“Tequila Ever After”: Adekunle Gold’s Ever Evolving Artistry

Adekunle Kosoko has been through a few eras in his eight year music career. Each has been accompanied by its own nickname, so that Adekunle Gold the Ankara-sporting, folksy, Yoruba singer was replaced by AG Baby, the popstar decked in leather, and sdark shades. Now he has become Tio Tequila, or uncle Tequila, a change that is less jaunting, but still very perceptible. Tequila Ever After looks back at these periods, as Adekunle Gold celebrates artistic and especially financial growth with a gratitude that quickly becomes braggadocio. But even his biggest brags are fully deserved within the context of his life story , and so for those who might have forgotten, he throws up reminders to the early beginnings.

Once upon a time, while still working on his debut album, only a few months into his music career, Adekunle Gold grabbed his songwriting pen, assembled a band and recruited Pheelz behind the boards. The result was Pick Up, where he  laid bare his sincerest and grandest hopes for the future—marriage and children, houses and cars. He laid these prayers in God’s hands, and eight years later he has received answers. Tequila Ever After plays heavily on the comparisons between what once was and what is, but rather than plot a journey between two points he prefers to throw up ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures and leave you to be amazed at how it happened.

Kere is a fulfillment of everything Pick Up hoped for. “Look at me, I’m the captain now”, he proclaims. He returns gratitude to God—”Everything I get na by the grace of God”—but only momentarily, his schedule allocates more time to boasts of material riches than praise of the almighty, and these includes mentions of Bugattis and Ferraris. In a way, it is right to make this moment come full circle, but his ubiquitous recollection of the extent of his wealth makes tracks on the album unnecessarily similar, like when he pulls up in a German on both Omo Eko and Ogaranya, profligate party songs that will enjoy airtime in clubs where the music playlist is curated to encourage customers to part with cash. 

And in all this celebration, he spares a few moments to deride the traducers who once looked down on him. It is the major premise of Kere—”Won sope mo kere”, he says, “but dem dey copy my way”. The second half of this statement is easy to understand, but difficult to interpret in the context of AG’s life. He has, after all, evolved through different sonic and branding eras as he matured his music and himself, so that what is now his staple is a contrast to the music of his emergence; we cannot readily ascertain what manner Adekunle Gold claims he is being copied—even he has not exactly copied his own way over the past eight years.

Tequila Ever After finds him still in evolution. It is how he brings colour and diversity to his craft, so songs with street stars like Zinoleesky and Odumodublvck sit beside the creations of acts like Khalid and Pharrell Williams. He sits at crossroads that are familiar to any Nigerian pop star with an eye on global ambitions, with two hands firmly holding on markets that barely interact in a venn diagram for music tastes. His solution? Make something for everybody. So the album sprawls with eighteen songs, and the creatives he employs unveil his intentions. In addition to close friend and long term co-writer Michael Bakare, or Seyikeyz, a number of other writers and producers feature, pooled from Lagos and London to suggest that recording camps were organized in these locations.

Expectedly, writing is strongest on the songs where both worlds come together, like the sparkling Tio Baby, where Adekunle Gold revels in his new niche—Afropop, but slowed and softened so that it inspires a mellow groove rather than party-starting dancing. He delivers almost entirely in English, singing of cool Tequilas and spicy Margaritas, and the fun nights where one may be tempted to try both, the nights for which this song was made. Here, three producers and four other writers put their heads together, and luckily too many cooks do not spoil the broth. But more than luck, Tequila Ever After‘s crisp focus despite its multitude of creators, and the reason why this blend of influences produces a fairly cohesive mix, is down to Tunji Balogun’s creative direction.

Adekunle Gold has spoken of the excellent leadership of the Def Jam CEO, who is also executive producer and head A&R on the project, but even having a Nigerian as label boss cannot stop Adekunle Gold’s project from feeling Un-Nigerian in certain areas. It is easy to notice that the further you go on the album, the less music draws from his roots. For the Nigerian audience this impairs accessibility, but, thankfully, not enjoyability. It can no longer be escaped now, big American labels will demand big American songs of the artists they sign, to appeal to the big American market they were signed for in the first place. To his credit, Adekunle Gold does his best to bring as much of his essence as he can to these records. 

Falling Up features Pharrell Willaims and Nile Rodgers, while Khalid is tapped up to play a part on Come Back To Me, but do not expect too much by way of vocal performances from these artists. Gold carries the water for them, soaking in the soft Pop of the latter before matching the bustling Dancehall production of the former. If Tequila Ever After is a compass for Gold’s future direction, it points West, but in his incorporation of Afropop cadences and Dancehall beats he sidesteps falling into vanilla Pop categories. Look What You Made Me Do, his duet with his wife Simi, and the latest reprise of their biennial collaboration, is inevitably slowed down, but writing is sharper than ever, as the pair sing to each other about a love so strong it cancelled all previous promises to not fall in love. 

When he finds room for Afropop, results can vary wildly. Party No Dey Stop and Ogaranya took turns ruling households and charts this year. His collaboration with Odumodublvck, Wrong Person should soon follow in these steps, especially because of his guest’s affinity for Konto-inspired production and the song’s defiant essence. Some other songs like Don’t Be A Baby and Sisi Ganja, however, have not been treated to the same creative attention, and it shows. On Soro, one of the album’s better crafted songs, he draws comparisons between himself and Osita Osadebe, and it’s not the only time he names the late Highlife legend on Tequila Ever After. It is obvious Adekunle Gold still sees the man who made Gold and About 30 in the mirror, but for listeners of his music, Highlife and folk elements get more and more blurry with each new release. But sometimes change is good, so while Adekunle Gold continues to evolve artistically, he consistently does this with enough quality that he should keep the majority of his fanbase tuned in.