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Falz is back with the feast—a banquet of bars, politics, and party vibes

Updated: Jul 1

Falz - The Feast
Falz - The Feast

Falz has worn many hats—rapper, actor, lawyer, activist—but with The Feast, he returns to what he’s arguably best at: cooking up thought-provoking, genre-defying rap that’s as catchy as it is conscious. The album, which dropped on May 30, 2025, is Falz's way of reminding us that he’s still got skin in the game—and maybe even a new recipe or two.


In a time when Nigerian music is deeply saturated with dancefloor hits and heartbreak anthems, Falz opts for a different flavour. The Feast is a 12-track album that fuses his activist persona with his OG bad guy charm. It’s playful but politically aware, romantic yet resistant. It’s not quite a revolution, but it’s definitely not fluff either.


Old Fire, New Flames


It’s worth remembering that Falz isn’t just a rapper—he’s a legacy act with impact. The son of legendary human rights lawyer Femi Falana, Falz stepped into his own as a social critic with the 2018 viral hit This Is Nigeria, a daring take on Childish Gambino’s This Is America. He followed that with Moral Instruction (2019), an album that sounded more like a civic lecture than a club playlist—but somehow worked.


After a brief cool-down post-2020—during which he marched during #EndSARS protests and spoke openly against government impunity—Falz has returned with The Feast, a project that blends the party spirit of Soft Work and Squander with the grit of This Is Nigeria. It’s not just a return to form. It’s a recalibration.


A Taste of the Tracks


The album kicks off with “Round of Applause,” a brassy intro where Falz wastes no time calling out Nigeria’s leadership. “Me, I be citizen and I must see the president / Na me put am there,” he rhymes—reminding us that even with all his finesse, he’s still deeply concerned with accountability. The message is clear: you can’t wine and dine your way out of bad governance.


On “Old Soja” featuring Majeed, Falz takes on the role of a battle-worn soldier who refuses to back down. Majeed’s chorus—“You for let my people go”—feels like a Yoruba Pentecostal remix of Exodus. Falz’s message? He’s still in the trenches.


“Anything Goes,” featuring OdumoduBlvck, is aggressive and wild, the kind of song you want playing as you march into a protest—or a Lagos party. Odumodu’s energy meets Falz’s resistance in perfect sync: “Dem don dey kill us… but we no be idiot,” they declare. It’s protest music that bangs.


Then comes “No Less,” where Falz dips into Fuji nostalgia, sampling Sikiru Ayinde Barrister’s “Fuji Garbage.” In doing so, he places himself in the lineage of Yoruba musical agitators—artists who made music to challenge power but also entertain.


Love, Lust, and Light Vibes


After flexing his political muscles, Falz shifts to the softer side of life. “Famomi” featuring DoTTi the Deity is a slow jam soaked in syrupy affection. It’s a lover’s anthem you can play in the morning with sleepy eyes or late at night with a glass of something warm.


He keeps the romance rolling with “Slow Down” featuring Qing Madi, a dancefloor-friendly ode to not rushing the good things in life—including love.


“Jump” is pure Falz swagger. He’s dancing, flirting, subbing haters, and encouraging wallflowers to get into the groove. The vibe is light but loaded with personality.


Then, on “Wonderfully Made” featuring Oiza and Meyi, Falz attempts to tackle body positivity—but ends up reducing women into two categories: “Orobo” and “lepa.” It's a lyrical trope that’s worn thin, and unlike the Falz of Child of the World, who once narrated a tragic tale about an exploited sex worker with empathy and nuance, here he seems to fall into the same lazy binaries he used to critique. Missed opportunity.


The Fela Effect & Final Thoughts


Things pick up again on “Wayo,” where Falz samples Fela’s Jeun Ko Ku (1971) and drags politicians who treat public office like buffet tables. American rapper D Smoke joins in with fiery verses that feel like a sermon from a street corner in Compton. It's Afrobeats-meets-Black-Panther-energy, and it slaps.


“Eat” is another anthem for the hustle—money, women, soft life. Falz calls for moderation, but the message feels diluted. If not for the log drums and slick delivery, it’s a skippable dish.


The album closes on a sentimental note with “Story Time.” Here, Falz lets us into his origin story—from football dreams to law school in London to discovering his voice through music. We learn that This Is Nigeria wasn’t planned—it was a freestyle that snowballed into a cultural moment. That spontaneity remains Falz’s superpower.


Final Verdict: Feast or Famine?


The Feast isn’t a revolution, but it’s a reminder. Falz still knows how to serve substance with sauce. He may not be the relentless rapper-activist we met five years ago, but he’s evolved—less urgency, more finesse. The guy from those Ello Bae skits is long gone. What remains is an artist trying to figure out how to stay fun, stay relevant, and stay woke.


Whether it’s a full-course meal or just really good jollof, The Feast feeds the soul and moves the body. For Falz to climb higher, he may need to either double down on the mainstream—or, like before, drag it in his direction.


Either way, the Bahd Guy’s still got the recipe.




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