Bfire’s stage name has an origin story several centuries in the making: it’s short for Bush Fire, a nod to the moment God appeared to Moses as flames that burned without consuming. “That fire signifies the presence of God,” he says, “and that’s how I translate the name.” It’s a fitting metaphor for an artist whose two signature songs, the confrontational “Fire” and the achingly open “Press Play,” sit on opposite ends of the same emotional register, sometimes read by listeners as a diss track, sometimes as a love letter, always more personal than the metaphors let on.
Raised in northern Nigeria on church music and a secondhand Walkman full of oldies, Bfire moved to Lagos and found a city that reshaped his sound and his pace of life in equal measure. What hasn’t changed is his insistence on emotional honesty, particularly the kind he says men are rarely given room to express. He talked to us about the north-to-Lagos culture shock, the theology behind his name, and why he thinks vulnerability from a male artist still catches people off guard.
What’s your earliest memory of wanting to make music?
It goes back to childhood, as far back as I can remember being conscious. At church, I used to feel drawn to the music. It was a natural inclination for me. I grew up in a strong Christian background, with uncles and aunts in the choir who played instruments, and I always wanted to be around that space, messing around with their equipment.
You grew up in northern Nigeria and later moved to Lagos. What’s the first thing Lagos taught you that nowhere else could have?
Coming to Lagos was a completely different environment. The first thing you notice is that this place is headache. Lagos taught me speed. Things move very fast, and the sooner you embrace that, and stay resilient, intuitive, and consistent, the sooner it brings out something special in you.
Growing up in the north must have shaped your music. What were you listening to, and do you think that surprises people, especially with so many new artists coming out of the north right now?
I grew up listening to Afrobeats and R&B, the oldies, like Craig David and Keith Sweat. My uncle had a Walkman, and I’d always take it and play tapes. When I picked up the guitar, it was a local musician teaching me at the time, so I actually started out playing Hausa church kind of music. It was more generic, natural music. A lot changed once I got to Lagos, though. Even now, I use more Yoruba influences in my songs than Hausa.
What inspired the name Bfire?
Bfire comes from Bush Fire. When I first thought about the name, it came to me as an epiphany, thinking about when God appeared to Moses as a burning bush, one of the few times God showed himself on earth. The bush was already there, but what was different, what signified his presence, was the fire on the bush that didn’t consume it. That fire signifies the presence of God, and that’s how I translate the name. Over time, I just cut it down to Bfire.
You cite Wizkid, Drake, and Asake as inspirations, artists with very different styles. What’s the common thread that connects you to them personally?
Authenticity. The aura, the way they carry themselves, how true they are to their sound. They’re great sources of inspiration, especially looking at how they started and how they’ve kept it going.
What does your creative process actually look like? Is there a particular feeling you need to be in the zone?
For me, it’s about inspiration, and inspiration can be drawn from anything if you’re paying attention. I don’t need the most perfect setup to record. I’ll start listening to a beat, I like it, and the words start coming one after another. Sometimes I get the words before I even know what I’m singing about, and then I realise what the song is about.
You’ve listed cooking, anime, entrepreneurship, and research as interests alongside music. Do those feed into your music, or do you keep them separate?
I think all of it blends into one personality, so I don’t see how you’d separate it. It all has one thing in common, and that’s vibes. You enjoy it if you enjoy what you’re doing. The creativity, the patience and balance that comes with cooking, is still something you can apply when you’re making a song.
If someone had never met you, and you could only send them one song to introduce yourself, would it be “Fire” or “Press Play”?
Press Play. I’m someone who wears his heart on his sleeve. I love hard, and I love genuinely. It doesn’t take a moment to notice that about me.
You’ve described “Fire” as open to interpretation, that it could read as love, conflict, passion, or persuasion depending on who’s listening. Has anyone interpreted it in a way that surprised you?
Yeah, people have interpreted it as me singing against haters, because of the chorus. That’s not necessarily what I meant, but that’s how they’ve translated it, as shaking off your haters.
“Press Play” is about wanting someone who keeps sending mixed signals, and you’ve said that kind of emotional honesty is rarely heard from a male perspective. Why do you think that is, and what made you decide to go there anyway?
We live in a society where men are treated like their hearts are made of steel, not muscle, not flesh, no blood pumping through it. When you express those emotions, you’re considered weak. I’m just trying to bring out that point, letting people know that men have feelings too. Men can hurt. Men have desires too.
You’ve said the emotions behind your lyrics are real even when the lines themselves are creative. Where’s the line for you between protecting your privacy and being honest enough to make music that works?
The line is in the metaphors. If I don’t explicitly tell you this is what I mean, this is the story, you’ll just get a vibe. I can sing about my real experiences, but I twist it in a way where you won’t get the full picture. That’s music.
Which song, either yours or someone else’s, best describes who you are?
By me, “Your Love,” “Abundance,” “Press Play,” or “Fire.” I think all of them describe me. It doesn’t take you long to notice: he’s a lover boy.
What’s a feeling you haven’t been able to write about yet, either because you haven’t found the words or it still feels too close?
I don’t think there’s a feeling I haven’t been able to tap into. Music has its way of going into your subconscious. There’s always a song for every mood, always a vibe for every mood. It just depends on how I’m inspired in that moment, and that determines the flow. I can sing about being happy, sad, whatever comes.
What does success look like for you in the next year, in music and in your personal life?
To see my music acknowledged, locally and internationally. To grow to a point where I make a real impact, not just with family and people I love, but a general impact. And, of course, when the money rolls in.
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