From ‘Olufunmi’ to ‘Atobijulo,’ Tunde Styl-Plus says faith was always in his music

Tunde Styl-Plus, the Ibadan-born singer whose R&B hits helped define a generation, released the Afrogospel single “Atobijulo” in September. In an interview with Elowell Max, he explains why the turn to gospel is less of a break than it looks.

For many Nigerians who came of age in the 2000s, Tunde Akinsanmi’s voice was the soundtrack to first love. Now, the singer known as Tunde Styl-Plus is pointing that voice toward heaven.

Akinsanmi, a founding member of the pop and R&B group Styl-Plus, began pursuing solo work in 2012, releasing music for a time as Tunde Tdot. He has since returned to the stage name Tunde Styl-Plus. On September 4, he released “Atobijulo,” an Afrogospel single featuring Da Capo. On the surface, it is a notable shift from the romantic ballads that made him famous, including “Olufunmi,” “Imagine That” and “Call My Name.”

He sees it differently. In the interview, he said that writing about God’s love does not require a completely different creative process. The song reflects his view of the Almighty as “bigger than all,” a conviction he has long held and decided to put into words in a song. The vulnerability, he said, is the same whether he is singing to a lover or to God.

Musically, “Atobijulo,” a Yoruba title meaning “the greatest of all,” moves away from the slow-building ballads of the Styl-Plus years. It is an uptempo track driven by drums and percussion, with brass horns, piano and guitar carrying the melody. The celebratory arrangement suits the lyrics: a praise song that describes God’s greatness and magnificence in all things. Da Capo, who also featured on a remix of “Olufunmi,” contributes a gospel rap verse that carries the same message of praise, setting rapped worship against Akinsanmi’s melodic singing. Where the old songs were built around a man pleading his case to a woman, this one turns that same openness toward worship.

His spiritual path has taken turns. Raised Catholic, he moved into Pentecostalism in early childhood and says he has had to “unlearn certain principles and relearn new ones” along the way. Spirituality, he said, is personal, and he remains committed to living in line with his Creator’s purpose.

Akinsanmi recalled that Styl-Plus set out to fuse international pop and R&B with indigenous sounds, studying Juju and Highlife alongside Western styles. He credits “Olufunmi,” which became a hit in 2004, as the moment the group got that blend right. The song began as an English-language track called “Sophia,” and reworking its chorus in Yoruba gave it the cultural depth it had lacked.

He believes his generation helped lay the groundwork for Nigerian music’s global reach. The sound and the technology have changed, he said, but he is proud that Styl-Plus remains part of that story.

Akinsanmi’s most pointed remarks were about what love songs have stopped saying. The Styl-Plus catalogue was built on men who were not embarrassed to want something badly. In “Olufunmi” and “Call My Name,” the man pleads, misses, apologises and asks again. “That was never a weakness,” he said. It was “an honest expression of love.”

He is careful not to lecture today’s artists. Confidence, independence and “a little playful bravado” all have a place in pop, he said. His concern is what gets crowded out. “I would love to hear more music that allows men to be emotionally honest again,” he said, imagining a man who can say that he loves someone, needs her, is sorry and wants to make it work, “without feeling that he has compromised his masculinity.”

It is a quiet argument, and it carries more weight coming from someone who made his name on exactly that sound. Akinsanmi believes those songs shaped what many Nigerian women came to expect from romance: tenderness, reassurance and emotional availability. That listeners still sing them, he suggested, shows the feeling behind them has not dated.

“Love is not a transaction,” he said, “it is a human experience.” He sees the artist’s job as telling the full story of love, including its sacrifices and imperfections, and he sees no break between that and “Atobijulo.” Devotion to a woman and devotion to God come from the same instinct: honest, exposed and unembarrassed.

He returned to the theme when asked what he has relearned about women. They are “much more than the inspiration behind love songs,” he said, and they taught him to “listen more, assume less.” Asked to imagine a sequel to “Call My Name,” he described a story, which he would call “Castles on the Ground,” in which the woman did call his name and the couple are still building a life together.

Age, he said, has changed his process. He is now “less concerned about being trendy and more interested in being real,” taking more time to research and shape each idea. He also writes with a particular audience in mind rather than trying to please everyone.

Asked about the weight of his legacy, he called it a “double-edged sword” but an exciting challenge: honouring the sound fans love while introducing fresh ideas.

For listeners who grew up on his love songs, “Atobijulo” may offer something familiar after all: the same sincerity, with a different object of devotion.