Teledalase is a blend of enthusiasm and calm excitement when we speak over a Google Meet call. The singer, who’s also a nurse, initially had an emergency to attend to but was eventually able to show up at the scheduled time. She’ll be starting a pre-med program at Columbia University early next year. How does that clash with who she is as an artist? It doesn’t. This is what she wants to do.
For many, 2024’s Anikulapo: Rise of the Spectre original soundtrack was the first time they had heard Teledalase’s voice ever. Tracks like Elédùmarè and Ọdún nba kú earned her a following that has since enlarged with both of her EPs, The ones who didn’t die Pt. 1, released that same year, and The Bad Wife Has no Tongue, in 2025—inspired by her marital experience and partly by a character in Sue Monk Kidd’s The Book of Longing. While many have since come to characterise Teledalase as a folk artist—a sentiment she’s largely opposed to—she’s as multigenre as it gets, straying between R&B (Aabidi), jazzy neo-soul (When the Blue Child Prays), Ìṣẹ̀ṣe-inspired folk (MBARI MBAYO), and everything in-between. Hers is one of the most important emergent voices in indigenous Yoruba music in the past few years.
In conversation with Culture Custodian, Teledalase discusses her 2026 singles, ṢANGO IGI ŃLÁ and ÌGBÀ ẸNI—which earned an honourable mention on our mid-year list—and how she balances making music for a core Nigerian audience despite being based in the USA, #EndARS., the subtrend of Yoruba language genre fusions, preserving and promoting culture, and why she wants the world to unite for a better future. Read on.
What inspired ṢANGO IGI ŃLÁ? Especially as your earlier 2026 single, ÌGBÀ ẸNI, differs thematically.
To be honest, I didn’t plan to release them [both singles] like this. I think I wrote IGBA ENI kind of late or early January of 2026, but I’ve had SANGO for about two years now. And I remember that the chorus for ṢANGO was inspired during the #EndSARS movement because people were protesting but there was still some sense of the pulse of resistance and revolution, even though I was not in the country. From history, I also felt a deep sense of concern and I was hoping that the fight would carry on. Also, over here as well, we were dealing with the Black Lives Matter movement during the COVID season.
So I just felt the despair of my people in the diaspora and back home. And so the timing of the release just makes sense because we also have the rise of anti-immigration sentiments. In different countries, especially from countries that benefited from colonialism, racism, and slavery. And more importantly from my own personal experience. It’s been a really tough year for me: losing a parent and having to take a leave of absence from a school that I really worked really hard to get into. So, it [ṢANGO IGI ŃLÁ] is a summary of all of these things that not only inspired the creation of the music, but also determined the timing of the release.
That explains a lot with regard to the video, but we’ll get to that later. Creating a song like this, from the US, for a primarily Nigerian audience, raises a lot of questions about navigating production, distribution, and marketing. Walk us through that.
It takes a community. So when I started doing this professionally, I would go to a studio here in Delaware, buy beats online, especially on Beat Stars. I would buy rights to some of the beats as much as I could afford. But I also know how to reach out to people. So sometimes I just strike conversations with people on Instagram. Also, my parents as well. When I had to make the soundtrack for Anikulapo: Rise of the Specter, I produced the foundation of the beats, I then reached out to my mom who referred me to the person who played the drums. And so I delegated that task to them and that was how we were able to get actual traditional drums for the soundtrack for the Anikulapo: Rise of the Specter. So I’ve been able to navigate this by collaborating and also delegating to the right people. More importantly, by giving credit and making sure that people get a fair payment for their time, creativity and effort.
Anikulapo exposed your music to a lot of people. What was that leaping in exposure in fame and popularity like for you?
It was both good and bad: From the success and the exposure from the soundtrack, the fan base grew and I also got the deal with Empire. I’ve been able to meet amazing people because of that amazing connection and my music has been able to reach a broader audience. I’ve received multiple messages from people about how Elédùmarè and Oyeku and even Ọdúnbaku have really been an important part of their journey so far. In summary, that’s like the good part of it.
The negative part of it is that the Anikulapo soundtrack is completely different from some of the songs that I had released prior and even the single that I released afterwards. And because of that, I received comments that were about why I didn’t just stick to singing in Yoruba. Because some people didn’t meet me in the phase where I had released Taste of Life or When the Blue Child Prays, they didn’t consider that I was paid to do this [the soundtrack]. I was hired to complete a job and I did it so well, so there was a little bit of conflict there. I had to make the decision as an artist about not remaining in the dimension that people were expecting me to exist in. More exposure but then more expectations of what I’m supposed to be like and also the inner conflict that happens because of that.
Your influences are quite diverse, ranging from Jacob Banks to Sola Allyson. Who are the younger artists you’re listening to who give that same feeling?
There’s this amazing artist that I really like named Ekep Nkwelle. She lives in D.C, a jazz vocalist, and the way she sings music makes me want to just stay still for good reasons. I think that’s one of the people that I’m obsessed with. I also listen to Asake and I’m bringing up Asake because I felt like he was quite rebellious at the beginning. When he would be interviewed at the beginning, even by international music journalists, they’d bring up the fact that he was singing in Yoruba. He maintained that for a while, until now where he has started mixing it up. But I admire that era of Asake when he was singing in that language. The music came to him, not necessarily in the language that he was expected to do it because of the business model or whatever. I love Arooj Aftab. It’s spelled A, R, O, O, J. She’s an amazing artist, as well. I think my favorite song of hers is Last Night. She makes Sufi music but she mixes it with jazz and electronic music. So she’s a kind of multi-genre bending type of artist.
