Lojay looks at once excited and embarrassed playing the role of wingman. Draped against deep red curtains that seem even more luxuriant against the warm glow of an ornate orange lamp, he slouches comfortably in his seat, gesticulating elaborately as he treats us to his pedagogy on wooing women. “Ladies and gentleman,” he starts, “I’ve been instructed to give you guys tips on how to get girls.” His eyes pulse with childlike enthusiasm. “I feel like girls don’t necessarily like to be toasted. You see that walking up to them with pickup, rap line, metaphor, that’s very tacky. Girls like action, girls like assertiveness. If you really like a girl start with action, don’t start with words.”
What makes this promotional video, in collaboration with Spotify, profound, to the point of being almost hilarious is how well it echoes a phrase that has become inescapable in contemporary discussions about dating: “Show workings!” For the uninitiated, this epithet encapsulates the idea that quixotic displays of love—romantic letters, flowers, late night calls—no longer cut it, more assertive, perhaps grandiose, displays of love now hold more currency. This conversation has been among the most hotly contested this year, as netizens have griped about the increasingly transactional nature of contemporary dating, the ever ballooning cost of constantly planning dates, and the ways in which capitalist forces have stripped romance of its characteristic serendipitous charm.
“Showing workings” has however been an indelible feature of Lojay’s philosophy of romance, a theme he has explored at every turn of his career. Consider Park O X3—from his debut EP LV N ATTN, in collaboration with Sarz—in which, over sinuous drums that unspool with the languid air of a balmy vacation night, he ambushes his muse with a fascinating question: “Sho fe joko sinu Mercedes/ Abo fe joko sinu Methodist.” Here he juxtaposes a pious life against a life of luxury with him, presenting his muse with a dilemma akin to Jesus’ temptation atop the mount Sinai.
XOXO, Lojay’s debut album, which he has described as something of a confessional note to his fans, buzzes with romantic yearning substantiated with pointed material gestures. Across the sprawl of the 14 track project Lojay is, by turns, wistful and ebullient, sparing no expense, no effort, as he wooes his would-be lovers. In Tenner, he sings: “10 million in my khaki, o ragabomi/ Tastes like filet mignon, chop all my money/ One million British pounds, e don enter body/ Baby, you for like read my ledger/ And I fit to upgrade your finance/ Only if you come link Lojay.”
In Shiver, a sensual number perfect for sweaty nights at the club, he once again slips into the role of generous bon vivant. “We Dey facilitate their section/ But we no loud am on a low/ Say olamitilekan,” he sings. “Me I like girls wey dey kosoke/ And they love it when I nowo/ Cause I can change your permanent house address/ Handle my baby like Cinderella,” he continues. Other instances abound—a song on the project is titled Change You Up
If with these songs, however tenuously, he paints a sanguine portrait of romance, with others he presents a more complicated picture. Take Alright, in which, with an earnestness that cuts deep he grapples with his fallibility, he sings: “I keep a pack of condoms in my trousers, but I still treat my girlfriend like a trophy.” His contemplative affect here might suggest a man conscious of his lapses and on his way to becoming a better person. But elsewhere his predilection for hedonism occludes whatever romantic intentions he might have, so much so that you begin to wonder if it’s really love he’s after.
In Miss Mariana, a groovy song so generously decked out with sexual innuendos and explicit language, he figures as something close to a sex addict. “Deep in the middle/ I heard you were looking for a really long tipper,” he coos in the song’s overture. If you think this intense, wait till we get to the first verse in which he drawls “Feel like a bullet in her head. When I stick it inside. When I stick it inside/ 2 shots of Azul and we losing assimilation/ Girl you got tha water. Sink a man inside your ocean.” While his rabid and monomaniacal focus on sex here might cast a shadow on the jaunty loverboy image he cultivates with songs like the Odeal-assisted Mwah!, Memories featuring Tyla and Wanchu—which would have a stronger case for best song on the album if it wasn’t so short—it has the effect of a powerfully primal rush of desire in the listener.
This constant wavering between conscientious lover and swashbuckling philanderer, coupled with tendency for smoothing things over with grandiose acts of generosity, perfectly fits the Yoruba Demon archetype. Listening through you get the sense that he could be the perfect—scratch that— ideal lover; if only he could neuter the less savory inclinations. But isn’t this also true for the rest of us?
In between the entrancing melodies that crisscross the project and the life of glamour, comfort and affection Lojay dangles before his muses, the album can figure as romantic, however flawed this version of romance might be. But listen long enough, immerse yourself in its wily twists and turns, and what you’ll be left with is a collection of siren songs.
