Not Guilty is brief, but its brevity sharpens its focus. The storytelling is personal and autobiographical, whether he is recounting the harsh realities of prison life or pausing to appreciate the blessings of family and success.
By Yinoluwa Olowofoyeku
Terry Apala, born Terry Alexander Ejeh in Lagos and raised in Ajegunle, is a Nigerian singer and songwriter who has carved out a niche by fusing the earthy percussive grit of Yoruba apala with contemporary Hip-Hop, Trap, and Afro-Pop. He first gained attention in the mid-2010s with viral covers and early singles that showcased his gravelly tone and talk-sing cadence, before breaking through with “Apala WiFi” in 2019, and a series of collaborations that highlighted his voice as both street-tough and versatile.
In 2020, he formalised his hybrid style on the collaborative EP Major Vibes with producer Major Bangz, a project noted by critics for its stylistic range and its role in stabilising his creative momentum amid personal headwinds. He continued to refine the blend across singles and features, while the older Apala tradition—pioneered by artistes such as Haruna Ishola and Ayinla Omowura—remained a clear rhythmic and cultural anchor in his work.
Following a fairly busy schedule of recent releases (including a project earlier in 2025), he has returned with Not Guilty, a compact EP that arrives amid public scrutiny and legal headlines. The project positions itself as both a direct reflection of his legal troubles and, perhaps, a statement of intent—a fresh checkpoint in a career defined by resilience, genre-splicing, and a commitment to infusing Apala’s call-and-response energy into the contemporary.
The EP begins with “Not Guilty”, its titular track wrapped in drill stylings, where a melodic 808 bassline snakes beneath chopped female vocal samples, bright pads, rattling percussion, and aggressive drums. Terry Apala stands firm in both plea and reflection, wielding his gravelly voice with a mix of rapped cadence and fragile sung passages that recount his time in prison.
He slips between Yoruba and English, thanking those who supported him while lamenting the suffering that thrives within prison walls. The vulnerability feels raw and unvarnished, with honesty bleeding through the defiance of the beat.
“Jail Tales” shifts into a smoother space, built on Afroswing drums laid over simple chords and a rich bass foundation. The track delves deeper into the psyche of a Nigerian prisoner, peppered with anecdotes that carry both humour and despair. Lines such as, “If I say make I carry book o/ 40 leaves go full…you’ll find freedom like Mandela”, frame the struggle with wit and gravitas, charting survival within confinement while stretching towards symbols of liberation.
On “Grace in Disguise”, the Apala lineage comes fully to the fore, with riffing pianos and swelling pads sitting behind heavy traditional percussion—from talking drums to shakers and sticks. Terry Apala’s gravel-toned singing takes on a sweetness as he recounts blessings in children, loved ones, and family, tying spiritual gratitude to earthly bonds. The groove is simple yet driving, with the incessant repetition of the chorus burrowing deep into memory until it becomes an earworm, true to Apala’s call-and-response legacy.
Not Guilty closes with “Echoes of Pain”, its most haunting entry. Somber pianos, wailing strings, and soft pads merge into an ethereal atmosphere that swells with grief. Terry lifts his voice into a rich head register, lamenting, “The children are weeping/ The children are crying”, as ululations in another tongue weave through, leaving the listener transfixed. The cries of children seep into the mix, tugging at the heart until it breaks. The outro drifts into spoken passages that seem to touch French intonations, an enigmatic final gesture that brings Not Guilty to a close with a lingering sense of mourning.
Not Guilty is brief, but its brevity sharpens its focus. Clearly inspired by Terry Apala’s recent run-in with the law, the four-track project finds him reflective and deeply introspective. The storytelling is personal and autobiographical—whether he is recounting the harsh realities of prison life or pausing to appreciate the blessings of family and success. The songwriting may not always rely on clever or complex lyricism, but the punch of its realness more than compensates, with wit and Apala-rooted metaphor adding colour to the narratives.
The production benefits from Not Guilty’s tight runtime, giving each track a distinct identity under a slightly different stylistic umbrella. The beats are energetic and well-matched to the tone of the songs, carrying the project’s weight while allowing Terry’s presence to thrive. His gruff voice cuts clearly through—sometimes inconsistent in its polish, but always compelling. The rawness that has long defined his Apala fusion feels more like a feature than a flaw, though moments of cleaner execution might have elevated the experience even further.
That gruff vocal texture is ultimately what holds Not Guilty together, drawing the listener into Terry’s world, whether he is speaking, rapping, or treading the line between. His singing—surprisingly effective given the coarseness of his tone—carries emotional resonance, while his varied cadences adapt easily to each song’s mood and rhythm.
In the end, Not Guilty races by quickly, yet it lingers through its personal tales and the gut-punch of its haunting closer. It makes the most of its short runtime, balancing accessibility with sincerity, and offers a glimpse of Terry Apala at perhaps his most transparent. For an artiste who has long thrived at the intersections of tradition and experimentation, this project reinforces both his artistry and his humanity.
Lyricism – 1.4
Tracklisting – 1.3
Sound Engineering – 1.5
Vocalisation – 1.4
Listening Experience – 1.4
Rating – 7/10
Yinoluwa “Yinoluu” Olowofoyeku is a multi-disciplinary artist and creative who finds expression in various media. His music can be found across all platforms and he welcomes interaction on his social media @Yinoluu.