The video opens with 2Baba staring straight into the camera—not with flair, but with pain. No distractions. Just his face. His eyes. His voice. The way he sings that first line doesn’t feel like a performance—it feels like a plea. In that moment, you’re not watching—you’re inside the guilt, inside the quiet storm he’s been carrying for too long. The song, already weighty with emotion on its own, is the original soundtrack from To Kill a Monkey—a limited series already stirring conversation for its bold storytelling.

This is the heart of “Save Me from Myself”, the collaborative single by Oscar Heman-Ackah and 2Baba, paired with a striking visual directed by Kemi Adetiba.

A Man on Trial—By Himself

The central metaphor of the video unfolds in a surreal courtroom where 2Baba plays multiple roles: the judge, the accused, the spectator, and even part of the crowd. It’s a deliberate decision—and a powerful one. This is a trial of the self, where guilt isn’t just remembered, it’s performed. The imagery mirrors what many go through privately—punishing themselves long before anyone else does.

Each version of 2Baba feels distinct. The judge is cold and distant. The accused is visibly shaken. But perhaps the most jarring layer comes from the background noise: the crowd—loud, aggressive, and merciless—shouting and jeering at him as the trial unfolds. Their faces blur into the background, but their voices hit like stones. It’s not just judgment—it’s humiliation. It captures the chaos of a mind in crisis, when even imagined onlookers become enemies.

When the guilty verdict is delivered, he doesn’t protest. He doesn’t flinch. He accepts it quietly—like someone who’s been carrying that sentence long before it was spoken aloud.

The Drowning Man: A Soul in Crisis

Scattered between the courtroom scenes are haunting underwater shots. 2Baba, submerged in dark water, not struggling—just sinking. Not screaming—just still. It’s not dramatic. It’s devastating. The kind of descent that speaks to people who’ve felt numb for so long they forget what the surface looks like.

When 2Baba Sings, He Means It

Throughout the video, 2Baba sings directly into the camera—unblinking, stripped of ego. There’s no act here. His performance feels more like a confession. His gaze doesn’t waver. And because of that, neither does yours. There’s a raw kind of bravery in singing something so heavy and looking your listener dead in the eye while you do it.

It’s the kind of moment that doesn’t beg for sympathy—it demands honesty. You’re not just hearing him. You’re seeing him. And maybe, seeing yourself too.

Themes That Stay With You

This isn’t a breakup song. It’s not a love ballad. It’s something heavier. A reckoning. The song—and especially the video—deals with emotional isolation, shame, regret, and the fear of never outrunning your past. The courtroom is the mind. The crowd is your conscience. The judge is your memory. And the sentence? That’s the part you’ve written for yourself.

Final Thoughts: A Confession Set to Music

“Save Me from Myself” is brave in its simplicity and relentless in its truth. Kemi Adetiba’s direction gives it space to breathe—to ache—to haunt. There are no distractions. No gloss. Just two things: a message, and a man willing to speak it.

And 2Baba? He delivers one of the most emotionally exposed performances of his career. Quiet. Controlled. Unforgettable.

In One Sentence?

This is what it looks like when guilt becomes the loudest voice in the room—and there’s nowhere left to hide.

What happens when one of Nigeria’s biggest football star shows up in a music video? Friday Night by Nasboi now has everyone talking, not just because of the song but because of one unexpected guest: Victor Osimhen.

Nasboi is a popular singer and comedian, he has been gaining attention for his ability to create relatable content. Bringing Osimhen into the video helped it go viral and drew in a wider audience. He bridged the gap between two different fanbases — music and football. It’s not every day that these two worlds collide, and Friday Night captures that fusion beautifully.

Osimhen and Nasboi

The moment took fans by surprise. Midway through the video, Nasboi sings a line that instantly grabbed everyone’s attention: “I want to be a baller like Osimhen.” And right after that, the football star himself was seen standing casually in a room filled with footballs arranged neatly on shelves, Osimhen gives a soft smile, nods to the rhythm, and danced along with Nasboi to the music.

Nasboi wasn’t just giving a shoutout — he was paying tribute. Osimhen’s journey from the streets of Lagos to playing on the global field is one of hustle. So, having him appear in a video that celebrates nightlife, success, and joy feels fitting. He’s more than a name in the lyric, he represents the success Nasboi is celebrating.

Osimhen and Nasboi vibing in the music video

What makes it even more interesting is the deeper message behind it. Friday Night is about letting go, celebrating life, and having joy in chaos. Osimhen’s story portrays the message in the song, from overcoming setbacks to becoming one of Nigeria’s best footballers.

Final Thoughts
In the end, Friday Night is more than a fun video to watch because of Osimhen’s presence, It’s a lesson that sometimes it’s better to stop over thinking things that are out of your control and just enjoy life.
Click the link below to watch the official video 

If you thought Ayra Starr was easing into a quiet phase after “The Year I Turned 21”, “Hot Body” proves otherwise. The rising star has returned with a track that doesn’t just sizzle—it pulses with purpose. From the first beat, this isn’t just another dance track. It’s a cool, confident expression of self-awareness wrapped in rhythm and heat. Hot Body doesn’t beg for attention—it knows it already has yours.

“Look what a hot body can do,” she sings—not with arrogance, but with full awareness of her power. It’s not a boast. It’s a statement of fact. Ayra isn’t playing the game; she’s redefining it. Rather than relying on noise or shock, she uses simplicity, rhythm, and presence. The production leans into modern Afropop—clean drums, unforced bounce, and a vibe that carries itself effortlessly.

The lyrics carry a kind of flirtation that feels deliberate, not desperate. “Body be dancing / Slow whine, summer body so fine,” she sings, sliding between softness and control. And when she adds, “Drive Porsche, Panamera this night / Two Quantanamera inside,” it doesn’t feel like showing off—it feels like letting us into her world, where comfort, desire, and style move as one.

Ayra’s strength lies in subtlety. She doesn’t scream for attention—she invites it. “Focus,” she commands, not with aggression, but with calm certainty. It’s not about being watched; it’s about deciding how she’s seen. And with lines like “Fragrance smelling from a distance,” you feel her presence before she even enters the room.

Production-wise, Hot Body is sharp without being flashy. The beat is steady, uncluttered, and tailored for both private grooves and public dance floors. Her voice carries lightness, but it’s also firm—like someone who knows when to turn up the heat and when to let the silence speak. That balance is part of the track’s charm.

There’s also a quiet humor tucked into the lyrics: “Oh my God, I need resistance,” she laughs, almost as if she’s entertaining her own effect. It’s cheeky, not corny. She’s not taking herself too seriously, but she’s also not playing small. It’s a balance many artists aim for and few nail as smoothly as Ayra does here.

Hot Body isn’t trying to be an anthem—it just is. It settles in your mind and body before you even know you’re moving. In a sea of overproduced tracks that try to do too much, this one stands out by doing just enough—and doing it well.

Ayra Starr continues to grow without losing her edge. She’s found a lane that’s both playful and assured, and she drives it with ease. If you’re still wondering what a hot body can do, listen close—she’s already answered.