Uwade in Conversation With Malcolm-Aimé Musoni
Shervin Lainez
One of the best things about running your own magazine is that you get to talk to the artists you want to talk to. There is no pitching a music editor and then getting approval from that person or this person. You get the final say-so. On the flip side, running your own independent-Black-ass-for-us-by-us magazine means that publicists tend to pass on you. “They’re not doing press right now” and then will be on the cover of Harper’s Bazaar or Complex, talking to them white people cuz white $$$$ be some people’s dream 🤐 ANywho, the responsibility of being the final say-so isn’t one eye take lightly. My goal has always been to platform talented artists of the African diaspora. We were early in 2022 with Leon Thomas, and then everyone got it. We’re early with Uwade, but y’all gon’ get it. Just wait.
In February, Uwade’s team sent me an advance copy of Uwade’s debut album, Florilegium. The word florilegium comes from the Latin florilegus, which translates to a gathering of flowers. I had no hopes or fears about pressing play on Florilegium, I was just excited to receive an album two months before it was released. And if I’m honest, the write-up mentioned that Uwade was born in Nigeria and raised in North Carolina, and this aligned perfectly with my mission to platform talented artists of the African diaspora. In researching for this, I learned that the first email Uwade’s team ever sent me was back in 2021, and I, of course, never saw it until now. 🙃
I have unmanaged scoliosis and often experience severe pain in my lower and mid-back, so I find a lot of relief lying on my back on the hardwood floor in my apartment while listening to music. I decided that day’s Hardwood Sessions™ soundtrack would be Florilegium, laid on my back, and hit play. It took me 30 minutes to get past the first and oldest song, “The Place In The Sky.” I put the song on an endless loop as her aching vocals and hymnal harmonies had me real-life boo-hooing. Tears falling to my ears, deadass. In the song Uwade sings, “Don’t tell me no / I want to go to the place in the sky / I’ll find my way if not today, so no one ask me why / I’m going home to all I’ve known, I wish that I could stay / But when the spirit beckons you what more is there to say?” It’s a vulnerable opener, letting listeners hear you sing to both god and your beloved father, who passed away in 2020. I understood that kind of grief that one feels after losing a parent, my mother died 10 years ago this year. It’s such an emotional treat to listen to something so beautiful that describes one of the most painful moments of your life.
Throughout Florilegium, Uwade mixes pop with R&B and indie-folk. But on “Amenaghawon” and “Harmattan,” she boldly mixes in Nigerian highlife. And it works. Perfectly, at that. Her mom even features on the outro of “Amenaghawon,” reciting an Edo proverb. When I was done listening to Florilegium, I was thankful that something so beautiful could exist and mad at Uwade for releasing a debut album so short, just nine tracks.
In March, I hopped on a video call with Uwade to talk about Florilegium, how grief changes you, why she waited to release her album, and how she has the time to also be pursuing a PhD.
Where are you calling from?
I'm in my dorm room/apartment in Palo Alto, California,
I have so many questions about you being in school, but we'll get to that later. Your name, Uwade, means wealth is coming in the Edo language. In a 2022 interview with EQ, you talked about your dad naming you and how he saw all of this for you. Does it feel like you’re living the life that your dad prophesied for you?
I do. I mean, one can always be like, well, how much wealth? But at the end of it, given where my mom and dad were when I was born, versus what I'm able to do now, and where we are, yes, he was onto something. I don't know who told him, but he spoke something into existence.
In 2019, you started uploading covers of you singing to YouTube and Instagram. You did a couple of covers of some Fleet Foxes songs; they saw the covers and asked you to do background vocals on several songs from their Grammy-nominated album, Shore. Your vocals are the first vocals heard on that album. The music industry is all about maximizing attention. Artists and labels work so hard to get the attention, and once they do? They shove so many songs, albums, and products in fans’ faces. Interestingly, you didn’t put out an album then. You instead opted to tour the world with Fleet Foxes, The Strokes, Jamila Woods, Sylvan Esso, and more—that was your focus these last couple of years. From the outside, it looks like artist development was happening. I’m curious about the timing of your album and how all the touring you’ve done has informed this album.