Your palette is quite expansive. That has us wondering about how you ensure that, despite this diversity of influences, you incorporate things like the deities, without affecting the sanctity of these spiritual sources you’re falling from.
Because I was also raised Christian, I’ll start from that history. We had to learn some memory verses, and they’ll say you should prepare in case you would need them. So you’re supposed to have the word of God imprinted so that next time you have issues, you’ll be able to recollect them very easily. And to me, Yoruba has always been that way. Since I’m a student of Yoruba. I love reading, listening and asking questions. I was raised in a Pan-Africanist household to always remember that my ancestors had a way of seeing and understanding life.
So, when things are challenging. I have referenced that sentiment a lot. And there are other Odu Ifá that I’ve also referenced a lot because I’ve just had them memorized and I’ve ruminated them over, over again. For ṢANGO, specifically, I feel like there are lots of symbolism that if someone was just listening to it casually, they probably would not see how I’ve illustrated the division between the lower class and the upper class and the perception of the lower class. And even now we have this new trend for now—’trend’ because we’ll see where we are in 20 years—of everyone being more pro Yoruba and accepting. When I was younger, that was not necessarily what I experienced. People that seemed a little bit traditionalist or super Yoruba were often depicted in a not so positive way. So we’re still here, we’re still standing. We are Igi ńlá, despite how the system has been designed to pretty much eradicate or diminish our essence.
To piggyback off that, in the past seven or so months, there’s been a trend of indigenous artists—mostly female—pushing fusions of the Yoruba language and genres like EDM. This has also led to a conversation about genres and classification—much like you’ve faced in the past. What do you think that conversation is missing?
It is amazing that people are paying more attention to these amazing and incredible female artists. Some of them have been singing in Yoruba before this whole new wave. But from my perspective, I still think that the music they make is palatable and it’s aesthetically pleasing. It’s digestible. And not that there’s anything wrong with that per se. But it doesn’t make people uncomfortable. It doesn’t necessarily make them question their relationship with their culture. It might encourage people to mix their fabric textures and wear the Yoruba fashion again, but it’s not necessarily going to bring them back home. It’s not necessarily going to make them read more Yoruba books written amazing Yoruba authors.
It might encourage them to wear the koroba. It might encourage them to make more social media videos with their song. But I don’t think it necessarily promotes the preservation of Yoruba culture. It makes it digestible for a global audience because of the type of beats and the topics that we’re singing about. And there’s nothing wrong with that, but I’m just highlighting how I think it’s just a sub trend that’s pleasing to people.
After I went viral, I was having meetings with a couple of record labels and stuff. I had some of them asking me if I could just sing in English or if I could just sing like Ayra. I would say it’s incredible to see how the music industry has become more tolerant to artists speaking in their indigenous language in whatever format that they’re comfortable or that they truly want to sing in. I will be impressed if I see the same level of spotlight and love being given to other indigenous artists. Let me give an example here. This indigenous artist called Adunnola and for now she’s just on social media with her sisters and they have amazing voices, singing about the Òrìsà in a way that’s not diluted. I’d love to see Sza give them a shoutout because that Yoruba is on a deeper level.
I hope it encourages people to go home and witness their festivals. I hope it helps you humanize the traditionalists. I hope it makes people sit down and maybe study one Odu Ifá and realise that it’s not satanic. It’ll be nice to patronize local artisans and dance troupes. Shine the light on local theatre too.
There’s a shot of a boy in red in the ṢANGO IGI ŃLÁ video that seems straight out of Schindler’s List, especially with the contrasting black and white, that—
I haven’t seen it.
Okay. But it just aligns with the song’s theme and all the more obvious interpretations. For anyone who perhaps might not have watched the video as you intended or plans to rewatch with your ideas, what’s one thing you’d want them to take away from the video?
I want them to be uncomfortable with the planet and the structures our children live in. I want them to be uncomfortable with the system. I really do not want children to fight for the revolution. The depiction is supposed to make people uncomfortable. I think about kids in Gaza. I think about kids in Congo. I think about kids in Nigeria. I think about children everywhere. I think about myself when I was a child and when my parents were also younger. And in psychology, they’ll say, we still have our inner child inside of us. I know the song is about defiance and empowerment, but you see that video in particular is supposed to make people uncomfortable with the idea of kids having to take charge of a messy situation that we are not handling.
And it’s not just unique to one country. Even in so-called first world countries, like the one I’m living in, we have children that are dealing with domestic violence and kids that are dealing with racism and the way the school systems are set up. So I hope it makes them uncomfortable. It’s not necessarily supposed to make them feel good that those kids are protesting.
When are we getting the album or EP?
I have lots of albums and projects just sitting on my computer. My intention was really to release an EP to close out 2025. And then when that didn’t happen, I was hoping to release another EP at the beginning of the year. But at this stage, just know the work is ready. I’m always making music, always creating. I have a project that is just leaning towards love completely. And if people that are listening to ṢANGO right now wait to listen to it, they’ll be like,’ How did we end up here?’ Because it’s not just one genre. I’m messing with rock. Jazz. R&B. I’m having fun. I’m also going super folk.
I don’t know what time because then people are gonna hold me accountable. But soon and sooner than later. And I must mention that I’m hoping to give people Omarisi, the YouTube series that I did. I’m hoping to give them that first before the love album because that was super Yoruba. I referenced more Odu Ifá. I’m hoping to give them that body of work first before the Love project.
