Kunmie’s Before We Became Strangers plays like a late-night voice note you never send—a patchwork of regret, nostalgia, and soft-lit intimacy wrapped in melancholic Afrobeats production. It’s an EP that lingers like perfume on an old sweatshirt, a sonic memorial to almost-loves and what-could-have-beens. In just four songs, Kunmie sketches the arc of a fading romance with the precision of a poet who knows that some heartbreaks deserve more than just a two-minute TikTok loop.
Opening with I Admit, Kunmie plays the tragic hero with full commitment. “I look forward to meet you in another life,” he croons, spinning a thread of wistful yearning that tugs just hard enough at the heartstrings. His voice drapes itself over the minimalist production like a weighted blanket—soft, but carrying the full weight of a bruised ego. There’s a resignation in his delivery that makes the song feel like a confessional booth with no priest on the other end.
Then comes Majẹkajá, which is as close to an up-tempo moment as the EP allows. The production kicks in with a slight bounce, but the lyrics remain steeped in apology and reflection. Kunmie pleads for understanding, for one last shot at undoing the damage. It’s the sort of song that might soundtrack a drunken 2 AM text, where logic and self-preservation are no match for the weight of a quiet room and a loud memory.
Arike is where Kunmie flexes his ability to weave romance and regret into something hauntingly beautiful. A seamless blend of Yoruba and English, it’s the EP’s most enchanting moment—a song that feels like an old-school love letter written with modern ink. No surprise that it’s the one catching fire across social media; it’s tailor-made for wistful Instagram captions and emotionally loaded retweets.
The closing track, One More Chance, is Kunmie at his most vulnerable. If I Admit is the first, shaky realization that love has slipped through his fingers, this is the final, open-palmed plea. His voice flutters between quiet desperation and quiet acceptance, and by the time the last note fades, it’s clear: he knows the answer, even if he doesn’t want to hear it.
Before We Became Strangers is an elegant exercise in restraint. Kunmie doesn’t drown his heartbreak in unnecessary embellishments—he lets the silences, the faltering breaths, and the unspoken words do the heavy lifting. In an era where heartbreak anthems are often coated in high-energy beats to soften the blow, Kunmie leans into the ache, unafraid to sit in the stillness of it. The result? A debut that doesn’t just tell a story—it leaves an imprint, like a half-faded text thread you can’t bring yourself to delete.
Ratings: 7.5 / 10
