Music journalist and author of ‘The Songs of Jos’, Emmanuel Esomnofu, is interested in writing about creators whose influence extends beyond Lagos: ‘It is a purposeful mission to de-centre the city in Nigerian music discourse, as people seem to think our musical history begins and ends with Lagos. From Enugu to Benin and Port-Harcourt, I have been searching beneath surface level for important stories.’
First Draft is our interview column, featuring authors and other prominent figures on books, reading, and writing.
Our questions are italicized.
What books or kinds of books did you read growing up?
Growing up, we had a big encyclopaedia at home, and I would randomly read through its pages, learning anything my child-mind could comprehend. When I was around 14, in those mid-teen years of adventure, I read a lot of the erotic stories in Hints and other such magazines, courtesy of some friends of my elder sisters, who left them around the shop and didn’t think I’d be interested. Well, I was. I wasn’t titillated by those stories; rather, I was keen on their staging and language, and their somewhat high sensibilities were the perfect model for my readership going forward. I didn’t read a lot of the typical literature my peers did. I vaulted straight into Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Paul Auster, Helon Habila, and Chika Unigwe. I was determined to read seriously, and even before I had a mobile device, I’d download books on my sister’s phone and read them while she slept. By the time I finished secondary school, I was enamoured with poetry and was reading Robert Frost, William Blake, and J. P. Clark, all of those giants. It was a rather long journey, a consistently roving one.
Which African songs immediately takes you back to your childhood?
I remember hearing a lot of P-Square and 2Face earlier on, when I was around five to nine. Those were the years I really took an interest in music. Later, I listened to Asa, Lagbaja and Flavour, who were some of the artistes whose songs were popular that time. I grew up in the mainland of Lagos so no surprises. 9ice was my favourite artiste at some point.
At home, the musical tastes of my siblings and parents informed my listenership. My elder brothers were interested in gothic music and soft rock. Very heavy-sounding and sometimes feathery music; I really liked James Blunt and Enya. My dad always played Congolese rumba and Igbo highlife, and even its more rootsy strain of masquerade music, on Sundays! In contrast, my mother played Christian music—story-laden and optimistic—which I associated with resting after a hard day’s work.
What’s the last thing you read and disagreed with?
It has to be on my X (formerly known as Twitter) feed, LOL! Really, I don’t think there are more influential platforms at the moment. Its importance is undeniable, but so are its toxicity and potential for harmful discourse. One is always finding something to disagree with on X.
My journalistic ethos depends a lot on historical and anthropological sources, and the resulting material requires space. But the prose must read simply; that’s important for me.
What’s the last thing you read that changed your mind about something?
It was Adam Bede, the first book from British writer, George Eliot. Eliot is constantly mentioned as one of those great novelists one had to read and being from the 19th century when there were so many interesting things happening in fiction, she stood out. So, I read the book. Its stellar, lucent prose did a lot of beautiful and brutal things to me. The novel did change my mind about the place of feeling. Essentially, it reasons that if a person feels better emotionally, they will work better. Feeling is a sort of thinking, she wrote.
What is your writing process: edit as you write or draft first, then edit?
I think every writer does a bit of both. For many, they couldn’t possibly see the end of the piece or the argument if the sentence behind them is lacking. When stuck, they feel a nagging need to go back and correct. By doing so, the structure will flow once again. Editing after the piece—especially if one is self-publishing—becomes a thing of discipline or skill level. Some writers get so good that they don’t feel the need to edit after, but surely, I haven’t gotten there, and I wouldn’t advise anyone to get that good. There is always something to edit; there is no flawless artist.
What was your process for writing your essay ‘Ayra Starr’s Transcendental Vision for Afrobeats’?
The process was quite simple, one I’ve consistently used over the years. First, I wrote out the angles I would like to explore and dug into each of them. Then I started writing the piece, researching as I go and soaking myself in the music. This helps one carry the tone of the music in their piece, depending on the overarching angle. Basically, I plot out my angles and then write the story. When I’m writing the story, I figure out the structure on the page.
What inspired this story?
The quality Ayra Starr brings to the Afrobeats scene is quite distinct and almost unprecedented, and she needed to be recognized in such a profile. I was very happy when I was commissioned for it, because I like writing in-depth work. My journalistic ethos depends a lot on historical and anthropological sources, and the resulting material requires space. But the prose must read simply; that’s important for me. Anyone who’s willing enough should be able to read and understand my essays.
