The Three: June Edition

Cultural happenings that caught my eye this month

Another month, another Three! Thanks for rocking with the newsletter. Read and share. Previous editions here and here.

Why Olamide is a Genius

Olamide has said in interviews before that he’s mostly unconcerned with the international reach of his music, and it shows; you don’t see him doing international collaborations to introduce himself to new audiences. None of that “Sounds from the Other Side” thing for him; Olamide knows and has always known who he is and only cares to make music for his primary audience. Also unlike people like Davido and Wizkid, Olamide is unapologetic about his “street” appeal, even though his music is enjoyed by pretty much everyone, whatever their pocket size. This frees him from having to apply himself in contexts that his approach to music simply would not fit. While Wizkid and Davido in their most recent offerings often bend r’n’b to their will, Olamide has no such need. Olamide will do just what Olamide wants to do, and that means resisting the pressure to do one thing or the other (rap or singing in this case); in fact, some of his most memorable songs see him doing both.

And why should he aim for global domination? For all its global appeal, American hip-hop does not kowtow to its global or even its increasingly white audience. They still use the N-word with relish, they still reference slang local to where the artist is from, and it is still very much predominantly black. Sure, Nigerian music is getting more international flowers and our artists are now winning Grammys, but it got international plaudits first by being its unvarnished self. Why then should Olamide bend himself into unnecessary shapes?

The freedom he has carved out also expresses itself in his prolific output. Between 2011 and 2016, Olamide released an album every single year. These were not small records, either; the Headies Awards-winning Streets OT had 22 tracks and Eyan Mayweather had 21 songs with no features, His other Headies Award-winning album released during this period Baddest Guy Ever Liveth is one of his most successful, with such massive hits as “Durosoke” and “Turn Up” that got near-constant airplay that year. These records bent genres and were pretty much whatever Olamide wanted them to be. Of course, quality always trumps quantity, so being prolific in itself does not always mean as much as people think it does. When you are as prolific as Olamide and you run your own label so there is no one with oversight over what you put out, there are bound to be as many misses as there are hits. I won’t catalog the misses here, but let’s just say the man is not perfect. But perfection, I’d argue, is not where his genius lies.

Because his eyes are focused on Nigeria and he’s so good at figuring out what the audience wants, Olamide is a great bell-weather for where Nigerian pop music was going. His collaborations with Phyno changed the game for rappers in indigenous languages. Most recently, ‘Science student’ is one of the first wave of songs that nudged in the big amapiano wave we’re currently riding on. Besides giving us hit after hit, his adeptness at navigating the waters of Nigerian pop also means that there’s not many people better to help new artists trying to break through to figure it out (Don Jazzy being top here). Looking at the diversity of artists he has paved the way for, from Fireboy to Lil Kesh to Adekunle Gold, Olamide’s YBNL label is right up there in terms of being a great incubator for upcoming acts. I’m not a fan of his policy to insist that people move on after two albums, but it is still a huge compliment to him that he is willing to set people on a path that does not leave them entirely reliant on him. 

Olamide has shown over that he can create a vision for his own success. And maybe yours too.

A Note on Online Mental Health Conversations

I’ve been watching the fallout and commentary on Naomi Osaka’s leaving the French Open with some interest, because I don’t believe we have ever had an athlete or a popular figure cite mental health as a reason for pulling out of a competition. A lot of the response to Osaka’s statement was based on her citing “mental health”, and the validity of mental health as a reason for opting out of one’s obligations.

More than ever, there are more and more people online discussing their experiences with depression and anxiety. Even in countries like Nigeria where everybody invests in the facade of being wealthier and happier than we are, religious institutions have historically been those spaces where that helped create community where we can be our more earnest selves. It is where we are honest about our fears, our hopes, what is missing in our lives, whether it is money, a spouse, or a child. The shared values in more “closed” spaces have allowed for the vulnerability we see in them. Our increasing secularity coupled with our desire to connect have bolstered the openness of our online spaces. The spaces in which people are choosing to be vulnerable have also become more and more open, and this link between vulnerability and identity persists even in these new secular and digital communities we have built.

