Shallipopi has built a career around naming and renaming himself. His albums have often featured unique and subversive noms de guerre or noms de plume, if you will, to reflect his positions.
His first EP, Planet Pluto, following his breakout single, “Elon Musk”, sought to show that he is rich and out of this world. With his debut album, Presido La Pluto, he crowned himself the President of the Pluto Currency, a street-bred economic fantasy that has become a pop-culture tradition. His sophomore Shakespopi followed with a quieter, cheekier assertion, positioning him as a modern-day Shakespeare of slang and sound (“Na Shalli dey write but na Shakespeare dey shake!”). He has also styled himself Oba-Pluto; a celebration of his growing power, wealth, and influence.
His latest project, Auracle, a play on Oracle, is a double entendre. First, Shallipopi has a fascinating aura and mastery of street pop (which is cool). Second, he sees himself as a oracle, a figure through whom street insight and divination could be channelled. After all, on “ASAP” off Shakespopi, he calls himself the greatest philosopher who is as wise as a tortoise.
From that self-appointed role as a Nigerian Pop culture taste maker and street philosopher, Auracle unfolds less like a sermon and more like a street-side divination and wisdom dispensing session couched in street slangs and codes. With that, Shallipopi sharpens what he has always done best: turning instinct, bravado, and lived street language into a coded system that only half-explains itself.
Sonically, Auracle extends Shallipopi’s devotion to minimalism, but it is more deliberate than before. The album opens with “Ant,” a deceptively simple and playful track that sets the tone for his familiar fixation on wealth, nightlife, and sex. Confident and unbothered, Shallipopi mumbles to the fast-paced Atilogwu beat, bragging about his wealth, drug and sexual prowess. Though a decent opener, it’s hard to pinpoint the song’s meaning, so the purpose of its title is lost to us.
On this album the beats are skeletal but not empty. Log-drums hum beneath restrained melodies, basslines pulse with withheld information, and percussion often arrives late or departs early. Shallipopi’s voice and Edo tongue are keys to his identity. His nasal tone is anti-musical, avoiding the traditional musical melody while his flow resists the standard pitch rhythm and harmony one would expect in pop music.
Lyrically, the album resists tidy interpretation. Shallipopi prefers suggestion to clarity, repetition to exposition. Phrases loop until they begin to feel hypnotic, as though meaning might eventually reveal itself through repetition an observation that one might also make about Omah Lay. It may seem like laziness, but it is a strategy. “Laho” is a quintessential example. The repetition of the word “Laho” makes it an ear worm and a global hit.
“Laho”, The hypnotic amapiano-styled song that has already become a fan favourite, drops in with heavy bass and looped hooks. Again, Shallipopi remains jolly but more ritualistic, celebrating and reflecting on his fame. The song is a perfect entry into the world he’s constructing.
Shallipopi’s greatest strength remains his understanding of persona. He never overperforms intelligence, nor does he apologise for simplicity. On Auracle, wisdom does not arrive as polished aphorisms but as fragments: warnings tucked inside boasts, advice disguised as jokes, confidence that knows its own fragility.
Take “Eyo,” where his flirtatious swagger and laid-back confidence reflect a man comfortable at the centre of his own mythology, telling a lady named Kelly, whose body he wants, to pack up his money and leave.
The bouncy “Aura,” drifts between braggadocio and unexpected introspection without ever feeling forced. On the track, He reflects on how his father used to sit outside alone, in silent reflection typical of aged folks. Now that he is grown, Shallipopi finds himself doing the same thing. However, their method is different. Unlike his father who sat alone and reflected on life, Shallipopi rolls up his spliff to aid his meditation, even while acknowledging that the habit is ruining his voice.
Collaborations on Auracle do more than pad the track list but enlarge Shallipopi’s universe. On “HIM” with Gunna, his chilled vocals meet Atlanta trap swagger, creating a smooth crossover moment that’s surprisingly organic rather than contrived. Then there’s “Stay” featuring Swae Lee, which slows the pace, lending the album its rare moment of vulnerability and melodic warmth. It’s a welcome contrast to the braggadocio that dominates many of the other tracks.
The recurring fixation on wealth and status is less about aspiration than about survival economics. Shallipopi talks about money the way someone does when they have known lack too intimately to romanticise it. “I be spending money for no reason… I was born broke, I’ma die rich,” he croons on “Chokehold (Bro Code)”.
His desire to get rich or die trying once put him in trouble with the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission (EFCC). So, that aspiration is necessary, volatile, and never sentimental. This theme also comes through in playful tracks like “Ballingo” and more reflective ones like “Igho,” which subtly nod to his background and how far he’s come.
Auracle, however, isn’t afraid to bare its teeth. “Pull Up” featuring Pa Salieu carries a grit and seriousness that pushes the album into UK-rap territory, while tracks like “Caution (Hold Something)” offer coded warnings about the cost of success and the fickleness of friendship. These moments hint at layers beyond the jokes and braggadocio, glimpses of a man observing the world and calling it out, even if through slang and loops.
The album occasionally stumbles in its emotional range. Auracle is at its best when it stays in irony, swagger, and street-coded seriousness. When it gestures toward vulnerability, it often retreats before fully committing. Tracks like the relaxed “Chokehold (Bro Code)” and “Aura” attempt to be reflective. But Shallipopi isn’t someone to be meditative.
This is not a fatal flaw, but it does limit the album’s scope. There are moments where you sense a more revealing record lurking beneath the surface, one that Auracle deliberately refuses to become. While that refusal seems intentional, it can also feel evasive.
However, the album’s cohesion is impressive. Across 22 tracks, from standout singles like the soft rock “Rockstar” featuring Ruger to “Like That (Bomboclat)” with Wizkid on to the trio of “Laho” remixes closing the project, there is a logic to how Shallipopi moves between moods, textures, and collaborators. The bonus tracks “Laho II” and “Laho III,” featuring Burna Boy and Rauw Alejandro respectively, are more than afterthoughts; they frame the album’s ending as both celebratory and expansive, tying local swagger to global currents. It’s one of the project’s most confident gestures toward global appeal without sacrificing identity.
While Shallipopi’s music thrives on the quotidian and the mundane, there is hardly room for introspection and social consciousness. And this album, like his previous ones, is not about perfection but positioning as a Nigerian Pop trendsetter.
With Auracle, Shallipopi is not interested in baring his soul but in offering glimpses of street code as a trendsetter and telling us how cool his aura is. This album doesn’t enlighten so much as it disrupts, and in that disruption lies its sharpest insight. It’s an indication that Shallipopi knows his own limitations as an artist and he uses them as tools to uplift himself and his music.
All hail the street oracle!
***Michael Kolawole is a screenwriter, playwright, poet and cultural journalist/critic. Catch him on X @mykflow
