And yet, Mole is also the man behind “Don’t Be Late,” a track many considered “off-brand” Produced by Kobby Jay and taken from his freshly-published Aposor Love EP, that record is an aching number of unanswered love that quickly became an unquestionable staple. It is where our conversation begins when we arrive at his Abelenkpe location, a warehouse that also lodges his personal recording studio.

“Ebe real-life story,” he begins,” resorting to his preferred Pidgin English as he collapses into a leather couch, “but the beat be hip-hop,” he says, referring to the song’s kick sequence. Dat Boy slumps unto the couch too, and in seconds, is fast asleep from exhaustion.

On his choice of subject and articulation medium for “Don’t Be Late,” the soft-spoken rapper christened Edward Kofi Agyemang Amoah explains—his voice strained from a long day of media rounds, that when he received the beat, he was was indeed experiencing emotional yearning of an amorous nature. “Then I dey want make people get the story well, that be why I put am for singing inside. If you dey sing with melodies, people dey barb am quick.”

https://youtu.be/Po2lJVdw03Y

It is all the detail he is willing to surrender, and I have no intention of pushing it. I, therefore, promptly steer the conversation away from akoma sentiments, so a more bellicose picking: the phenomenon of street, for which his fans have oiled him the role of ambassador. Our near-hour conversation orbits this conception that enjoys such a glorified personality among a wide section of the country’s youth.  

Appropriated from western urban culture, the term may broadly refer to credibility that attends hustling by ANY MEANS NECESSARY. In rap music everywhere, it appears that one shall only be rewarded with success and fame if one can demonstrate that he has been through the mill known as the street.

In an Abelenkpe-bound Uber cab, rapper Kofi Mole who, due to his bleached dreadlocks and silvery braces, evokes a young Lil Wayne, holds his smartphone to his ear, mumbling half-finished melody over dance-ready instrumentation pouring from the phone’s speaker. Covering his upper body is a Calvin Klein polo shirt, his lower body clothed in tight black jeans ripped at the knees. For footwear, he has selected black and white Vans sneakers. Watching him from my spot next to him in the backseat of the speeding little car, I nod at his method (eyes closed, hands slapping imaginary objects), which is apparently common with musicians. Also in the vehicle is his road manager, also a dreadlocked dark man trading by the alias Dat Boy GH.

Mole is cut from hip-hop’s cloth, and commands mammoth young fandom usually collected under the social movement called “GroundUp Chale.” His mainstream ascendance came via the Kwesi Arthur—assisted “Mensah,” a galvanizing 2018 outliers’ anthem. Other auditory performances, including his lyrical fineness on “Bibii Ba,” a Sarkodie-curated assemblage of emerging rhymesters, was further argument for his demand to not be overlooked as incoming hip-hop Ali.

And yet, Mole is also the man behind “Don’t Be Late,” a track many considered “off-brand” Produced by Kobby Jay and taken from his freshly-published Aposor Love EP, that record is an aching number of unanswered love that quickly became an unquestionable staple. It is where our conversation begins when we arrive at his Abelenkpe location, a warehouse that also lodges his personal recording studio.

“Ebe real-life story,” he begins,” resorting to his preferred Pidgin English as he collapses into a leather couch, “but the beat be hip-hop,” he says, referring to the song’s kick sequence. Dat Boy slumps unto the couch too, and in seconds, is fast asleep from exhaustion.

On his choice of subject and articulation medium for “Don’t Be Late,” the soft-spoken rapper christened Edward Kofi Agyemang Amoah explains—his voice strained from a long day of media rounds, that when he received the beat, he was was indeed experiencing emotional yearning of an amorous nature. “Then I dey want make people get the story well, that be why I put am for singing inside. If you dey sing with melodies, people dey barb am quick.”

 It is all the detail he is willing to surrender, and I have no intention of pushing it. I, therefore, promptly steer the conversation away from akoma sentiments, so a more bellicose picking: the phenomenon of street, for which his fans have oiled him the role of ambassador. Our near-hour conversation orbits this conception that enjoys such a glorified personality among a wide section of the country’s youth.  

