Before Ayra Starr even turned 21, she had already graduated from college, signed to West African powerhouse Mavin and released her debut album, 19 & Dangerous. Her second LP, The year I turned 21, is the next chapter of the pop star in her story. While 19 & Dangerous illuminating an angry Ayra who is tired of toxic, past relationships, TYIT21 captures a Grammy-nominated Starr fixated on getting the bag. This new Ayra may be dripping with designer, but there's an underlying vulnerability that grounds her. Without straying too far from her signature sound, Starr's well-curated album explores inner depths and happily journeys beyond sensational anthems.
On lead single 'Commas', the Nigerian singer-songwriter credits her success to God, exuding a gentle spirituality that floats through the album. Money is a recurring motif: “To be real, I'm still eating off my last hit,” he raps breathlessly, then lets the words settle into the gospel-tinged chorus of “Bad Vibes.” What initially sounds like a flex suddenly feels existential. Starr's musings on money bounce between moments of gratitude, reminders of the hustle and an insatiable desire for more, painting a much richer picture of a young woman struggling with adulthood. In “1942,” he stammers, “I don't want to lose.” The concern is especially palpable when Milar, Ayra's brother, interjects that he fears he might “lose it all” one day. The line suggests insecurities that Starr may be reluctant to express herself. Herein lies its driving force TYIT21: the fear of everything you've worked for suddenly vanishes into thin air.
Turning 21 is both a milestone and a trope, but Starr's portrayal throughout the record seems refreshingly complex, full of contradictions and uncertainties. It shines on “21,” a heartfelt meditation that wrestles with the weight of self-definition. The woozy ballad thrives on its dreamy simplicity, allowing Starr to explore the rich textures of her voice. they breathe crowns and the spoken word transforms into full belts. Her musical alchemy makes the flow of R&B and the rhythmic pulse of Afrobeats harmonize, making her voice a natural fit for more traditional ballads. It's an internal monologue between youthful optimism and the comfort of not knowing everything. “21” fades into the soft chorus of “22,” a chilling lullaby turned cosmic nightmare.
Despite her undeniable growth over the past two years, Starr's words still read like a diary. This album revels in the greenness of youth. From the fiddle-driven opener “Birds Sing of Money,” Starr puts on an IDGAF front, spitting, “I don't mind my tone 'cause I like how it sounds bitch,” a cheeky departure from her softer, pinker lyrics. . “Lagos Love Story” is an Afropop confection that revels in the thrill of young romance – the kind of love that leads to impulsive promises after a day of smoking weed on the beach (“Let's make babies, we're still young but I'm ready,” he suggests ). Three tracks later, Starr prematurely declared her “Last Heartbreak Song” in a duet with Giveon. Who will break it to her that this is only the beginning?