I never really thought I was going to have a music career. I've been working towards this conceptually; I love music and I love creation, and I've always done it. But I wasn't like, this is the plan. I'm going to talk to this label exec, I'm going to get in the door. I didn’t think that was possible or something I wanted to do. So, I just went on tour, it was amazing. I was in school, I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to sustain it-–the cost of recording is all very expensive. So I was just like, Well, let me take care of myself. I know everybody's saying, “This won't always be here,” and that's true. And looking back, I'm like, Girl, why didn't you? [laughs] But, everything in its own time. There is something to be said about taking care of yourself. I think once you surrender to the wave of, Do this now, or else you'll be useless, it starts to mess with your psyche. I'm really glad I got to tour, because as I'm planning to tour and preparing for that now, it feels very different. I have the fear of, This is my first headline, but it’s not like I’m scared of performing, or I don’t know what this is going to be like, or I don’t know what it’s like to talk to a crowd. I’ve been doing it, it'll be fine. I want people to show up, but I can do it, you know?
How did you stay steadfast in your desire to take care of yourself? How did you not get distracted by people in the music industry pressuring you to put out an album?
I can't speak for everyone who's African, obviously. But I will say, particularly in Nigeria, the idea of being a musician and being an artist is not the thing that you say you're gonna do. [Laughs] Like [Starts doing a Nigerian accent] I’ve paid all this money for you to go to school, and you want to go and be playing band on stage? What kind of ambition is that? So for me, I had that, I had my parents, and I had strongholds in my community, always reminding me, “You know the industry is brutal, people will chew you up and spit you out.” I was like, “I don’t want that.” And as I was making music too, I would always notice myself start comparing myself to people, or feeling like I'm not doing enough. I was just like, “I want to do this in a way that feels less dramatic and isolating and terrifying.” At the time, it felt like the right thing, and it felt like I was sort of trying to protect myself because I didn't know what was out there. But now that I've done more, I have a better sense, so I'm not going into conversations completely unaware of what dynamics are like. I hope I’ve answered your question. A lot of it is cultural.
You did! In reading about you, I learned your father was a musical person and how that informed your musical taste. It’s always interesting to talk to artists who have grown up around music, have musical family members, and are very talented and have been so their entire life. And yet it’s always, “Oh, I wasn’t going to do this. I was just going to be an academic.” Can you talk about that kind of disconnect: Growing up around music, having African parents who are very much like, “You’re going to college and getting that degree," but still being like, “But I can sing!”
I'm so happy to talk to you about this, because I feel like you get it. I feel like lots of people would see me make a decision like that and be like, Why would she do that? I don't get it. But y'all don't know who was in my ear. My dad, yeah, he was a musical person, but he was also an academic, and he was a lawyer. And he was like, [starts doing a Nigerian accent] “Everything you are doing will lead you to law school, lead you to a good job, a nice job, settled. You should settle.” And then everything about music is unsettled. So they're like,”'No, no, no.” My mom was watching these documentaries about Whitney Houston and Michael Jackson, and people putting drugs in their drinks. I’m just like, “It’s not like that. This is Fleet Foxes. They’re not going to do anything to me.” It was so hard because I don’t want to disrespect my parents or feel like I’m making a decision that will leave me isolated. So part of it was me wanting to make sure I felt comfortable and safe, but also part of it was that cultural aspect of, you do this as a respectable young woman.
You’ve talked about how you’re offering these songs on Florilegium as a gratitude to those who have seen you through life’s different stages, and as a reminder to cherish opportunities for renewal. Does this album serve as your opportunity for renewal? Are you coming into Uwade 2.0 or 3.0, or 4.0? Whatever iteration of yourself you want to call it.
I think so. I'm lucky that my 1.0 and my 2.0 weren't so public. I grew from the first single I put out to putting this record out. I think I grew artistically. I put my foot in this. I stand behind all these songs. I listen to them, and I'm like, this is not just stuff I would make, but also stuff I would listen to. It really does feel like a sort of rebirth moment, and it's very exciting.
You count Nigerian highlife as one of your inspirations. On certain songs on Florilegium, like “Call It a Draw,” I hear certain guitar licks that take me back to hearing highlife as a child. Can you talk about building your musical aesthetic by taking bits and pieces of West African music and mixing them with R&B and folk?
I'm so glad you identified that because that was the goal. My original demo, the beat that comes through was the drummer, TJ Miami’s contribution. We had been talking about Tony Allen, this Afrobeat drummer I love. And he was like, “Oh, what if I did a little bit..” And I shouted, I screamed. I said, “Yes, you’ve done it!” There’s a lot of genre exploration, but that's something I feel passionately about, refusing to name myself or say, “This is the lane I'm in,” because I think all those things are fading and falling apart. I think it's really beautiful when someone really sticks to a genre. But I also don't feel the pressure to, and I feel like, as an immigrant, I live in two different worlds, sometimes the worlds talk to each other. I'm not gonna just live in one and act like my process has nothing to do with the other one.
The confidence with which you do that now. Is this the result of time, or the result of having to keep defending yourself and your decision to make the music you want to make?
