Fave on Davido, Dancehall, and Becoming Her Own ‘Dutty’ Dreamgirl

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“Africa to the world” has been a popular rallying cry from the continent and its diaspora as the global appetite for its culture has grown rapidly. Many hope to further extend its reach. Yet, as African artisans connect and build upon one another’s successes, they’ve come to center themselves. “Made in Africa” is a monthly column by “Rolling Stone” staff writer Mankaprr Conteh that celebrates and interrogates the lives, concerns, and innovations of African musicians from their vantage point.

This month’s column is all about Fave, who took our call from her room off-campus near Obafemi Awolowo University in Osun State, Nigeria, about three hours driving from Lagos. She was splitting her time between that bustling metropolis and the town of Ile-Ife, where she was studying undergraduate law. Lagos is for her work as one Nigeria’s most promising musical phenoms; Ile-Ife is where she finished her degree. “I’m writing my final exams right now,” she told me over Zoom in June. “I have like two to go.” On November 5, she told me that she passed. “So basically, I’m done with school now,” she said in a recorded voice note sent my way. “Congratulations to me.”

In June, she was also working on her second EP, Dutty Love, which finally debuted on November 7 after almost a year of planning. It is ripe with the dancehall influences that made her 2021 “Baby Riddim” a hit, along with her cheeky songwriting. Her recent single “No Games” is a vibrant example of this – a previous and unreleased version of the song even including an interpolation of dancehall king Sean Paul’s “Get Busy” where a resounding choir now sings.

“I was super excited about the prospect of that being an EP seeing as Sean Paul is a huge inspiration to me,” Fave told me via voice note. “He’s probably the first person I heard ‘dutty’ from. But I’m very excited for the future because I think the only reason why we weren’t able to get it on the EP was because we didn’t start clearing it on time, so we got hit with a couple setbacks that we did not envisage. Yet, she’s hopeful: “I know that Sean Paul would definitely be like a collaboration or interpolation – whichever one – that, by the grace of God, happens.”

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Dutty Love also sizzles with the sensuality of “Kante,” the popular Davido single he built around a song she sent him as he finished his long-awaited 2023 album, Timeless. For her first show in New York City, she performed it with him at Madison Square Garden this April (her mic wasn’t on but she still had a blast – more on that later.) In a few short years, Fave has gone from filming a viral video in her bedroom and releasing music independently to partying with Tems, being bolstered by Mr Eazi, and signing to the same label as Burna Boy and Amaarae, Bad Habit, in partnership with Atlantic Records.

It’s important to note the resilience its taken Fave to accomplish all this as a college student. Her program was delayed two years due to the Coronavirus pandemic and poor governance, she said. She explains that her university is a public one, far more affordable than the private schools but plagued with mismanagement that has led faculty to strike. “When you have lecturers and public servants that haven’t been paid for months, they start to push back. Strikes like these affect students like us, and the government doesn’t care,” she added.

So, she built her music schedule around her schoolwork and exams, and she drove her own pick-up truck around Ile-Ife to stay relatively low-key, instead of walking or taking public transportation. “If I had my way, I probably would not be in school,” she told me in June. “But at the same time, I’m somebody who likes to finish what I start. I started school before the music and I feel like all my years of [it] would be wasted if I don’t finish, so I’m finishing. It’s not wasted knowledge.”

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Indeed, Fave started college in 2017 and began putting music out in 2019, but she’s been singing since she was a young girl in Uyo, Akwa Ibom State, in Southern Nigeria. Her dad – an architect – and her mom – who worked in a bank – raised them in a pentecostal church, where her whole family sang in the choir. Her parents still do. In their home, all they listened to was gospel. Her birth name is actually GodsFavour – as she moved into secular music, she named herself “Fave.” She calls it a “shortcut” rather than a nickname, “Because no one was calling me that before I named myself for music.” As she experiences fortune and a growing fan base in Afropop, Fave is fitting.

Here, she goes deep on becoming her own dream girl, what it means to be “dutty,” and the beauty and treachery of being a musician.

When exactly did you start making music of your own?
I always say at the age of six, because that was the minimum age you could be to join the choir in church when I was growing up. I feel like it was at that moment I started to nurture my abilities. I started to figure out that I had interest in writing my own songs and making melodies to them. I would always do that and display it for my parents all the time. I’d try to get my cousins to write songs with me.

