The Singles Jukebox

Wednesday begins with a Nigerian artist and imperative name…

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Anjy Ou: This song is a great example of the blending of Western and Nigerian influences in modern afropop. You’ve got a that bright peppy string section in the opening right out of a CRJ track. Before you realize that it only features four notes, it gives way to afropop guitar. And the rhythm section features traditional Yoruba akuba or conga drums in addition to a kick drum and snares. This well-crafted blend of influences makes this song the wedding dancefloor filler I expect it to be.
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Alfred Soto: The rhythm and guitar licks are scrumptious, but this Nigerian performer’s singing is too laidback.
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Katie Gill: Now sing it again but with your outside voice.
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Hannah Jocelyn: Wow, this is pretty. From the string sample that opens the song to the multitracked, echoing vocal effects, “Mama” is a series of gorgeous sounds piled on top of each other, mostly staying on the right side of overcrowded throughout. Daniel’s performance is also worthy of note, that subtle but ear-catching pause before “baby” in the chorus contrasting with the otherwise rapid-fire delivery. Not everything works — that shooting verse, accompanied with the gun sound effect, is groan-worthy and distracts from the beauty of everything else — but for the most part, this is eminently listenable.
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Taylor Alatorre: A charming slice of sweet-tempered devotion, though too self-effacing to be especially memorable. The gunshot sound threatens to upset the all-pervading air of domesticity, but like everything else is soon swept under the galloping bassline and doo-wop chord progression. It’s easiest to enjoy if you pretend it’s actually about his mother.
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Brad Shoup: Was hoping he was singing “I stan for you,” but I guess he’s not. It’s a stirring update of, well… “Stand By Me” for starters, only with a promise to shoot to wound. The real good songs of declaration tend to get high on their own supply, and so it is here.
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Anthony Easton: The density of this is remarkable. The vocals have a lightness, and the message is simple to the point of being cliche, but every element of the production, both traditionally Nigerian and new studio magic, is folded over, doubled down, pushed forward and looped back. There is a tiny bit of room to breathe around 2:50 or so, but the density doesn’t feel claustrophobic. I keep getting excited about what is happening in Lagos, because it sounds like what pop should be, and Kiss Daniel is part of that. 
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