In the middle of a Sunday service, when the Celestial Church of Christ choir swells into harmony, a young boy in a white robe is keeping time with his heart. His father leads the congregation; he sings along, not knowing that these moments—the timbre of live drums, the lift of Yoruba hymns—are quietly shaping him into an artist. This strong foundation in faith and music would become the soul of his artistry.

That boy is now Dairo Emmanuel Olajide, better known as Ricchie Mane. And while the white robes of Ibadan have given way to the crisp air of Cyprus, the music has never left him. In fact, it has deepened, pulling from his spiritual roots and his personal journey.

Ricchie’s journey wasn’t plotted on a vision board because for him, music was an inheritance—passed down not in money or material, but in melody. Yet, somewhere between the pull of reality and the ache of ambition, he found himself writing songs that sounded like survival. This innate clink of survival has birthed his movement, BBS—Bottom Boy Survivor.

BBS is a declaration, a badge worn by anyone who’s ever made something from nothing. It’s also the name of one of his upcoming singles—a track that threads through Afro soul and Afro pop. His music is always ready for any challenge, a testament to his genre-bending versatility.

His catalogue already carries that weight. There’s the unflinching vulnerability of Save Me, the grit of WRM/OMF (Who Ricchie Mane / On My Feet), the street energy of Gbemidebe, and the raw honesty of Who You Gon Call. Even when he’s featured, like on Steady, you hear it—that refusal to make up fictitious stories. If it didn’t happen, he wouldn’t sing it.

That honesty and his genre-bending versatility make him hard to box in. One minute he’s crooning in Yoruba about persistence that carries the depth of Ibadan, the next he’s dropping pidgin lines that carry the rhythm of Nigeria. His music belongs everywhere and nowhere at once—church pews, club speakers, headphones on the bus ride home. This is the mark of a true artist. He also used to back up his brother, a juju singer, during shows and concerts, further proving his readiness for any musical challenge. While his versatility might be a concern for connecting with fans, he stays true in his message regardless of the style he’s delivering in.

For Ricchie, BBS isn’t just a project; it’s a lifeline. And as his voice rises from the quiet corridors of a Cypriot studio to ears far beyond, it’s clear he’s still that boy in the choir stall—singing like survival depends on it.

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