Do you remember the first song that you made yourself?
Yeah, it was a gospel song. I can never forget. (Singing) Those were the kind of songs I was writing with my cousins at the time to sing for my parents and get just their notes on it, what they think.

Tell me about how you formed a relationship with secular music.
I had this Java phone at the time that would just let you search radio stations to unfurl. I had listened to secular music in the past by just passing by it when I go to school, or maybe just random shops around. Because music is everywhere, you hear it [even] if you don’t want to.

The first secular music I remember ever listening to – what opened my ears and my interest into secular music – was a song by Sky B. It goes (Singing) [Sings “Am Calling” by Sky B]. I don’t know, it just stuck with me. Maybe it’s the way he said “mam” baby instead of my baby, that just got me excited. It’s possible that I was eight [years old].

I remember downloading the song and playing it repeatedly. I started really delving into secular music then. I was still very much fixated on how I could improve my writing for gospel, because at the time I was trying to convince my parents to take me to the studio to record, and I wouldn’t be able to do that with secular music.

You seem deeply influenced by dancehall and reggae. Tell me about that.
I think listening to Sean Paul and Shaggy owhen I was younger made me fall in love with dancehall. It’s my happy place, my comfort zone. It’s just one of those things where you can’t really explain the reason why you are drawn to something. It’s like how I’m drawn to music. I don’t know why, but I wouldn’t feel the same if I didn’t create music. It’s become a part of me now. It’s the same way I always feel a love for dancehall. Whatever mood I’m in, I’m in the mood for dancehall.

You also say that you don’t have a genre. I totally understand and respect people not wanting to feel limited by genre, especially African artists. Working in the West, I understand that there’s a propensity for people to say you’re making Afrobeats if you’re from anywhere in Africa, even if you’re not. So, what are your sonic goals?
Whenever I go to the studio or whenever lines or melodies come to me, I usually don’t really have any genre in mind specifically. It could be Afrobeats that I’m feeling today, tomorrow it could be dancehall. I just know for a fact that my number one would be dancehall because I just feel like you could twist it anyhow you want. It gives you the space to be who you are and to say your mind and really be – should I say – as rugged as you can.

When I listened to dancehall in the past, I was always very fascinated by Patois. But aside from Patois, it’s the kind of genre that makes you comfortable enough to spin words anyhow you want to take them without having to think of singing them in place. I’m not saying there are rules or anything, but with dancehall, it just feels like the potential is limitless.

I think that what draws me to your music is that dancehall influence because I also grew up on it. In the US, African music didn’t really become popular in the mainstream until I was in my 20s. The closest thing in the mainstream to African music was dancehall. I could understand a lot of the Patios because of the English influence, plus, my family speaks Krio, which is similar to it, as is Nigerian Pidgin English. I wonder if there was a sense of similarity in dancehall to your own culture?
When it comes to Nigerian culture, aside from the Pidgin language, what makes us feel more connected or what feels more indigenous to us is the local dialect that we have [like Yoruba, Igbo, Ibibio, etc]. If you don’t know the language, you probably would not be able to understand. I feel like when it comes to me and my writing, I could be very cautious of trying to make music in a language that everyone understands, but I try not to let that restrict my writing. But with Patois, I feel like if you listen hard enough, you can actually understand what’s being said. Pidgin to me doesn’t really sound as audacious as Patois would sound.

You made “Fight for Us” with Masicka, a dancehall artist. How did that come to be? Was that exciting for you?
Yes. I really love Masicka. At the time he hit me up for the song, I was just getting into his music, so it was perfect timing. I heard the song and I immediately sent in two verses. I said, “I want you to pick because I can’t decide.” It’s crazy because I didn’t know the lyrics to the song. Because of his intonation and the Patois, I was finding it a little bit hard to hear the things he was saying, but I was still understanding and I built my verse on his story. When I did eventually ask for the lyrics of the song, it was like, “Oh yeah, it felt like I heard you completely from the beginning to the end.”

He says that he’s a big fan of me – I just find it so hard to believe because I’m like, “You’re all the way in Jamaica. How are you a fan of mine? How do you know my music like that?” I think the collaboration was something that I very much needed.

