For her latest album, Niniola wants you to just Press Play. “The intent was to make sure that people don’t skip. The moment you press play, literally, you’re enjoying the music, you transcend to another realm and forget about your sorrows. There’s too much happening outside,” she says. To help you forget the nightmare that currently constitutes the Nigerian living experience, at least for half an hour, she has curated an infectiously exuberant experience, even as she is neither subtle nor apologetic about her own economic realities contrasting so sharply with the country’s. The album brims with vocal and production talent, featuring beats from Amapiano and Afro-House powerhouses like Oskido, Magisticks, Niphkeys and Nektunez. It was released in celebration of a decade of Niniola’s artistry, marking ten years since, fresh from her fourth place finish at Project Fame, she recruited Sarz to create Ibadi, which was full of the carefree effervescence Niniola wanted to infuse into the industry immediately. She had a limited budget, consisting only of the 2 million Naira she had won from the competition, so she did not have many shots at a cracking single to announce herself with. Thankfully, she only needed one.
In the ten years since then, she has wielded most of the strengths of this release to forge a solid, successful career. She still majors in high-energy, percussive music, now infused with a lot more South African influences from Gqom to Amapiano; her message is still fun first and depth second, with one eye firmly set on the dance floor; she in fact poached Sarz’s manager, Michael Ndika, after they worked together for Ibadi, and he has now grown to take on a lot more responsibility—from AnR to songwriting. Niniola says that stability, in the studio and in management, has been one of the keys to a long and successful career. We hold our conversation over a series of Google Meets calls initially besmirched by connectivity issues, but Niniola is patient and even gracious throughout.
“I don’t trust people easily. So for me to trust you, you’ve proven yourself and that’s why we can work for a long time,” she says, after she had remarked about having had the same lawyer in her business dealings for the last ten years. At this point, she is far and away the most successful and longest lasting independent artist in Nigerian music, and it is to her credit that her indie status is hardly remembered. Where she does lean into, and capitalize on it is in her genre. Niniola was one of the first Nigerians to arrive at the Afro-House scene, long before its widespread adoption at the turn of the ‘20s and the eventual oversaturation shortly after. Protecting her unpopular genre choice (and any others she might pivot to in the future) was key to Niniola’s decision to maintain her independence.
It is hard to believe now, but there was a time when Niniola’s genre-blending was viewed as a major risk, and if you rewind even further, her entire musical ability was once doubted by even close friends and associates. She covers the story on album closer, Komiyo; one of the few numbers on Press Play that ponders Niniola’s life not in the pomp and affluence it is now, but in the shadow of the gloom it once was. She bears no malice towards those who derided her ability to make it in music, at that nadir in her career when she swiveled from one music talent competition to the next, meeting rejection at every door.
She lightens up considerably when she discusses performing live music because it is unequivocally the singer’s favorite part of the job. Niniola puts a lot of time and effort into rehearsing stage performances, and her reward is the genuine joy and connection she makes to her fans in the process. “For me, that’s the whole essence of going into the studio. Music has the power to make you happy, to change your emotions and your state of mind, from sad to happy, and vice versa. So every time I’m on stage, it’s a time to interact with people and give them an experience they’ll never forget.”
Once in a while, her fans give her an experience she’ll never forget. She tells me about some of her unscripted experiences on the stage, like when she called up a fan who then refused to leave, necessitating a forceful expulsion by security, or the time a rather vigorous dance move detached her wig from her head. Then, a little quick thinking and showmanship led her to pick up the wig and fashion it into a prop for the rest of her performance. “For me, it’s all fun. So long as it’s not harmful, it’s something you can look back on and laugh about.” She has fans in her DMs with whom she has maintained long conversations with for years, to the point where they have become family.
As for real family, the singer has a lot of it. She grew up in a polygamous home connected by love as much as marriage. Then, she would recruit her younger siblings or cousins and have them sing back-up vocals as she gave mock performances around the house. “That’s how Teni’s interest came up. That’s where she got the interest in music.” She is referring to Teniola Apata, her sister. Every year that they exist and grow side by side as two of the leading women in Nigeria’s Afropop scene, it gets harder to ignore that they are yet to have a song together. Niniola says something is in the works. “You know how people can clamor for something? If you rush and give them and you give them at the wrong time and you give them something that is not up to their expectation, then there’s a problem. You don’t want a situation where it will flop.” For now though, the pair maintain very separate careers, with only the smallest amount of creative exchange.
Near the end of our conversation, I take her back to that time when her career looked like it would never take off, like her outing at the very first edition of West African Idols in 2007, where she got rejected at an audition in Lagos, and flew to Abuja only to be denied once more by the same set of judges. Or how she spent the next six years meeting the same fate at the hands of other judges on other shows, like The X Factor Nigeria, to the point she took a break from music. Did she ever consider giving it up entirely? “There was no Plan B. It was just music. I always had this conviction that I was supposed to be an artist from the get-go. Something somewhere was pushing me, telling me to go ahead, this is your path. And I was focused on that even though I didn’t have enough funding.” So you will forgive her if she is very festive and a little extravagant on Press Play: the album is as much a celebration of ten years on the stage as it is a triumph over the years she spent fighting her hardest to get on it.
