Tony Njoku: ‘I wanted to see Black artists living my dream’

In ​‘CATATONIA’, the latest single from Tony Njoku’s upcoming album ALL OUR KNIVES ARE ALWAYS SHARP, a stripped-back hip-hop beat is overlaid with scatty, reverbed out strings and piano lines. Njoku’s voice, recorded with distance sings the extended hook, before the instrumental cuts for a split second as London party poet and rapper James Massiah steps in for his verse.

“Pack’s on the way / Stack’s on the way / Cat’s on the way / Got cat? Wanna play? / I’m high off the yay,” he raps, before a sub heavy dub bass line kicks in towards the end of his cameo.

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With its haunting-yet-introspective, envelope pushing style, it makes for an ear-opening introduction into Njoku’s music, which blends classical music influences with avant-garde electronics, rap and more. And it makes for an exciting preview into what will be Njoku’s biggest project yet, which features a host of influential Black experimental musicians, from Massiah to Coby Sey, Gaika, Ghostpoet, Space Afrika, Tricky and more. 

Njoku self-taught himself classical piano as a way of breaking down the genre’s perceived fussy conservatoire whiteness and exclusivity. With its sonic cocktail of past and future, as well as its multitude of features, the album makes for a celebration of Black experimentalism in contemporary music, while claiming highbrowism for himself and the Black community. Ahead of his Studio Njoku showcase at SXSW London, and to find out more about what drove him to create it, we asked Njoku: ​“What made you?”

When I reflect on the making of ALL OUR KNIVES ARE ALWAYS SHARP, what comes to mind first is my musical lineage. The long thread of influence stretching from the artists I’ve admired for years to the creative communities I’ve grown alongside, and deeper still, into the heritage that’s shaped my identity. This album emerged not just from a desire to make music, but from a deeper yearning to see myself represented in the sonic spaces I’ve always loved. It’s an attempt to connect the personal with the universal, to honour those who inspired me and to carve out space for others who might feel the way I once did.

From the moment I decided that music was the life path I wanted to follow, I became obsessed with finding artists I could not only admire but resonate with. I was looking for connection on two fronts: artistic and cultural. Emotionally, I was drawn to experimentalism in music. Music that was expansive, abstract, beautiful, and almost cosmogenic in its quality. I found that in artists like Aphex Twin, Björk, Radiohead, and Anohni. These musicians were integral to my artistic DNA, and their influence remains with me to this day. I devoured their records, lived in their worlds. But as much as their music fed my spirit and as much as their journeys outside their art has inspired me, I could not totally see myself through them.

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There’s nothing inherently wrong with that, of course, they are some of my greatest musical heroes. But their careers never felt tangible to me. Their trajectories, as groundbreaking as they were, seemed to belong to a different realm, one I could observe but never fully imagine myself stepping into. Growing up between Lagos and London, I rarely saw examples of Black artists making the kind of experimental music I loved. Most of the music I saw associated with Black identity was defined by narrow parameters. And when that’s all you’re shown, it’s easy to internalise limits.

That’s why representation is so important. I think seeing yourself in someone you look up to can do worlds of good for any young person’s self-esteem. I saw a video recently of Viola Davis talking about this, basically saying that there’s something about seeing someone that looks like you living out your dream that makes it more tangible. That it gives you the possibility to look through your imagination and reconstruct whatever restrictive self-image you may have of yourself. 

So, I wanted to see Black artists living my dream. Especially Queer artists and Black men who were expressing themselves freely in experimental spaces. That search has shaped much of my creative life. And even now, I’m still drawn to finding a sense of community with artists who come from a similar cultural fabric.

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Many of the collaborators on ALL OUR KNIVES ARE ALWAYS SHARP are people I admired long before I ever imagined working with them. I’ve been a fan of theirs for years. I remember so vividly the first time I encountered some of their music. Like Tricky for example, Maxinquaye was the soundtrack to the first time I smoked a spliff. I must’ve been about 15 or 16, sitting around a park bench with a group of friends, in a town just outside of Brighton. Someone passed a joint, and someone else pulled out a tinny JBL speaker and played the album at full volume. I remember the drum loop on ​“Aftermath” feeling like it stretched on forever. I was completely entranced. That experience ignited something in me, a desire to create music that could do that to someone. Music that envelops and transforms.

I’ve had similar experiences with all the collaborators on the record as well, seeing them express themselves unapologetically has been such an inspiring and alluring experience throughout my life. Like Ghostpoet’s sonic evolution over the years, from the beautifully crafted experimental hip-hop on Peanut Butter Blues & Melancholy Jam to the more live instrumentation of ​‘I Grow Tired But Dare Not Fall Asleep’, which is equally brilliant, seeing that kind of commitment to artistic growth really puts the battery in my back to want to keep evolving and believing in my vision. 

As I got older, I finally discovered a broader lineage of Black experimentalists who felt like they existed in the same world I wanted to be in. Artists like Flying Lotus, Klein, Julius Eastman, Blood Orange, Kelsey Lu, Actress, and Young Fathers. Each of them brought a different lens to what it means to be adventurous in sound and spirit. Young Fathers, in particular, made a deep impression on me. I stumbled upon them completely by accident during a walk along the Årstaviken promenade in Stockholm around 2014 or 2015. I saw a poster for a gig, bought a ticket on impulse, and was blown away by the show. From the first synth squelch to the final ​“Thank you, good night,” I was transported. Kayus looked like he was 10 feet tall, G had this wild intensity in his stare, and Alloysious sang like he was channeling something divine. It was transcendent. And when I learned that some of them shared a similar background to mine, it was even more affirming. That performance gave me the permission I didn’t even know I was seeking.

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So when it came to conceiving ALL OUR KNIVES ARE ALWAYS SHARP, I found myself reflecting on all these moments, these inspirations, these people, these sonic encounters. I realised I had slowly built connections with a number of the artists I’d once seen as untouchable. And many of them knew each other too, though few had collaborated before. That’s when the idea struck me: bring these voices together. Create a project that not only celebrates the individual artistry of each collaborator but also honours the creative community that’s helped shape me. This album is my offering back to that lineage, a deeply personal yet collective expression of what it means to belong, to explore, and to imagine without limits.

ALL OUR KNIVES ARE ALWAYS SHARP is out July 11 via Studio Njoku. Tony Njoku will perform the album alongside special guests Gaika, James Massiah, Space Afrika and Ghostpoet at SXSW London as part of a Studio Njoku showcase on June 4.

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