Seyi Vibez’ “Fuji Moto” Is Hamstrung By A Glaring Aversion to Risk

There’s a gnawing sense of unease that comes with listening to Seyi Vibez’ latest album Fuji Moto. The album’s title and branding suggest a modern interpretation, if reinvention, of Fuji, a genre whose influence on contemporary Nigerian Pop cannot be overstated but which has also been eluded by the burst of new life that genres like Highlife have received in recent years. By the time you navigate through the 14-track album, regardless of your primary thoughts on the project, you’ll be disappointed at the album’s failure to deliver the Fuji renaissance it seemingly promises. In this regard, Fuji Moto shares kinship with Adekunle Gold’s Fuji, whose sonic brilliance and air-tight songwriting are undercut by the project’s duplicity: the Fuji revolution it promises never arrives. What we’re left with—in the case of both projects—is a tranche of mostly Afropop tracks disguised as Fuji records. 

Since 2024, when the Nigerian music industry, in an uncommon display of unanimity, seemingly decided to move past Amapiano, in search of fresher muses for the next iteration of Afrobeats, Fuji, alongside Hausa Pop, has increasingly appeared as a worthy successor. In his third studio album Lungu Boy, released in 2024, Asake flirts with Fuji—most prominently on tracks like Fuji Vibe and Uhh Yeahh. The result is an album animated by the effervescent energy that most accurately defines the Fuji genre. In Wizkid’s Morayo, which alternates between party thumping hits and sultry ballads, he taps the ebullient and gorgeously frenetic pulse of Fuji in Kese. The announcement of Adekunle Gold’s Fuji album earlier this year, roused hope that the flirtations and teasers of 2024 would coalesce into something concrete for the genre—hope that many would say was dashed. As such, Seyi Vibez Fuji Moto, from the very beginning, came freighted with expectations. 

In addition to the pressure of delivering a much-anticipated Fuji renaissance, Fuji Moto was feverishly anticipated because it represents Seyi Vibez’s first project since he parted ways with Damilola “Dapper” Akinwunmi, founder and principal of Dapper Music. In September last year, Seyi Vibez parted ways with Dapper Music, the record label under whose aegis he had grown from provincial acclaim to the zenith of Afropop in a few years. Shallipopi, Zerry DL, Muyeez, and several others also parted ways with the record label in that period, citing predatory business practices as the reason for their split. But while the others openly and forcefully criticized Dapper Music, suffusing the internet with salacious tell-alls, Seyi Vibez remained silent. 

His split with Dapper Music also precipitated a major career shift for the 25-year-old maverick: his tendency for sporadic, frequent releases gave way to a quiet that almost seemed to heckle the rest of the industry (for context, in 2023 he released two albums in a month). In February this year, breaking his self-imposed quiet, he released a 4-track EP titled Children of Africa. In the intervening months, he followed with a handful of singles—all of which, including the EP Children of Africa, feature in Fuji Moto. 

A handful of singles released in the lead-up to an album would hardly qualify as a rollout strategy for anyone else, but for Seyi Vibez who has been known to release entire projects without warning, this signalled a more calculated approach. Some would call it caution. But was this cautious approach simply an exercise of his newfound independence or was he somewhat apprehensive about trudging ahead without Dapper’s trusty presence to guide him?

In Tortoise Mambo, which opens the project, he addresses the whispers that had trailed the release of Fuji Moto. We hear drums that recall the score of a war film collide beautifully with morose melodies from a church organ. Against this ecclesiastical backdrop, Seyi Vibez, segues into a long-winded boastful rant about his versatility. “Mo le korin bi Saheed Osupa/ Mo le korin bi Ed Sheeran/ Mo le korin bi Bob Marley/ Mo le korin bi anything.” This almost feels obscene given the somber atmosphere of the production. But it also has the effect of upping the stakes as one journeys into the album’s universe. 

There’s a clarity to the arc the project follows: Seyi Vibez alternates between reflective ballads and upbeat numbers. It’s at this point a fixture in his projects. And in Fuji Moto, he pulls this off with a kind of fluidity that only comes with experience. Songs like Ama, Pressure, Up, and Happy Song function as reprieves from the frenetic atmosphere of songs like Macho, Fuji Party, and Shaolin. Despite the sonic consonance the album presents, however, the project’s lack of a thematic anchor severely undermines it. The project’s eclectic production provides a wide canvas for Seyi Vibez to explore and experiment. As such, considering the opportunities he squandered will leave you seething. 

Imagine the possibilities if he had chosen to plumb the subject of how his increasing success appears to be driving a wedge between him and his fans—just like how in Vibe Till Thy Kingdom Come he pulls apart his hardscrabble come-up days and the vitriol he receives on social media. “Patapata, won a tun bu mi/ Twitter, Instagram, dem go talk,” he sings in Kingdom. By contrast, Fuji Moto offers few such moments. What we’re instead treated to are cookie-cutter romantic lyrics. Even in the moments when he attempts to affect profundity, he’s undercut by his own inability to stay on theme. 

Consider Up, featuring Trippie Redd. The chorus, delivered by a disembodied female voice, strikes an inspirational note: “You gotta keep your head up, there’s going to be better days/ When it gets dark you know I’ll light the way.” The beat opens up for Seyi Vibez’ verse and he sullies the whole thing with incongruous didacticism. “Say no to drugs and no smoking/ That’s for my sake and your health care,” he sings. If you manage to get past the awkward phrasing and the hypocrisy, given that the singer is a known smoker, you’d still have to grapple with how these lines connect to the rest of the song. 

The project is also further dampened by the artist’s glaringly diminished appetite for risk, which used to be one of his biggest appeals. Putting aside the cliche themes he explores in Fuji Moto, six of the 14 tracks on the project being pre-released singles is a little egregious. Ironically, much of the pleasure of the pleasures arrives in the moments where he gives himself over to his usual predilection for innovation. Tucked in the middle of the project are three Fuji-inflected tracks—Fuji Party featuring Olamide, Fuji House, Fuji Moto. In these songs, against the backdrop of drums that skitter and rumble with abandon, opalescent melodies that wrap around you, conjuring a deep warmth, and exultant rhythms that bring to mind an owambe, Seyi Vibez looks to be at the height of his powers, surfing the contours of the production with scintillating deftness.