Taves Is Chasing Timelessness, Not Trends

The first ten seconds of “Uche Jumbo” do something most new Nigerian records avoid. Before Taves’ latest single settles into itself, it briefly reminds you of another song entirely. Then it pulls away, becoming unmistakably its own. It's an unusual way to begin a record, but sitting with Taves, the choice makes sense. He’s less interested in chasing novelty than in making music people return to years later.

“I feel like music that lasts a long time is my personal goal,” he says. “I’m not really looking for what’s going to trend right there and then. If it’s good and it trends, that’s great, but I put so much of myself into my music.”

The instinct comes from the way he listens. “I’m a huge fan of the artists I listen to. I know what sticks with me years later. Most of the time, it’s because I can tell that person poured their whole self into the music. I want people who listen to my music to have that same feeling.” One artist, in particular, has stayed with him. “I’ve been listening to Asa since I was maybe eight or ten years old. Even today, I can play those songs and they feel exactly the same as when I heard them for the first time.”

Ironically, Taves' most considered songs began almost by accident. “I was just bored at home,” he laughs. It was close to midnight when he decided to head to producer OG Sterling’s studio. His regular collaborator, Arieenati, wasn’t around, so they spent the night making music together. One of the records they came away with was “Uche Jumbo.”

The song’s defining opening arrived later. “After we’d made the first demo, Fadil suggested adding the sample because it reminded him of Don’t Dull,” Taves says. Rather than borrowing from the past, the idea was to pay homage to a record that had left an impression on him. “When I first heard ‘Don’t Dull,’ the intro was the thing that stood out most. The moment you hear it, you instantly know what’s coming. I wanted that same feeling with ‘Uche Jumbo’, something people recognise before a single lyric.”

Even the outro followed the same thinking. “We recorded that ourselves. I wanted to take all the elements from that song that I loved and put them into something new that I also loved.” That approach, understanding why certain records endure instead of simply recreating them, runs through almost everything he says. It also informs the way he thinks about the industry.

With music arriving faster than ever, artists are under constant pressure to release more, post more and keep pace with an audience whose attention shifts by the day. Taves isn’t dismissive of that reality, but he refuses to let it dictate why he makes music. “I don’t think you have to like everything,” he says. “Music is very subjective. I could never take away from another person’s hard work just because it doesn’t connect with me.” What matters more to him is the intent behind making music. “I love that more people are making music because it’s something they love. But I always hope they’re making it from a place of real passion.”

For him, making music has never felt optional. “I couldn’t do anything else. If I wasn’t making music, I don’t think I’d feel right with myself.” Like any career, it has its frustrations. “There are parts of it I love. There are parts I don’t love. But every relationship has that. Nothing is perfect.” Even so, he never imagines doing anything else. “If you have that kind of passion,” he says, “it reflects in your music. It’s almost a spiritual thing.”

That conviction becomes harder to protect as African artists find themselves balancing local identity with global ambition. Success increasingly comes with the expectation that music should travel easily across borders, but Taves is more interested in staying connected to the instincts that brought him here in the first place. “You know where you started from,” he says. “You know what all of this means to you.”

Growth itself for Taves, has never been a problem, he insists. “Growing is a very important part of being a person. It’s never a bad thing to change.” The question is who the change belongs to. “If global fame is what you want, and people are telling you there’s just one thing you need to change to get there, are you willing to give that thing up?”

“The reason people love your music isn’t because you’re doing something they’ve already seen. It’s because they feel something they aren’t getting anywhere else.” Change is inevitable. Losing the thing that made the work yours isn’t.

Every generation inherits a different version of Nigerian music. For Taves, the biggest shift isn’t sonic, it’s emotional. “When I was younger, Afrobeats was filled with artists singing mostly about love,” he says. “There was always something deeper inside those songs.” He’s not asking anyone to recreate the past. Music evolves, and he expects it to. “I know things are going to change”...“It’s like everybody’s trying to be the hard guy,” he laughs. “And that’s fine too, I like some of those songs.”

He points to artists like Fola and Shoday as examples of musicians keeping music's past vulnerability alive. “I miss when the music wasn’t as aggressive.” The same instinct sculpts how he thinks about consistency. In an industry where artists are expected to stay visible at all times, disappearing can feel like a risk. Taves believes absence only works after you’ve earned it. “Absence is only powerful when you’ve done the work initially,” he says. “You’ve got to make your mark.”

For newer artists, however, Taves feels the opposite is true. “The consistency in those early stages is very, very important.” What he doesn’t understand in this new wave of music-making is letting algorithms decide whether a song deserves to exist. “I don’t really get that,” he says of artists shelving music because a teaser didn’t perform online. “I made this song because I love it so much that I feel like people need to hear it.”

For him, the decision to release a record is made long before social media enters the conversation. “My music is therapy for myself.” Most of his songs come from lived experience. He isn’t expecting listeners to share the exact stories, only to recognise something of themselves inside them. “I think everybody has shared experiences to some extent.” That’s why he believes honesty matters more than optimisation. “If you’re making a song because you think it’s going to go crazy on TikTok or Instagram…” He pauses. “I don’t think that’s what music is really about. It’s very spiritual.” “You could drop a song today and it does nothing,” he says. “Five years later, ten years later, it becomes one of the biggest songs in the country because people rediscovered it.”

His approach to creating music is slower than many of his peers, but deliberately so. Unlike artists who record constantly, Taves only steps into the studio when he feels he has something worth saying. “My process is different,” he says. “I don’t record frequently. I only record when I feel like I actually have something to say.” That isn’t about perfectionism as much as preservation. He’d rather wait for an idea than manufacture one. Creating, he explains, demands more of him than people realise. “When I leave the studio, I feel mentally drained,” he says with a laugh. “Like I’ve been working at a construction site all day.”

“I want songs that I love. When I release them, I want people to know they’re genuine.” He draws a distinction between popularity and taste. “A lot of people feel like they have great taste just because they love what’s popular. If something stops being popular tomorrow, are you still going to love it?” For him, taste takes time to develop. So does the discipline to trust it.

As audiences become more involved in shaping releases, artists face another question: who should lead whom? “I’ve actually thought about this,” he says. “There was a time when music and art shaped pop culture. Now it almost feels like it’s the other way around.” He doesn’t see that shift as entirely negative, but he believes artists still owe listeners one thing. “I think artists owe people the opportunity to experience something authentic.” He recognises that this might sometimes be contrary to what fans expect. “I don’t owe people exactly what they think they want from me. They’re going to get whatever they get.” The responsibility, as he sees it, is to remain honest. “I have to be the most authentic version of myself every single time I make music.” Artists like Mavo stand out to him for exactly that reason. “They came with their own thing.”

Authenticity, however, doesn’t require complete access. As fans grow more invested in the people behind the music, Taves believes there’s still a line between sharing yourself and surrendering yourself. “It’s a very slippery slope,” he says. “If people love you more and more, they naturally want to know more about you.” The internet has made that curiosity feel limitless, but he has no interest in living entirely in public.

Wrapping up his conversation with New Wave, Taves laughs at a question regarding his opinion as to anything he has changed his mind about recently. He pauses and notes to readers, “I used to hate recording camps.” For years, he preferred making music with the same close circle. Lately, he’s become more open to collaboration. “I actually had a really good time.”

To end our conversation, Taves reflects on what he hopes someone hearing his music for the first time would instantly understand about him. “I’m just a normal guy,” he says. The only difference, he explains, is that he’s learned to stay connected to whatever his creativity comes from. “I’m tapped into wherever my creativity comes from. Apart from that, I’m just like everybody else.”

Taves' new EP, Popstar was released July 22.