Whereas the Ayra Starr profile was more of an eagle-gaze, from up high, depicting career and skill, the 2Face profile aims for detail. It was to keep the focus on the album, and what it did for him going forward, how much it plays a role in his legend.
How did your approach change in writing your essay, ‘Revisiting 2Baba’s Face2face’?
I had written this essay two months before I sent it to The Republic. I wanted to be sure that the arguments presented in the essay were time-proof. A fight against nostalgia and the sentimental. Whereas the Ayra Starr profile was more of an eagle-gaze, from up high, depicting career and skill, the 2Face profile aims for detail. The bone; the sentence. It was to keep the focus on the album, and what it did for him going forward, how much it plays a role in his legend. The profiles had quite different purposes, so the approach was naturally different.
Your essay, ‘The Songs of Jos’, features in our latest print issue, Nigeria Imaginary. What drew you to the creative space in Jos?
This essay was particularly beautiful to piece together because I have always been drawn to the city of Jos through the music of the Choc Boiz and the numerous reports I’ve heard about its beauty and weather. And then some two years before my visit, my elder sister had her NYSC camp there and stayed for the mandatory three weeks.
My interest in its creative space was entirely inspired by Wazani, who was introduced to me by Chiedoziem; I wrote about both in the essay. It was Wazani’s videos, which he always shared on WhatsApp, playing beautiful guitar against a serene natural backdrop, that sparked my interest in the indie scene, their communities, and influences. Anyone who has experienced Jos wouldn’t be surprised by these musical children of Tracy Chapman.
What’s the most interesting reaction/feedback you’ve had about your writing?
I’ve been told that my writing is exuberant, not quite like the usual journalism people have read from around these parts. Perhaps it’s my grounding in fiction and poetry, I think that helps in giving flavour to the language. I’ve also heard that I come across as an authority on most topics I write about, and this might have to do with the depth and detail that I covet in any given story.
What is the most meaningful piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?
Advice is a nuanced field for a writer because no advice can replace the hard-won lessons of just writing and learning as you go. But I guess that’s advice in itself. Well, the film critic, Oris Aigbokhaevbolo, once read an early piece of mine. He suggested that I try to keep the ‘I’ pronoun out of my essays. For some time, I did this, and I discovered that abandoning the personal gave one enough wiggle room to find more interesting perspectives to a story. Nowadays, I use the personal in my essays, but I’ve learnt enough rules to be able to break them comfortably, in a way that serves the art.
I have always been drawn to the city of Jos through the music of the Choc Boiz and the numerous reports I’ve heard about its beauty and weather.
What’s your favourite book (fiction or non-fiction) about music?
Reading the American poet and writer, Hanif Abdurraqib, changed my life. I encountered his book, They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us, just before the pandemic and reading it felt surreal, especially how Abdurraqib wove big cultural events into the shifting tapestry of his own life and ideas. His second book of essays, A Little Devil in America, was also very well-written. While journeying from Awka in Anambra to my hometown of Oba, I shed some tears while reading the essay, ‘Fear: A Crown’. In terms of fiction, Jamal Mahjoub’s The Fugitives is the best novel I’ve read which mirrors the musical experience. I reviewed it some years back and my thoughts about it are pretty much captured there.
If you could interview any artist, living or dead, who would it be and why?
It has to be 2Pac. He was so larger-than-life. There were a lot of stories that went into his life and his art, be it the songs or the movies or the poetry. Walking around with 2Pac for 24 hours would reveal a lot about his mind and the kind of person he was, beyond the fame. I feel like I could look into him and find a part of him no interviewer would have done. Majek Fashek would also have been a good interview subject—he has the mix of musical ability and life experiences which interests me.
Who’s the most interesting musician you have ever met?
Jesse Jagz, definitely. I’ve been a fan for a long time, so it was interesting to finally meet the man last year, an experience I wrote about in ‘The Songs of Jos’. Another interesting musician I’ve shared space with is Stonebwoy, via an interview I conducted on Zoom. The Ghanaian star is very profound and humane, and I love when musicians reflect character beyond their superstar appeal.
What’s the most surprising thing you’ve learned through your work as a music journalist?
