Brace yourselves, culture rebels, because Mr. KanHey just walked into the Afrobeats arena—and it smells like fireworks, sex appeal, and a pastor’s anointing oil mixed in one audacious cocktail. There’s a new captain steering the sonic spaceship, and his name is Bnxn. That’s pronounced “Benson” in case you’ve somehow been dwelling under a musical rock—or worse, still referring to him by his government-exit name, “Buju.” Tsk. Grow up.
Afrobeats doesn’t just like Bnxn’s features—it straight-up fiends for them like a club DJ fiends for a Tems vocal sample. He’s been the golden hook whisperer, the secret sauce to your favorite Nigerian jam, the butter in Burna’s sonic jollof rice. But now—aha!—Bnxn says forget that backseat, he’s driving now. Welcome to his sophomore album, *Sincerely, Benson*, where he takes the wheel, snatches the aux cable, and leaves feature-boy status on the curb like a pair of knockoff sneakers.
The album? It’s not just a vibe activation—it’s a Ramadan sermon, a backseat car make-out, and a Lagos kandi rave all cooked into one metaphysical gumbo. We’re talking sexy drill, spiritual gospel, dusty 808 interludes that glitter like sweat on dark skin under Lagos sun. Think Pastor meets Playboy, but with the streaming stats to back it up.
From the jump, *Sincerely, Benson* reads like a diary dipped in honey and heartbreak. It’s seductive, cinematic, and unapologetically Nigerian—but not in a “golly gee whiz, happy to be here” way. No. Bnxn’s Nigeria bleeds. It breathes. It moans desire and screams resistance. Tracks like “Realize” and “Sweet Tea” feel like journal entries scrawled in cursive after a tab of LSD and too many late-night heartbreaks. And when the gospel cuts crash in? Oh, baby—you’ll feel like Moses twerking at the burning bush.
Now let’s address the elephant in the sound room: the captain claim. On the surface, it might sound like braggadocio—a little chin-up from a swagger-happy Lagos boy. But let me testify, this ain’t ego, it’s evolution. Bnxn isn’t just announcing his arrival—he’s declaring a regime shift. The boy who once lent his syrupy vocals to the stars has now built a spaceship of his own…and every feature he ever blessed now feels like a postcard from the journey.
Still, will some find the album too experimental? Too vulnerable? Too—*gasp*—artsy? Sure. The Nigerian pop scene has its formulas, its comfort zones, its auto-tuned predictability. But Bnxn isn’t here to follow templates carved by label algorithms. He’s here to *feel*, to *shake*, to *bleed sound*. This is not microwave music. This is a slow-burn tremor in the culture—one that reverberates through the afro-diaspora and dares everyone else to catch up or choke on the dust.
And if we’re talking icons-to-be, dare I say it: Bnxn might just be on a *Wizkid 2011 trajectory*, but with a Gen Z sensitivity and a fashion sense that screams both “Yoruba demon” and “LVMH intern.” In other words, your fave could never—but they probably already begged him for a collab.
Let’s be real: culture likes its pop stars polished, predictable, and palatable. But *Sincerely, Benson* is none of those things. It’s messy. It’s moody. It’s musician-as-memoirist. And it’s a giant middle finger to the idea that Afrobeats must always be sunshine and seduction. Sometimes, it can be stormy. Sometimes, it should cry, should pray, should lust, should scream.
So here’s to Bnxn. The hook god turned headline act. The captain of his own cultural aircraft. Not just featuring on the wave—but *being* the ocean.
Dare to be different or fade into oblivion.
— Mr. KanHey
