On Hakeem, TuneWalker Lets the Instruments Do the Talking

Naming a project after yourself is a risk, especially when your name is still finding its way into wider circulation. But TuneWalker doesn’t approach the decision like a gamble. Hakeem, his two-track instrumental release, feels less introductory than a statement of presence. At just under seven minutes, with no vocals and no excess, it leans entirely on musicianship and intention. TuneWalker, born Mustapha Adeniyi Hakeem, plays the talking drum, saxophone, keyboard, and bass guitar across the project, and that range lands with subtlety in the way the music is constructed, in how naturally each element speaks to the other.

“Tornado” opens with urgency. The percussion is dense and insistent from the first moments, driven by a live, physical energy that separates it from the more polished feel of laptop-built Amapiano. There’s a log-drum bounce beneath it, but the track’s weight comes from the hands-on playing. This is dance music in the most direct sense — music that pulls movement out of the body without negotiation. When the trumpets arrive at the hook, the track lifts, opening up its sound, before the electric guitar steps forward and reshapes the centre of gravity. The guitar doesn’t decorate the rhythm; it becomes the melody, sweeping through the arrangement and giving the track its sense of motion and scale. 

“Hurricane” shifts the atmosphere without losing momentum. The groove is looser, guided by the rattle of the shekere, which introduces a more fluid West African feel. Where “Tornado” pushes forward, “Hurricane” sways. The saxophone enters at the hook and immediately becomes the track’s emotional anchor. The phrasing is restrained, unforced, and memorable in a way that lingers well after the music fades. It’s the kind of melodic line that sits comfortably in the pocket, confident enough to hold attention without demanding it. A DJ could extend that section endlessly and it would still feel grounded. When the track settles back into its groove afterward, it does so with quiet assurance, as if nothing needed to be proven.

The thematic choices feel intentional. Both tracks are named after forces that overwhelm and reshape their surroundings. Both are instrumental. Both are brief enough to invite repetition. There’s a coherence to the project that suggests careful thought, but never overthinking. Even the single covers reflect that clarity: black and white portraits, traditional attire, the talking drum placed front and centre. No excess styling, no visual distractions. Just the artist and his instrument, aligned with the music itself.

Hakeem doesn’t overstay its welcome, but it doesn’t need to. In seven minutes, TuneWalker establishes a sound rooted in live performance, rhythmic discipline, and melodic restraint. It’s enough to register, and enough to make you listen more closely the next time his name appears.