Along with social media has come a heightened scrutiny at everything, including the self. We are more aware of others’ achievements than ever, while living in a time that is probably more individualized than ever, certainly in wealthier countries like the United States but increasingly also in places like Nigeria as well. The Yoruba proverb “Ẹni tó láṣọ tí ò léèyàn, ìhòhò ló wà” (a person with clothes but no people is naked) fits here, and it is possible that the nature of our lives has made people more lonely, more insecure, and more vulnerable than we have ever been.

The growth in use of mental health terms to describe emotions and experiences may just be a sign of a people grasping for language that describes these relatively new ways in which we now have to move through the world. It may be jarring for many people in their 30s who did not grow up with social media, and this kind of self-effacing engagement comes more naturally to younger folks than it might to people who are older, many of whom have likely had to grow into it.

As we never know what it is like in anyone’s shoes, nobody has any right to say if someone’s mental health anxieties are “real” or not. I also do not think one need be clinically diagnosed with a mental health condition to be wary of taking care of oneself in that way. Our notions of resilience and strength should expand to accommodate being able to voice when things are not going well and when to fight for oneself. We cannot be so beholden to the cult of resilience that someone trying to name what ails them or trying to create a better environment for oneself can ever be seen as a weakness. Advocating for oneself does not mean that one stops living; much like Osaka, a lot of people who voice challenges also live through these challenges. The attempt and even failure to achieve that goal of making things better is also not an indictment of a person.

That said, mental health terms are often misapplied when used in everyday language. On Twitter especially, but on all social media generally, I’ve seen people use “gaslighting" when the word they’re really looking for is “disagreement”, or using “trauma” to describe every unpleasant experience. I even once saw someone refer to talk of someone not liking their favorite singer as “triggering”. In these cases, it is always useful to remind people that words do mean things.

I also see conversations about how with the misuse of these terms comes manipulating others into giving undeserved sympathy. This is a fear I find much less valid. Mostly, manipulators who use mental health as just one way to change the subject away from their mess-ups are pretty easy to identify and are mostly not given an ‘out’ (not the same thing, but Kevin Spacey coming out as gay when faced with his multiple sexual assault accusations springs to mind). Also, giving sympathy to someone even if we find out later that the person mischaracterized their condition does not reflect badly on us for being kind. A self-misdiagnosis of one’s own mental health does not necessarily have any impact beyond the person doing the misdiagnosing. It is no way similar to the harm caused by actual harmful speech, such as that which often happens in ethnic or religious-driven spaces where language is routinely weaponized against others.

There is still immense stigma associated with having mental health challenges offline, and it is still an incredibly brave thing to discuss publicly. We need more people being able to talk freely about their challenges, not less.

Related: More on Naomi Osaka and on Mental Health

Now is a good time to revisit the great conversation I had a few months ago with Hauwa Ojeifo on mental health and young people in Nigeria.

I’m sympathetic to Osaka on the issue of her withdrawal from the French Open, but I also know that institutions generally are invested in a model that ensures their own relevance and control. They very likely were wary of setting the precedent of wealthy players simply paying to avoid certain obligations. Along with the deal of signing on to a tournament is signing on for mandatory press conferences, and I like that there’s now a conversation about the importance or lack thereof of these media engagements. I enjoyed The UK Guardian’s Jonathan Liew’s reflections on the relevance of press conferences from the POV of a journalist. I hope Osaka takes the time she needs, and eventually gets as confident as Venus Williams in the way she approaches media engagements.

Two Things I’ve Watched Lately

‘Master of None’ Returns

This season of ‘Master of None’ was unexpectedly tender. It follows successful novelist Denise (played by Lena Waithe) and her partner Alicia (Naomi Ackie) as their lives wind towards and away from each other in beautiful ways. I am sure we owe the focus of the show not being on Aziz Ansari’s character to the surfacing of a young woman’s account of his sexual misconduct at the height of the #MeToo moment four years ago, but the shift in focus did not take away from the season at all. The season built on the Emmy-winning Thanksgiving episode, and is in line with the series occasional strays away from its main storyline and lead character.

Much like previous seasons of the show, this season is technically so good; from the beautiful cinematography to the dialogue and the way it ruminates over such topics as love, ambition, and the way the choices we make affect the lives of those we care about. I loved the mundanity of the scenes in the first episode, because I don’t think we get to see queer couples do mundane stuff like fold laundry, be goofy or managing a home together. Aziz Ansari and Alan Yang were very deep in their arthouse bag as usual, as was evident from the sparseness and emotional power of many of the scenes, and some of the really economical ways they told us things without telling us -- like how we got Denise eating a sandwich in a car set to moody ass opera music then her getting in the house to say she has already eaten to show us just how much things deteriorated between the couple after the miscarriage. That particular scene went on a tad longer than it needed to, but it speaks to the way the show tries to not “tell” everything.

