There’s a moment early on when Victony casually admits that one of the biggest songs of his career started as a freestyle. No concept. No thesis. Just a beat, a mic, and the instinct to open his mouth and see what survived. “Honestly, I didn’t have anything in mind,” he said. “I was just starting about some girl.” The song was “Soweto,” originally tucked into his 2022 EP Outlaw. It wasn’t supposed to do all this. It just… did.
That sense of accident-as-destiny runs through Victony’s entire creative philosophy. The recent reimagined version of “Soweto,” with new collaborators and expanded perspective, wasn’t about rewriting history so much as listening to it again. “When I see how people connected to it, I felt like we needed to explore the sound more,” he said. New voices brought new angles, not corrections. “It gives the opportunity to say something from another side.”
Still, he’s quick to undercut the myth-making. “The song started as a freestyle,” he repeated, almost amused by how far it’s traveled. What changed wasn’t the origin—it was the confidence to recognize when something loose needed shape. “You do something off the cuff,” he said, “and then it almost needs to become something else.”
That balancing act mirrors his broader musical evolution. Victony started as a rapper, then drifted into Afrobeats, and now treats genre like a suggestion rather than a rule. “My journey has been a pretty interesting one,” he said. “Going from rapping to Afrobeats, dabbling into different sounds.” Comfort, for him, comes from unpredictability. “I want to keep my fans from being able to predict what I’m going to put out next.”
The glue is his voice. “My voice is the instrument that keeps everything together,” he said. “It doesn’t matter what I’m doing—rap, Afrobeats, whatever—it’s still me.” Identity isn’t tied to style; it’s carried in tone, phrasing, presence. That’s how he keeps the through-line intact while bouncing between producers and scenes. One week it’s pop sessions in Europe with people like Cashmere Cat, the next it’s hip-hop, R&B, or something unnamed that hasn’t fully announced itself yet. “I like to explore,” he shrugged. “That’s my vibe.”
Exploration comes with a cost, especially where Victony’s from. His self-appointed title, the Outlaw King, isn’t branding fluff—it’s survival logic. “It’s pretty rare for people to truly be themselves,” he said, speaking about Nigeria. “When you stand for something, people criticize you.” Being an outlaw, in his framing, isn’t rebellion for rebellion’s sake. It’s permission. “If we’re going to be ourselves, that’s the requirement,” he said. “That’s my gospel.”
That outlook also explains how easily cultures bleed into his work. Rather than treating Western pop or hip-hop as imports, Victony absorbs them into what he already knows. “I’m learning what people on this side of the world are about,” he said, “and confusing it with my culture.” The word choice—confusing—felt intentional. This isn’t fusion as polish. It’s collision as education. “It gives me the chance to learn every day.”
His writing process refuses ceremony. Victony doesn’t show up to the studio with a plan so much as a willingness. “I don’t go to the studio with intentions,” he said. “I go with an open mind.” Beats play. Melodies arrive. Lyrics follow. Everything happens in the room, in real time. He doesn’t labor over songs for years. That kind of slow burn bores him. “I don’t like that,” he said flatly. “Finish it the same day.” At minimum, he wants the skeleton intact before momentum fades.
That instinct-first approach extends to tracks like “Jolene,” whose title landed before the meaning. “The name just came to my head,” he said. No Dolly Parton backstory. No metaphor hunt. The song revealed itself afterward. “We just started to build from there.”
If all of this sounds reckless, the live shows prove otherwise. Victony thinks about performance while he’s still writing. Lights, movement, entrances—those ideas shape the songs themselves. “When I make my songs, I think of the live performances,” he said. “This part, I want the light to go off. That directs my attitude while making the song.”
Which explains the now-infamous entrance: Victony wheeled onto the stage in a hospital bed, flanked by nuns, at Nigeria’s Homecoming festival. The image wasn’t shock for shock’s sake. It was autobiography. That show marked his first performance after surgery earlier in the year. “It was just me telling everybody we’re good to go,” he said. “Let’s rock.”
He’s not done escalating. “I’ve got loads of ideas,” Victony said, smiling. “I’m just going to keep doing crazy stuff. I’ll be that guy.” The music is still spreading into new regions daily, and he’s watching it happen without rushing to pin it down. Singles will come. A project might. Or not yet. “I’m just going with the flow,” he said.
For an artist who builds songs by instinct and performances by design, that contradiction feels earned. The outlaw doesn’t reject structure. He just waits until it asks nicely.
Listen to the interview above and then check out the video below.
