How much Soul does Pop actually need? And how much Pop can really exist within Soul?

Just Bunmi’s recent bop, “Coded,” answers that question delicately. The Nigerian singer, born Bunmi Oshin, settles into an RnB-leaning pop fusion that documents the tenderness, secrecy and excitement surrounding love. It is intimate music with a pulse, guided largely by her powerful and versatile voice.

One of the immediate charms of “Coded” is how easily its melodies arrive. Bunmi’s octaves find life above soothing piano chords and bright Afropop drums, but her delivery gives the entire record another melodic presentation of its own. Her silky, fluid tone bridges shades of vintage Nigerian pop with mellow RnB and lounge-pop feel.

The beauty of the experimentation does not rest only in the elasticity of those genres. It lies in how comfortably Bunmi’s voice finds footing within the soundscape.

Across the song, Bunmi paces the record with intentionality. She knows when to stretch a note, when to soften her delivery and when to allow the percussion to do more of the lifting. Gradually, the different influences stop announcing themselves separately and begin to register simply as a Just Bunmi sound: warm, engaging and deeply immersive.

Just Bunmi’s confidence becomes even clearer through the song’s lyricism. “Coded” thrives on intimacy. Its songwriting feels flowery without becoming inaccessible, drawing from the language of affection while leaving enough empty space for the listener to place their own experiences inside the song. Bunmi sings from an emotional position that feels convincing. There is yearning, curiosity and vulnerability, but the writing never seems desperate to prove any of those feelings.

It is also part of what gives the song its resonance. Romantic songwriting often becomes most effective when the details feel personal without shutting everybody else out of the experience. The emotions in “Coded” belong to her narrator, but they are familiar enough to become transferable.

Her refrain also  strengthens that connection. Within pockets of the record, Bunmi settles into a catchy chant-like repetition that recalls the uncomplicated hooks of an earlier strain of Nigerian pop music. It feels deliberately bubbly and almost conversational, the sort of melodic phrase that lodges itself within the listener’s consciousness before they realise they have memorised it.

Ultimately, this sense of immediacy gives “Coded” some of its strongest shock value. There is nothing strenuous about listening to the song. Its lyrics are easy to absorb, the central melodic ideas return often enough to become familiar, and the transitions never disturb the warmth already established by the arrangement. By the time Just Bunmi circles back to the refrain, anticipation has already done some of the work for her.

Her vocal technique does the rest. Throughout the latter part of the song, her melismas appear as punctuation rather than ornament for ornament’s sake. The young chanteuse bends certain phrases, lets others linger and occasionally rises into crescendos that sharpen the emotional emphasis of a line.

In the end, “Coded” is not built like a vocal showcase. Bunmi exercises restraint. Her technique remains visible without swallowing the composition. And that restraint also weaves the record with tonal clarity.

Her voice remains consistently present within the mix, even when the piano and percussion begin to thicken the atmosphere around her. She rarely sounds as though she is competing with the instrumental. There is enough separation for her words to breathe, and her vocal inflections become another layer of the production rather than something simply placed above it.

This is where the soul in “Coded” becomes particularly useful. Soul, here, is less about adhering to the conventions of a genre than allowing emotional texture to shape the performance. Bunmi uses her voice to give otherwise straightforward pop melodies a sense of lived experience. A slight bend in a phrase can communicate hesitation. A crescendo can carry excitement. A softer passage can briefly make the record feel almost confessional.

Pop provides the accessibility around those emotions. Together, both instincts produce the song’s catharsis.

Overall, “Coded” is introspective, but it is far from ‘emotionally claustrophobic’. Its Afropop drums keep some air circulating through the composition. The piano maintains its warmth. Bunmi’s melodies continually move forward. The result is a record suited to those quieter moments when one simply wants to sit with a feeling, yet it remains lively enough to exist outside that environment. And this dual functionality becomes one of its strongest qualities.

It is easy to imagine “Coded” playing during a warm evening indoors, slipping through headphones on a reflective commute or sitting comfortably within a social setting where nobody particularly wants the music to overpower conversation. It possesses enough groove to keep the body attentive and enough emotional detail to keep the mind occupied.

For an artist whose work already moves through Afro-Fusion, soul, pop and other contemporary influences, “Coded” is an encouraging glimpse into where Bunmi’s sound could continue to travel. There is brightness to the experimentation and, more importantly, an emerging sense of identity beneath it.

“Coded” is cathartic, engaging and immersive. The song does not need dramatic gestures to establish Bunmi’s singing expertise. It reminds us that, sometimes, the soul is already coded into the pop. It sits at 7/10