In 2023, by way of his fourth studio album Timeless, Davido set in motion a campaign to reaffirm his place as one of the beacons of the Afropop genre. The campaign proved immensely successful. If doubts about his prowess had started to well up in certain corners, Timeless flattened them in one single motion. The album snagged Grammy nominations, won a passel of awards, and vaulted to the top of many global charts. One song was front and center of this campaign: Unavailable, a fuzzy, festive tune that ropes in skittering drums, portentous synths, warm keys, and playful, earworm lyrics that evoke a night of unfettered pleasure. With a little under 200 million streams on Spotify, top spots across global charts, a Grammy nomination for Best African Music Performance, and multiple certifications across the world, Unavailable earned its place as the most explosive Afropop record of 2023. It’s already firmly established in the Afropop canon. Clinton Ikechukwu—Ragee, to his burgeoning slew of fans—is the mastermind behind the song’s production.
Since the outsized success of Unavailable, Ragee has become one of the most sought-after producers within the Afropop tapestry. With production credits on songs with Ayra Starr, Boj, Young Jonn, King Promise, and Adekunle Gold, his laurels jangle and gleam like the chest of a decorated soldier. His production tag—the words “Initiating Rage Process,” mouthed by a rote, winsome female voice—has become portentous of a hit song. The words creep up, slowly, then taper out like an evanescing cloud of smoke, preparing listeners for a certified festive atmosphere. Almost functioning like the quality seals on certified products; a promise of a certain threshold of quality. His mythos, like his fame, have grown. Yet, he remains an elusive personality. Outside of his Instagram page—a gallery of glamorous photos that function to underscore his celebrity—and whatever information can be cobbled from the smattering of blog posts about him, little is known of his personality.
When he joins me, over Google Meet, he’s framed against the backdrop of a bare white wall, wearing a white vest, the maximalist tattoo on his left arm jostling attention from his face. His dreads and beard are slightly frizzy, contrasting the inch-perfect looks on his Instagram page. When he speaks, his voice is lumbering, sedate. Within mere minutes of speaking, the lethargic air around him dissipates, like the early morning fog fading into the background at the sight of the first streams of morning sunlight. He has a warm air to his personality. He is chatty and insouciant, punctuating sentences with hearty belly laughs. Speaking to him feels a bit like catching up with an old friend. “I don’t even like a dull moment. I don’t like it when I’m at a place and everybody is just looking sober or down.” He says, gesticulating as if to accentuate his point.
Rageee was born in Okokomaiko, a dense, low-income suburb in Lagos whose streets pulse with a peculiar youthful vigor that is bolstered by the area’s status as a key transit point, linking with major destinations like Mile 2, Alaba Market, and Badagry. His formative years were spent in the area and he credits its youthful pulse with playing a part in igniting his passion for music. “You know those street carnivals that they usually do that yearly. Street artists in the area would come to perform and all of that. That got me interested in music.” He started playing drums in church and rapping. By the time he gained admission into Lagos State Polytechnic to study Computer Science, his music sensibilities were considerably honed. Magic Sticks—a contemporary of his with an equally brilliant resume, popular for his spry collaborations with Asake—was a classmate. “Then, Magic Sticks was more like a DJ than a producer producer.”
His first dip into professional music waters came courtesy of a class song. He had just won a rap contest organized by GT Bank. Shortly after, he was tapped for the class song, alongside about 11 other classmates. “After putting me on the song now, I killed their record. Next thing they were telling me was, each and every one of us on that record, are going to pay 1000 naira for the production.” Magic Sticks used to hound him for the money, so he stopped visiting him for a while. One day, while ambling down the halls of his hostel he heard a pulsing beat from one of the rooms and was transfixed. When he entered the room, he met Cassy Beats, an apprentice of Jay Pizzle, the talent behind hits like Skales’ Shake Body and Terry G’s Run Mad. They quickly became friends, and soon after he introduced Magic Sticks to Cassy. “I went to steal the guy’s beats back. I gave it to Magic.”
At the time Ragee was still a rap artist. Magic Sticks, being his friend, would produce for him at no charge. At some point, Magic Sticks became too busy to give him the level of attention he desired. Paying a producer was also too expensive for him, so he started trying his hands at beat-making. He reflects on this time fondly. “Some of my friends would laugh at me that, bro, you no suppose dey do beats, you suppose they sell something. This beat is not nice.” With time he got better, and his sound slowly, but surely blossomed into the confident, forthright style he is famous for today. He simultaneously balanced rapping and producing, only dropping rap after realizing that pursuing a career as a rapper would require enormous capital, which he did not have. This realization came to him after working with artists in the capacity of a producer.
His big break came in 2020, riding the coattails of Bad Boy Timz’ Have Fun. In 2018, he met Bad Boy Timz at a Mainland Block Party. A year after, Bad Boy Timz came over to Ragee’s studio where they recorded the song that would become Have Fun. “We just did a freestyle. He went on live video and everybody was screaming that this is lit. Even Olamide came to the live video.” The song released in 2020 to some acclaim, imbuing his fledgling career with a burst of momentum. After a while his momentum started to fade, listlessness started to creep in. This was the situation in 2022 when Magic Sticks, freshly ascendant from Asake’s blistering vault to prominence, reached out to him concerning potentially contributing to Davido’s album. “He called me that how far, Davido wants to do his album, and he said he gets any beats on ground.” At this point in our conversation, he leans forward in his seat, the way one would to deliver the tastiest portion of a story. “So in my folders, I had lots of beats. Imagine making beats every time, nobody’s requesting your beats. The beats are just there on your laptop. I sent him a couple of beats, and he chose that.” The song came out the following year and changed the trajectory of his career.
Since then he has spun some of the most successful Afropop records in recent times. He produced Commas and Woman Commando, both songs on Ayra Starr’s recently released The Year I Turned 21. He initially created the beat for Commas for someone else, but while the person dithered, Vader an A&R at Mavin reached out to him. “Vader called me that, how far? Send me beats for Ayra. I sent that Commas beat. He was like, this beat is hard as [expletive], she has already even jumped on it.” Woman Commando came about more organically. He played a sample during a studio session. Ayra loved it and prodded him to make a beat around it. The melodies came. The lyrics wafted in. And a fully formed hit song emerged. He’s also responsible for three songs on BOJ’s 12 Summers: Jabo, Monica & Love Garden.
At this point, the conversation segues into lighter themes. Playing football, in person and vicariously through video games, is one of his greatest passions. When I ask him how he would characterize his personality—introvert or extrovert—he responds with “outsidevert,” lancing the taut virtual atmosphere that envelopes us with warm laughter. “But these days, I just like staying in the house now. Because I’m always in the studio listening to loud music and now I’m going to the club again, hearing louder music.”
He tells me of how he earned the reputation of class clown; by pulling off notorious pranks. Like how he made fun of a teacher and got chased around the school, the teacher bolting behind him with two canes in his hand. His personality is magnetic and he wields personal anecdotes with perhaps the same dexterity as his production prowess. “Like, when I’m with somebody, you feel like we’ve known each other for a long time. I know how to connect with people. It’s not just all about making music at the end of the day.” As the conversation winds to a close, I ask him of the goals he has his eyes set on, and what things his fans should expect. “I just put out a single with Logos Olori and Peruzzi, Oshimiri. Maybe put out one more. Then maybe next year I can have a proper project. Probably an EP. But it might be an album. Depends.”