The most surprising thing is how much of Nigerian music remains underexplored. Aside from Lagos, there are few scenes where proper archival work has been done, whether in production projects or essays. This is largely because there are few publications capable of paying well for such stories and even fewer that can support more in-depth projects. Our entire cultural landscape, not just music, suffers from lack of contextualization. Where are the projects on visual history or photography? Few people can even mention five great photographers from Nigeria; not many know that Nigerian music has enjoyed musical success prior to now, when foreign labels and international platforms wanted our biggest stars.
What’s your most played song by a Nigerian artiste this year?
It has to be between Ayo Maff’s ‘7 DAYS’ and Victony’s ‘Pier 46’. The latter is a more recent release and because I profiled the artiste, I have a deep sense of his ambitions on his latest album, Stubborn. Maff’s record resonates with me because songs about street reality have the strain of contemporary Nigerian existence in a way no other subculture is doing. The tone and language are in sync with the stories.
Our entire cultural landscape, not just music, suffers from lack of contextualization. Where are the projects on visual history or photography? Few people can even mention five great photographers from Nigeria.
Who are the Nigerian musicians you’re most excited about today (and why?)
I’m very excited about the music of Anyafulgo and Somto, both from the Southeastern scene. They have both collaborated on a song titled ‘Nwoke’, but besides that, their music is distinct—the former is a trado-influenced rapper, the other a soulful singer. I love singers a lot, so artistes like Dwin, The Stoic, Qing Madi, and Kemena are very close to my heart. Oh, and Anendlessocean too! Nigeria has so many talented musicians, for which I’m grateful; it keeps the job interesting.
What book(s) have you always wanted to read but haven’t gotten around yet?
My to-read is quite stacked, story of every writer. But I’ve been meaning to read Damon Galgut’s Booker-winning novel, The Promise. I’ve read The Good Doctor and The Beautiful Screaming of Pigs from the South African author and he is a great stylist. Jhumpa Lahiri’s Interpreter of Maladies and Maaza Mengiste’s The Shadow King, too—I’ve read bits of both women’s writing but haven’t been able to commit to a full book yet, but hopefully soon. And for classics, it’s quite the shame I haven’t read Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment or Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude, though I read Love in a Time of Cholera last year and it was one of its memorable parts.
Imagine you’re starting a book club. Which three writers would you invite (and why)?
Teju Cole, Emmanuel Iduma and Amitava Kumar. Their interests are similar (art, current affairs, relationships), but each has a distinct way of seeing that would inspire great conversations. Maybe I would like Haruki Murakami to breeze in and out of the club every now and then. He’d bring something different to the discourse.
What’s the best book you’ve read so far this year?
I’ve read some great books but the ones that really stood out have been Jonathan Haynes’ seminal study of Nigerian film, Nollywood: The Creation of Nigerian Film Genres. It is an engrossing, illuminating book that benefits from Haynes’ longtime interaction with the scene. T.S. Eliot’s The Sacred Wood was also good, an early year read that tends to come up in the mind still.
What is your favourite topic to write or read about these days?
I have been writing about creators whose influence extends beyond Lagos. It is a purposeful mission to de-centre the city in Nigerian music discourse, as people seem to think our musical history begins and ends with Lagos. From Enugu to Benin and Port-Harcourt, I have been searching beneath surface level for important stories, often from the perspective of influential artists in these parts. I recently completed a 3,000-word essay on an obscure photographer from Ijawland and have written two profiles on great southern musicians who haven’t been given their proper due. In some way, my reading has been influenced by these motivations too.
Walking around with 2Pac for 24 hours would reveal a lot about his mind and the kind of person he was, beyond the fame. I feel like I could look into him and find a part of him no interviewer would have done.
What are you currently working on?
I am working on a personal essay about my time in university, the weight of expected stories and how I had to seek my own stories. It is a memoiristic piece, part photojournalism and part literary appreciation. There is also a larger book project. Agents reading this should reach out, I might have the next great nonfiction project in the works.
Question from Oyindamola Depo-Oyedokun: What book or story do you wish you had beaten its writer to writing because you resonated so deeply with it?
I barely read a book and think, ‘I should have written that’ because I know what it takes to write a book. Without that personal fire burning in the writer, it is hard to properly tell what could have been. However, there is an article by Vincent Desmond on why Nigerians love Celine Dion so much—I love Dion, and the piece was so well reported. I wish I’d done that first. It’s such controlled and emotive writing.
Bonus: Please suggest a question for a future author’s First Draft
Does writing fulfil you? If given the chance to start all over, would you still be a writer?
Who do you think we should interview next?
Chimezie Chika⎈
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