Appropriated from western urban culture, the term may broadly refer to credibility that attends hustling by ANY MEANS NECESSARY. In rap music everywhere, it appears that one shall only be rewarded with success and fame if one can demonstrate that he has been through the mill known as the street.  

Young Mole, who also responds to the sobriquet “Aposor Gangster,” after a tight-gripping forest dweller, begins his response by disabusing misconceptions that the term has suffered for years. “Eno be anything huhuuhu biaa,” he assures, smiling slightly. “If you talk say street: ebi somebody who dey hustle on ihn own to make a living. You still dey link up with your parents and things but you no dey depend on them…you still dey fit go to town go work then make money, take care of yourself, get things wey your parents not fit afford give you.”

“Street”—the version he subscribes to, at least—does not involve violence. It’s about love and brotherhood: “holding each other down,” and peace, not “gidigidi.”

Also, the concept, per the lecture Mole generously doles out to me, exists everywhere—not just the fabled impoverished suburbs of Nima, or Russia, or Sukura. Even in the privileged blocks of East Legon, “street” is fiercely represented. A chuckle accompanies this last opinion.  Some people, he notes, are simply drawn to the street life they have observed from afar; drawn to the grass-to-grace narrative that street life typifies.  Street represents ambition and an unflinching commitment to that aim. Say a person’s dream car is a Jeep Wrangler, he must cater to that dream with utmost dedication till it is realized. Why?  The street is one’s oyster; home to boundless entrepreneurial opportunities.

Mole also offers perspective on “hustle, (with which “street” are never mutually exclusive and can even operate interchangeably). It is a way of earning a living, he says, “…doing something wey go fetch you money—that be hustle. Wey nobody go fit live without hustle—unless your people get the money put down give you…ihn sef, if you no hustle the money go fini then things, so hustle deɛ ebe life requirement everybody for hustle.”

Hailing from Kumasi in Ghana’s Ashanti Region, Mole is alumnus of the Armed Forces Senior High Technical School for his secondary education. While in Level 300, reading Psychology at the University of Ghana, Mole deferred his course to concentrate fully on his music career, (a decision his father didn’t take kindly to). He insists, though, that hustling can happen alongside school. “You fit dey the street and dey go school alongside.”

On the hustle field, Mole’s credibility is intact, he’ll have you know. He’s “paid his dues.” As he says this, one gets the sense that hailing from a modest home, and having dealt in second-hand clothing at Kantamanto since 2007 to support himself, coupled with now being the source of succour for his compatriots who are still navigating a life bereft of sufficient options has something to do with it. More importantly, the rapper recognizes his current clout on the streets as a result of his current vocation, hence his being particular about his public conduct and utterances.

“I no dey talk to people one-on-one, I dey talk to people through my music. Music be very powerful thing, so I be very careful of every lyric I put out, so I go bring positive impact for people demma lives inside, so my words deɛ I be very careful.

This does not present any weight he did not envisage, he tells me. Rather, in a way, it is a dream come true: “E be something I dream of, say I go come get that platform wey if I talk, I get majority of people wey dey listen to me. I dey deal with am cool.”

Contrary to the strategy of many of his peers, Mole published a ten-track mixtape right out of the gate. His reason: one’s total essence cannot be conveyed in a single song. It can only be achieved with a complete folder comprising the artist’s varying creative prongs. Spread the News, as the body of work is titled, embodies this abundantly. Moreover, the street boy that he is, Mole wanted people to testify to his hard work. He wanted to send a direct message:

 “We be that guys wey, if we get chance for the industry, we go fit drop albums and things. We not just come.”

As far as his career is concerned, Mole comes prepared. Throughout his journey, he has imbibed the stories of achievers, constantly reading about Osei Kwame Despite as well as Jay Z.  He also names Nas, Lil Wayne, and Sarkodie (who habitually single-handedly sell out arenas) as influences. Mole sees himself eventually elevated to the stratosphere of the aforementioned—who reside at the apex of the apex. It is why, if today, a thousand people chant back his songs at functions, he’s buoyed by the confidence that consistency will secure him twice that number in a year, and tenfold in subsequent years, till he can headline his own show like his idols.  It is only at this point when global brands like Coca Cola and Nike are on his heels for endorsement that he will wholeheartedly accept the adjective of celebrity. “If you be human being wey u dey do something, you for move on, you for get that feeling…that high spirit. If today I drop song wey two hundred people spy in a month, tomorrow I go make sure say five hundred go watch in a month. If today I take one 3Music Award (he’s current holder of the Next Rated Act prize), I go make sure say next year, I go take like 3 at least. So e dey. Whatever you dey do biaa nu, everybody for get that feeling say he for go higher.”

