It’s Everything but Fuji: On Adekunle Gold’s Fuji Album

by 'Joba Ojelabi

While there have been various theories about how the name Fuji came to describe one of the most popular genres of music in southwestern Nigeria, the most dominant narrative remains that of its progenitor, Dr. Sikiru Ayinde Barrister, who reportedly picked the name from an airport advertisement for Mount Fuji in Japan. Although many have tried, there has been little success in finding a semantic basis for the word within the Yoruba language. Yet, despite the ambiguity surrounding its nomenclature, several things are clear.

Young Sikiru Ayinde Barrrister

Fuji traces its roots to were music, an improvisational form inspired by the melodic rhythm of the Muezzin’s call to prayer. It began in the 1950s as a way for Yoruba Muslims to stay entertained during the early hours of Ramadan. While Fuji retained some of the percussive traits of its parent sound, it gradually infused elements of apala, juju, and highlife. Over the past five decades, the genre has gained global recognition while maintaining its strong cultural foundation.

But this is not about the Fuji of Barrister’s legacy.

In September 2025, Nigerian Afrobeats singer Adekunle Gold announced his sixth studio album. While reactions trailed the announcement on social media, what caught immediate attention was the title. Adekunle Gold had called his new album Fuji.

Born Adekunle Kosoko, his artistic journey has been intriguing to watch. From breaking out with the innocent lover-boy persona that told simple Lagos stories on a boujee highlife sound to his brilliant reinvention on Afro Pop, Vol. 1, Adekunle Gold has consistently explored new territory. Everything since then has seemed to evolve from that reinvention, the lover boy turned global pop star, still searching for identity and meaning.

Fuji Album Cover

Fuji contains fifteen tracks running for about forty minutes. The album feels reflective, almost nostalgic, and suggests a homecoming that Adekunle himself acknowledges. In an interview with The Native Mag, he mentioned visiting sites tied to his family heritage to reconnect with his roots, a journey that influenced some of the songs on the album.

The album opens with Big Fish, a track of sober reflection that looks back on humble beginnings and a vow never to return there. The song reinforces Adekunle’s new “Big Fish” persona, a metaphor for his current standing in the entertainment scene. The last Nigerian artist to embrace that title was D’banj, and Adekunle seems ready to carry it with similar flair.

Next is Don Corleone, which draws inspiration from Mario Puzo’s classic and features background vocals from his wife, Simi. The percussion hints at Yoruba traditional influences. Bobo follows, and while its title might prompt fans of K1 De Ultimate to recall his 1994 track ‘Bobo No Go Die..,’ from the Consolidation album Adekunle’s version is purely Afrobeats. Adekunle Gold brings on Lojay and Shoday on the track to express one of the realities of the Big Fish; he’s rich. And in case a listener doesn’t get it, Coco money says it more clearly.

On Believe, Adekunle samples Grover Washington Jr.’s Just the Two of Us, creating a mellow, soulful track. My Love Is the Same is a tender ode to his daughter, while Love Is an Action leans into hip-hop, declaring affection over a boom-bap beat.

The album’s energy heightens on Many People, which opens with veteran musician and broadcaster Yinka Ayefele’s voice revisiting one of his signature tunes. The song fuses Yoruba alujo rhythms with Afropop energy, serving as the album’s most danceable track. For Owambe enthusiasts, this is the closest the album gets to a proper party number. Attack and Only God Can Save Me echo Adekunle’s Afro Pop era. The latter features Davido in a lively collaboration.

Simile offers spiritual reflection, reminiscent of There Is a God from About 30, while I’m Not Done reaffirms Adekunle’s determination to keep pushing boundaries. The album ends with a bonus track, Obimo.

At the end of forty minutes, the listener is taken on a personal and emotional journey, but one question remains: where is the Fuji?

For a genre that has shaped southwestern Nigerian culture for over five decades, it should not be this hard to find. When Asake emerged, many cultural critics quickly recognised his sound as Afro-Fuji or Fujipiano, names that captured the unmistakable presence of Fuji’s cadence and percussion. In Adekunle Gold’s Fuji, however, the essence of the genre is almost invisible.

Perhaps the first clue lies in the album cover. Adekunle appears in a cowboy outfit, seated against a red backdrop that recalls a muleta. In a tweet, he explained that the red and blue tones symbolise contrasting forces, representation, power, and energy, but the justification feels thin. The only object that seems remotely connected to Yoruba heritage is the chair he sits on (which he claims is the chair at Yoruba parties).

According to Adekunle Gold, naming the album Fuji was symbolic. “Fuji is bigger than music. It is Lagos, it’s street royalty, it’s our story, our hustle, our heritage turned global.” The sentiment is noble, but the sound does not match the symbolism. In another interview, he claims FUJI is an acronym for Finding Uncharted Journeys Inside. If anything, it feels like Fuji-washing, a tribute in name only. How do we pay homage to a genre while making something entirely different?

This tension poses an interesting cultural dilemma, especially in an era where names, genres, and identities travel easily across borders. If we call this Fuji, will the world understand that the music within is not the Fuji that Barrister and his many successors built with sweat, faith, and rhythm?

Adekunle Gold’s Fuji is a personal statement, a reflection of Prince Kosoko’s homecoming, ambition, and confidence. Veteran music critic, Dami Ajayi, writes about the album, "With this album, Fuji, Adekunle Gold has returned to his first love, Yoruba music—and that should be enough for you!" Yet, for culture, it feels like a what I ordered versus what I got moment. In this case, perhaps, Mr. Gold owes the culture a refund.