Seyi Vibez, Smallgod, Omah Lay, Chella and More on New Music Friday

As the weekend beckons, Africa’s sonic landscape pulses with fresh energy on this New Music Friday, where Afrobeats’ unyielding rhythm meets bold experimentation and raw introspection. From Seyi Vibez’s triumphant return to the Fuji-infused streets to Omah Lay’s sultry tease of temptations untold, today’s drops weave a tapestry of resilience, desire, and unapologetic swagger. These releases are anthems for the hustlers, the lovers, and the dreamers pushing boundaries under the November sky, reminding us why the continent’s sound continues to conquer global airwaves.

Seyi Vibez — Fuji Moto (Album)

On first listen, ‘Fuji Moto‘ races in like a high-octane rally through Lagos’ restless veins—Seyi Vibez taking back the street-pop crown with a 14-track odyssey steeped in Yoruba Fuji tradition but dressed in Afrobeats’ modern shimmer. The opener, “Fuji Moto”, sets the project ablaze with its percussive frenzy and meditative bars on the grind, laying the groundwork for a narrative that peaks on “Pressure”, where talking drums spar with trap snares and Vibez’s hunger bleeds through every syllable.

“Ama” bursts open with celebratory buoyancy—pure road-trip singalong energy—while “Universe” sees him slip into vulnerability, his voice cracking over stripped-back production that lets the feeling breathe. Fuji Moto is ambitious without being indulgent, the clearest signpost of Seyi’s evolution from the Children of Africa fragments into a full-bodied global statement.

The guest list is stacked without being noisy: French Montana on “Pressure”, Trippie Redd on “UP”, NLE Choppa on “MACHO”, and Olamide anchoring the spiritual, street-shimmering “FUJI PARTY”. Each collaboration extends Seyi’s world without diluting its grit. The album’s sonic thread—lush, dusty, spiritual, unafraid—feels like a genre in bloom.

With ‘Fuji Moto‘, Seyi Vibez doesn’t just revisit Fuji’s sacred roots; he repackages them for a generation hungry for something deeper than trends. It’s a bold, culture-forward album that reminds you where he’s coming from—and just how global he intends to go.

Omah Lay — “Waist”

Omah Lay’s “Waist” slinks in like a late-night whisper, following a brief hiatus riddled with change in management, releases and social media rants, with a two-minute Afro-fusion gem that’s all velvet vocals and minimalist menace, teasing the chaos of desire with the precision of a heartbeat. From the jump, that repetitive chorus—”Na 2 people something she carry for waist waist”—hooks you with its playful pidgin confession, blending humour and heat as Omah Lay admits how a lover’s curves unravel his resolve, backed by Tempoe’s layered percussion that simmers rather than boils. It’s seductive in its brevity, the ethereal harmonies and velvety delivery evoking a dimly lit club where temptation reigns supreme; no overproduced bombast here, just infectious melody that lingers like perfume, priming us perfectly for his upcoming ‘Clarity of Mind’ album. On first listen, it’s a masterclass in less-is-more—craving-worthy, chaotic, and utterly Omah Lay.

Ruger — “Muhammad Ali (Can’t Relate)”

Ruger’s “Muhammad Ali (Can’t Relate)” punches through the speakers like a title-fight uppercut, a dancehall-drenched brag-fest that crowns the Blownboy as Afrobeats’ undisputed champ in under three minutes. Blaise Beatz’s lively rhythms—greasy hi-hats and stomping bass—propel Ruger’s gravelly flow as he likens his nonstop wins to Ali’s rope-a-dope mastery, spitting lines like “Money coming nonstop; may nothing block where my money comes from” with infectious bravado that turns the track into a communal chant. The hook’s repetitive “You can’t relate to this” begs for crowd participation, its energy electric and unbothered, floating above haters while celebrating grit-fuelled elevation. Ruger’s ‘Muhammad Ali (Can’t Relate)’ is pure adrenaline—a confidence-soaked reminder of Ruger’s lane-carving prowess, leaving a listener shadowboxing the air and hitting repeat for that victorious high. Even as he steps away briefly from his “BlownBoy Ru” universe, the finesse and fire stay intact.

TAR1Q — “Free/Why”

TAR1Q’s double-drop “Free/Why” emerges as a soulful diptych of liberation and longing, the Nigerian crooner’s R&B-tinged Afrobeats unpacking emotional shackles with a maturity that belies his rising-star status. “Free” opens with airy synths and a confessional plea for release from toxic ties, TAR1Q’s falsetto gliding over sparse beats that build into a cathartic chorus smothered by a pacy beat reminiscent of mara street music, catapulting a listener into a rave without Tar1q’s introspective lyrics losing their grip on a listener, evoking a late-night bonfire-themed party where vulnerability feels like victory. Flipping to “Why”, the tempo dips into brooding Afro R&B introspection, questioning love’s betrayals with pidgin-laced bars that hit like quiet storms, the production’s subtle bass pulses mirroring the ache. On initial play, it’s TAR1Q at his most unguarded, blending Son of the Moon-era polish with rawer edges; these aren’t just singles—they’re therapy sessions disguised as earworms, urging replays for their layered depth and hopeful undercurrent.

Chella — Chella Chant

“Chella Chant” arrives like an empowerment mantra on the move—a vibrant, rhythm-heavy burst of self-belief from one of West Africa’s emerging voices. Chella’s vocals land like spoken word doused in melody, weaving themes of loyalty, self-trust, and resilience into a chant-like hook that sticks to the ribs.

The production—courtesy of Gsticksz and Chella—leans into celebratory percussion and festive uplift, turning the track into a dance-floor moment of defiance. As the lead single for his upcoming EP of the same title, “Chella Chant” sets the stage for an artist ready to turn personal affirmation into sonic warfare.

Smallgod, Headie One & Kweku Smoke — Hustle

Smallgod’s “Hustle” (feat. Headie One & Kweku Smoke) is a gritty cross-continental flex, bridging Ghanaian drill’s raw edge with UK rap’s deadpan punch in a booming collab that glorifies the grind like a late-night boardroom cypher. The beat—uncluttered piano riffs over greasy hi-hats and seismic bass—provides the perfect canvas for Headie One’s star-powered verse, name-dropping LV bags and street-to-boardroom flips with effortless menace, while Kweku Smoke counters with Kumasi-forged flows that add fiery local flavour, all tied by Smallgod’s seamless curation. Themes of entrepreneurial hustle and unbreakable loyalty pulse through every bar, the track’s momentum building to a hook that’s equal parts motivational mantra and menace. On debut spin, it’s a high-wire act of fusion that pays off spectacularly—addictive negative space lets the bars breathe, making this a replay staple for anyone chasing that relentless come-up vibe.