The scene where Alicia gets Denise to sign the divorce papers is one of those examples for me of how the show has such great attention to detail (a grainy as hell photo from viewing it on my laptop below). Here, we see Denise’s flannel blending with the curtain and pillows as she slouches against her chair. We see Alicia, a stark contrast in her purple suit, with her hair pulled back, and her powerful body language. Alicia is visually no longer part of that house. Until this scene, we had seen her defer to Denise, appeal to Denise, try to get Denise to do things for her. This was the first time we saw her toe-to-toe with her, and undaunted. This is the energy Alicia takes into the remainder of the season as she does the absolutely insane thing of going through gruelling IVF by herself, with no support system around her. 

I would have liked an explanation for why Alicia had no friends (did she move from the UK to be with Denise?), and why her mother is the lone voice -- literally -- we hear her confide in. I’d have also liked more connection to previous seasons, and found the final episode a bit jarring. Still, there were so much that was well done, like the touching kindness of the nurse during the IVF scans, or the focus of the camera on Alicia as she listens to the doctor, overwhelmed as she learns firsthand how difficult being trying to get IVF support can be when single and/or queer.

Naomi Ackie rose to the occasion in these powerful episodes in her portrayal of Alicia. She played both self-assured and vulnerable with equal conviction. In that first hospital visit, the camera was on her as the doctor spoke about the cost — both financial and otherwise — of the IVF journey she was embarking on. The scene in e3 where she finds out about the viability of her eggs from her first round of IVF was a punch in the stomach even though I kinda figured it was coming. We don’t learn how much time has passed, but when Denise and Alicia’s character meet again and they are both in separate relationships, Ackie’s portrayal of a woman more quietly confident in herself than we saw in the earlier episodes is subtle but brilliant.

But here’s the thing. You guys know those cake trends from earlier in the pandemic where someone has a plate of rice and chicken then they cut into it and -- horror of horrors -- it’s a cake? That’s kinda like what this season was. The season was great, but I honestly was not expecting a super emotional rollercoaster with not a lot of humor in it. I expected thoughtfulness, but also playfulness alongside arthouse cinema experimentation, much like other seasons of the show I’ve come to love. Don’t get me wrong, I love cake. Love it. I just… I thought I was getting rice. 

In spite of feeling a little sucker-punched by the emotional power of the season, I very much appreciated how beautiful so much of the season was. Ansari and Yang now have to give us another season, this time focusing on Dev (Ansari’s character) and telling us how his character hopefully climbs his way back up.

‘High on the Hog’ was masterful 

I’m a sucker for food-related documentaries and stories. From Michael Pollan’s series Cooked to Samin Nosrat’s Salt Fat Acid and Heat, I’d watch them the second they come out. Of course I watched ‘High on the Hog’ the day it was released, and I was struck by the beauty of its storytelling and the sensitivity and curiosity with which the show’s host Stephen Satterfield approached the places he traveled to. The story of gumbo in the first episode and its links to the variations of okra soup eaten across West Africa is a beautiful story, almost beautiful enough to make me give it a second chance (Haven’t attempted okra soup since my adolescence). I loved learning about black people’s many contribution to American food and how it confounds so much we think we know, especially in the challenging of our notions of high- and low-brow cuisine, on the role of black people in starting catering as a businesses. 

Seeing the way Yoruba dishes in Benin Republic were cooked made me wonder about variations in the cuisine unique to specific ethnic groups further along the West African coast. What would that dish look like among Agoyin Yorubas, and what prompted those variations? What did we borrow and why? I also really enjoyed seeing what new, young cooks in Benin were doing to remix traditional preparations. It brought to mind Ozoz Sokoh’s work with Kitchen Butterfly, and the emerging crop of new Nigerian cooks reimagining our local dishes. Freedom to play is just as important as respecting older ways of doing things, because something is not truly yours if you don’t feel confident in your ownership enough to mess with it. In this series, the food we eat was not set on an altar behind a glass, but was experienced, shared, and given such vibrant life. I dig that.

Until next time.