Speaking of collaborations, how was it performing “Kante” with Davido at Madison Square Garden?
It was bomb; the crowd, the energy. I felt everything from where I was in a little corner at the left side of the stage, trying to watch the entire show before my set. Because, usually, after you perform, it’s almost like, “Time for you to go,” I wanted to soak in the performance before my turn – kind of get infected with the vibe. The performance was amazing, it was really good. I enjoyed myself. Davido is the type of person [whose] energy is contagious, so immediately, [when] he saw me on stage, he was already jumping. We held hands and he walked us. It’s just an experience I’ll never forget. I wish my mic was on, but that didn’t change anything.

I did see one of the videos you posted online where you explained that you were singing but your mic wasn’t working.
When I met some of my fans after the performance, they mentioned that they couldn’t hear me. They felt like I wasn’t singing, so I was just like, “Oh, that sucks.” Because the whole time I was performing, I didn’t realize that. I was just singing and singing. I was shocked.

I also saw on X that you really didn’t travel outside of Nigeria before it became a part of your career.
Yeah, was “Baby Riddim” that made me step foot out of my country. I think I started with Ghana, then we went to Uganda, then Senegal, then South Africa, then we went to Kenya. It’s just been a couple of places. I never ever would have imagined leaving my country. I’m just happy to be here. For real.

Yeah, I can tell. It’s beautiful to have that gratitude and perspective because the music business can also be very challenging. I wonder what kind of challenges you’ve come across.
Well, I guess the money part. For a long time I was independent. I know that the music business will eat up all the money that you have. You have to put money in the music, because then you’re making money back, but at the end of the day there is also the possibility that you [don’t]. The environment that you’re playing in, it’s not a level field. The competition is crazy. The jungle is kind of vicious.

I don’t think money is the reason why anyone makes it in the industry or anyone becomes a global superstar. I don’t think it’s any of the other factors. I think it’s just when it’s your time, it’s your time. But if it’s not your time or if things are looking different, it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t keep going. You have to keep going. You have to tell yourself that. You have to believe in yourself at any point in time.

I also think building a team is a challenge as well. You have to have a team of people that you trust. You need to have a family. I think those are a couple challenges. With someone like me, styling, I think I need a [consistent] stylist.

Oh, are you styling yourself right now?
Most of the time I style myself because I feel like I understand my style best, but at the same time it’s been difficult to relay my ideas to people. Some people would call it a tomboy vibe or more of a masc mixed with a femme style that I have. It’s just not what most people that I work with want to do. It’s preferable for them to style me in more girly outfits like tennis skirts and things that show lots of skin. I think it’s cool and all. I’ll look good in outfits like that, but that’s not really my style. It’s just a portion of it. I want to act masc at times. So it’s like, how do I do all of that if I am in a tennis skirt and a bralette? Is it really Dutty Girl? The type of vibe that you expect to see when you hear a dance hall song come on, that type of rugged vibe, that’s the kind of style that I embody. Usually in my songs, too, you could hear my voice sounds kind of rough and edgy. [Update: Lately, Fave is working with a new stylist and is hopeful they’ll build a lasting relationship.]

You just touched on this idea of being “Dutty.” Tell me why that’s the language you’re tapping into and what that represents for you.
Well, Dutty was never really an intentional name that I chose for myself. It kind of just dropped in my head when I was recording “Baby Riddim”: “Big dutty gyal.” When we were younger, you know how girls draw maybe a princess or a cartoon character that you want to be when you grow up? Kind of like a fairytale or a Disney type thing. I feel like if I were to draw mine at the time when I was younger, it would be some Jamaican princess. Someone who had full length locs, some crazy ass baggy pants, maybe low-waist fitted. Plenty of waist jewelries. I would just think of a girl who’s so badass and so rugged that she’s pretty and all but at the same time you can’t talk shit to her.

I think “dutty” just kind of embraced that, so I embraced the name. It’s now playing into the EP title that I chose, Dutty Love, because, at the same time that “dutty love” has a literal meaning, a literal sense of when love is dirty, when you’ve been played dirty, it also is a nod to how much I love dancehall, how much I love Jamaica, how much I want to be from Jamaica so bad. It’s like after Nigeria, I’m Jamaican. That’s my second nationality. I say that all the time. And then we have Sean Paul, who I listen to so much, who’s like the dutty king. And then, coincidentally, his song that happens to be interpolated in “No Games” as well. So I think all of that, it’s just me. I feel like the EP is just me just embracing myself, and I hope that my fellow Jamaicans will embrace me as well.