There’s a rare breed of artist who doesn’t just make music, but makes the silence around it feel intentional. Agege bred singer, Shoday is one of them. You feel it even before he speaks. Calm. Precise. Unmoved by distractions. His presence carries the quiet intensity of someone who’s not just in the game but has studied the terrain and chosen his route with care.
During our virtual interview, he speaks with the confidence of someone building more than just momentum. He’s building meaning. Structure. Legacy.
“I take this seriously,” he says, his voice calm but resolute. “This is not something I want to gamble with. I see music as a responsibility.”
Shoday isn’t chasing virality. He’s engineering longevity. From the streets that shaped his rhythm to the streaming platforms carrying his melodies, his artistry is rooted in resilience and filtered through discipline.
“There is pain in some of my songs,” he says, “but I never want to sound like I’m pleading. I prefer to make music that acknowledges where I have been while still reaching for something greater.”
It’s that tightrope between softness and strength, vulnerability and command that defines the Shoday sound. He doesn’t cry out. He calibrates. Every note feels lived, not performed. Every hook is memory wrapped in melody.
“I believe you can be emotional and still sound strong. It is in the way you carry it. You do not need to scream your story for it to be heard.”
His approach to music isn’t mystical. It’s architectural. He knows that raw talent without structure is a wasted blessing. And he’s not afraid to speak plainly about the machine behind the music.
“I do not believe there is such a thing as an independent artist,” he says flatly. “Music is a team sport. You need all hands on deck. Especially when it comes to funding. If people are not investing in you, financially and otherwise, you are not really in motion.”
It’s not cynicism. It’s clarity. In an industry that often romanticizes the grind, Shoday understands that survival without support is not noble. It’s limiting.
“You can be talented, but if you do not understand structure, you will feel like the world is ignoring you. I’ve spent time observing how this works. I know now that consistency and awareness matter just as much as skill.”
And he’s not just saying it. During his early days of trying to break through, Shoday reportedly posted an average of fifty pieces of content per day on TikTok flooding the algorithm with his sound, his face, his belief. That kind of tenacity doesn’t come from hope. It comes from hunger.
“I made up my mind to give this everything. That was it. I’ve got no intention of turning back.”
This radical consistency bordering on obsession has helped him cut through the clutter of a saturated scene. It’s the kind of groundwork that gets overlooked in an industry obsessed with spectacle over stamina.
“I don’t see what I do as extra. I see it as necessary. If I want to be heard, I have to speak louder than the noise, every day, in every way.”
Part of his self-mythology is wrapped in the “alien” tag. It’s more than a branding choice. It’s a worldview.
“I do not think I sound like everyone else. That’s intentional. I want to build a catalogue that cannot be mistaken for anyone else’s work.”
She was a fan before anything else,” he shares, a smile sensed to be flickering. “She would post my songs before we ever had a conversation. It wasn’t planned, but the connection was real.”
That uniqueness seeps into his production choices, vocal inflections, and thematic depth. Whether singing about love, loyalty, or loss, his tone remains unmistakably his.
But even the most self-possessed artist is sometimes met by serendipity. For Shoday, that came in the form of Batife a TikTok influencer and Actress who first fell for his sound long before they ever spoke.
“She was a fan before anything else,” he shares, a rare smile flickering. “She would post my songs before we ever had a conversation. It wasn’t planned, but the connection was real.”
Their relationship, which began through fandom, has grown into something deeper a shared rhythm built on belief, visibility, and timing.
“There’s something special about someone who saw the music first. Before the noise. Before anything else.”
This authenticity in sound, in story, in romance is what separates Shoday from the crowd. He is not seduced by gimmicks. He is not trying to impress the algorithm. He is chasing something much harder to define, and therefore, much harder to defeat.
“Legacy is everything,” he says. “I want to look back and know I built something real. Something that mattered.”
And it’s not just talk. Every move Shoday makes is deliberate, strategic, and aligned with a long-term vision. He surrounds himself with people who believe, who push, who invest. For him, the idea of a solo run is a fantasy best left to fairy tales.
“This is not an individual sport. Every song you hear has a backstory, a team, a sacrifice. If you’re doing it alone, it’s not sustainable.”
In a world of artists trained to shout their stories, Shoday’s silence is surgical. He moves with care. He speaks with purpose. And he’s not here to fold.
He’s here to forge a catalogue. To build a sound so distinct it becomes undeniable. To reject gimmicks and embrace growth.
Because in Shoday’s world, the grind is sacred.
And legacy is the only endgame.