Mole holds the avid belief that if one truly desires something, no obstacle should be enough to discourage him. After all, people talk. When he embarked on his current path, detractors said: “Mole this thing, shorn!”

 He paid no mind to them, and is reaping from that decision.

“We realize we listen to people keep; people dey tame we too much, so from that time wey I see say no, I no go be tamable again, because people just dey talk out of fear.”

We return briefly to his “Bibii Ba” appearance, via which we tackle the primacy of lyricism. Part of the reason sixteen bars glistened most on that joint, one would wager, is that, unlike a number of his colleagues on the record, he did not obsess about proving his aptitude with the fast-paced rap style. Rather, he ensured vivid elocution of his spiel, making it easy to completely chew on his punchlines: meat and bone. An additional technique comprising clever punning and practical wisdoms guaranteed that his submission—in its entirety—was the most impactful.

https://youtu.be/-3_pAazPExA

Lyricism is a prerequisite of true hip-hop, emphasizes Mole, as are a unique style, and philosophy. If you have all these sorted, “eno go be tough give you,” observes Mole, who somehow remains reticent about the suggestion that his “Bibii Ba” performance is what truly courted him mainstream notice. He places it a spot below “Mensah.” Mole’s first-ever recording with Arthur, “Mensah” was created without a premeditated concept. One evening, they both happened to be in the studio together. Producer KaySo randomly played the beat to them. Both rappers connected instantly. The result of that chemistry is the song.

Where he comes from, there are “No Gentlemen Allowed.” It’s what both his clique and imprint run by. Like “street,” this expression too bears a definition quite different from what you think. He expatiates thus: In Ghana, when the term “gentleman” is mentioned, the image it conjures up is an educated suit-and-tie—wearing person.  However, the way the system is set up, not everyone will realistically have access to higher education. For people who are tossed aside by the educational system, but who still nurture desire of breaking the poverty cycles they come from, there are other respectable ways of making a living, and classrooms should never get in the way of one’s quest to succeed.  “This movement be just to encourage people say, make them not look down on demma selves like the society dey do. Make them comot demma eye then do demma tin, because success go fit happen for anywhere. People dey work on the street, then later, they employ university graduates.

No gentlemen? No problem, then.  Mole and his circle have no qualms proving that they can be achievers nonetheless.  

Unavoidable in the arc of a street disciple enjoying appreciable success, there will come a time when Mole will be accused of “using and dumping” the streets when he actualizes, a time when people would say “you dawg the street.” What would be Mole’s antidote for this?

It’s quite simple, really. It’s like the analogy he cited earlier in our sit down.

“I be that guy wey I get good heart for the less privileged people,” he says. As far as he’s concerned, that will never change.  If today, he’s offering food to a hundred destitute people, that number will double next year, and so on, “just say e go catch some time I no go fit come myself. And if you dey understand life, you go know say Mole still get heart, but the people wey not dey understand life go talk say Mole dawg the street.”

In the end, this much is true: You can take the man from the street, but good luck draining the streets from the DNA of an act like Mole, who clutches to it like an “aposor.”

 “Nobody go fit separate the street from me,” the rapper’s eyes twinkle assuredly. Thus, our conversation comes to a close.

In the brief time that he has practised music professionally, he has mounted high-profile stages and collaborated with sought-after colleagues including Sarkodie, B4bonah, DopeNation, Qwamina MP, Medikal, Shaker, and Kwesi Arthur. He is due to publish Mr Amoah, another body of work in coming months.

Get Aposor Lover on SPOTIFY and BOOMPLAY

https://youtu.be/kt70GI4rpS4

(Source: enewsgh.com)

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