I think it's time. I think it's getting older. I’m still going through it now, but I think genuinely, it's just being like, “I can't be anything other than myself, it's too tiring. There are bills to pay and there is work to do”. So, you want me to act like a person I’m not? I can’t do that. As I get older, I’m like, “This is who I am. Not everybody will like it, but that’s none of my business. You don’t have to. I just have to do what feels like me.”
It’s really interesting the relationship younger artists have to promotion and marketing, especially as the music industry and TikTok continue to forge their relationship. On the other side, more and more fans are demanding even more from their favorite artists. Fans want to know how you slept and what socks you had on when you were sleeping. You’re on social media, but you don’t post enough for anyone to ever call you a content creator. I can’t scroll and instantly know everything about you. As an artist, why this approach?
I can't even say it's a cultural thing; it might just be like my family. My mom is quite a private person, and she's like, “Not everyone deserves to know your business.” It's very strange being in this process now and feeling like, I need to, I have to, I have to. And I want to connect with people because this is a world we live in–social media is an alternate universe. It doesn't come as easily for me. I created uwade.music as a separate musical version of myself. I was like, Oh, there's the me that's the nerd, and she does her thing. But then there's the musician. I haven't always seen them as the same person. Sharing me through music doesn’t come very naturally too. I’m like, Uwade just sings. But, Uwade has to be a person too. I'm trying to merge the two and slowly share more things that I'm comfortable with, but I don’t know about all that. Sometimes, some things are better left unsaid.
Your father passed during the pandemic. My mother died in 2015. It's so weird to have a parent not be here when you thought they would be. It changes your view of the world and how you relate to where your parents are from. I’m 27, turning 28 in July. My mom died that February, I was 17, and I was going to graduate from high school in May and then turn 18 in July. I feel more confident in myself being African now than I did then. It’s like you wish your parents could see you be like, I figured it out. I got it together! When you went back to Nigeria for your father’s burial, there was a feeling of, I might not come back here again. Is incorporating Nigerian highlife and all these different things your way of, either intentionally or subconsciously, bringing Nigeria with you, wherever you go?
Definitely. I definitely think so. And I think being someone who didn't grow up in Nigeria, that makes the desire to rep my set even stronger. Maybe again, it's just getting older. You start to realize; most of my extended family is in Nigeria. And you think about roots and these changing geopolitical conditions. Not everything is as secure as one would think. And sometimes you end up in unexpected places. So, I always want to sort of pay homage, because I think there is something in my blood that is Nigerian—as much as it's a circumstance or an accident that I was born. But I still think there's something there that I like to hold on to and I like to represent.
Hearing your mom at the end of “Amenaghawon” was so beautiful. You’ve talked about how your mom has this superpower of building people up, and how you were living with her at one point in time. Could you talk with me about the process of asking your mom to come on the song?
My mom is my best friend. I talk to her three to five times a day. And people are like, That's a lot. I haven't spoken to my parents in several weeks. I'm like, That's fine, do what you gotta do. But hey, I gotta talk to my girl. She was shy. She wasn't opposed to it, but she was like, “Oh, me, you know, and I'm not a musician. I don't know how to do this.” But it was so sweet seeing her in the studio, and she did so well. And I think she's just so excited. It's like when you post an elder on Instagram or something, and a bunch of people like it, and you show them, and they're like, “Who are these people. Oh, my goodness.” It was just really sweet.
It was really beautiful to listen to, and I think it contextualized the relationship you had with your father and the relationship you have with your mother now. When I think about my own process with grief, everyday felt like I got hit by a car. I thought I would always feel like that. And then one day I didn’t. can now see that my mom's death helped me become who I was supposed to become, if that makes sense. I grew up in Iowa, and I always wanted to live in New York, but I couldn't figure out how. She died in February, and a year later, I moved to New York. I figured it out. How much of your father's passing and the pandemic insp– I guess I don't know if “inspired” is the right word. But it's a perfect recipe or storm for a cataclysmic change.
Completely. Sometimes I think life just happens like that. It was my senior year of college, online was supposed to start in a month, and my dad passed away. Everything was just opening up. We were able to go to Nigeria, but I was taking classes with the time difference and trying to do all my schoolwork. I think what my father's passing really solidified for me is that you really, truly only live once. And if there's something you want to do, just do it. I'm still learning that lesson, because, like you said, one day you wake up and it's not your life, so you still have to kind of relearn the things that you learned or the things that change. But yeah, my dad was mainly an academic, and so I think that was the biggest impact [on] making me go further into school. Because I read back, [and] almost all of my application articles for all these programs mentioned my dad somehow. I got the scholarship, and I was like, “I know it's because of him.” Music was also part of it, but it was more so being the person that I thought he wanted me to be. I'm still figuring out what the rest of my life looks like, of course. But you only live once, and honoring him by doing the thing that he would be proud of, those are the things that I learned.
I'm not surprised to hear that your father is part of the reason you’re back in school. I had that written down to confirm in questions. [Laughs] Now we can talk about the school of it all? You’re in school to get your PhD. But you’re also releasing an album; these are two extremely demanding things. How? Why? Are you okay? How is everything?
I don't know if I'm doing both at the same time. Honestly, every day I wake up and I’m like, What have I done? What have I done? I mean, getting the PhD, that was obviously–you're right, it had a lot to do with my father. In the years [that have] passed, I have to ask myself, Am I doing this because he thought I should do it, and I want to make him proud? Or am I doing this because of me? That's the question in the background. How am I doing both? With a lot of impostor syndrome.
WHEW!
And a lot of sleepless nights and a lot of doubt. But I will say, in a way, I'm living a dream that I had. Every time I feel stressed about it—because it is stressful, I try to remember, last year you wanted this and you didn't know what it was going to be like. So I can't blame myself for being tired. But at least I feel so blessed to get to do two things. I didn't have to quit either thing, and I get to do both. And even if it feels like I'm stretched across I don't know how many football fields, it's still a gift.
What are you studying?
I study classics, ancient Greek and Roman languages, and literature.
This explains why your lyrics are so good. Now I’m understanding. Did you always plan on getting your PhD in this? Or were there other fields of study that interested you as well? How did you get to classics?
Well, I went into college thinking African American studies or philosophy or biology, and then I took a Latin class, and I was just like, Whoa. This is crazy. Because these people, all these 1000s of years ago, are saying the same thing that I'm thinking right now, about this boy that doesn't like me. So it just felt like a very human-centered, and connection-building thing to do. And I really loved it. And now I'm interested in thinking about how people like my dad–Black people who were raised in eras of colonialism, interacted with the intellectual figures that were presented–there's such a tension. From my sophomore year of college, this has been the thing. And while I was touring, I wanted to get a PhD, because I always felt like I was afraid of doing music, and this is something I mention in “Harmattan,” “Will you sway with me when my voice gives out?” I was terrified of [if] I get laryngitis, and the only thing that's valuable about me is my ability to sing. Once that’s done? See you next week! I was always scared of that, and it felt like academia was sort of safe, and didn't rely too much on things out of my control.
I think the fact that you were on tour, performing for all these people, and still thinking about academia, yeah, there's probably an element of fear there. But I think that that's who you are at your core: a smart person who likes to learn. I have friends who, for some reason, love to go to school. They are going back to school. And I'm just like, “This is going to be so expensive.” But at their core, they love to learn and become better at whatever their craft is. In the “Call to Draw” video, you're doing choreography. This is something different than what people usually expect from you. You're going to go on tour, and you're going to be doing all these live shows. Can we expect to see you dancing more? Will we see you hit that two-step?
Yes! I will be dancing, and I'll be playing with bands. I think that'll bring my arms up a little bit in terms of playing with guitar. But I really want to let loose a bit more. I've been in the “girl next door,” “I'm your pal” mode for a while. But let me take on a character. I’m going to build a persona. Watch this space!
Yes!! I thought it was funny in one of your interviews where you talked about your mom asking you to speed up the tempo of your music. Does adding dancing to your shows feel terrifying in a good or bad way?
It's so exciting! I am almost annoyed that half of the time, when I'm writing a son,g my intuition is to be very slow and melancholy. I'm like, What's going on? Like, let's have some passion! But, I just try to do what suits my voice but also, I love dancing. I love drums, I love percussion, I love rhythms. I would love to incorporate more, and hopefully I will in the coming work and tour.
Do you have any advice for anyone who wants to be where you are: on their way to a PhD and in the middle of a promo cycle for their debut album?
Be stubborn. It may be difficult, and you may be like, Oh, why didn't I just listen to those people who told me to pick a lane. But be stubborn and say, “I'm going to do it this way. And if you don't want to do it with me, see you later.” Hopefully, you will find people who do it the way you want it to be done and who can help you through things. Second, really think about your “why” for both of the things that you're doing. And I don't think the clear answer is always there, but I think it'll help you through the hard times if you really figure out: Why is it that I want to do academia? Why is it that I want to do music? And when things start to get confusing, or when things shift–if your why shifts, then you can shift. But as long as you have a guide–something you're working towards, I think you'll be just fine.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.