June Sometimes is difficult to pin down. Writer, spoken word poet, music curator, and now recording artist, he moves between creative disciplines with the ease of someone who sees no borders between them. His debut album, MeMoRies WiTH NoSTaLGiC FLaWS, released in October 2025, is a deeply personal project rooted in early 2000s Nigerian childhood, complete with voice notes, retro sound effects, and childhood recordings that function as both memory and archive.

But the album is more than music. It’s a game, a time capsule, and a community-building exercise wrapped into one ambitious project. We spoke with June about his origins, his creative process, and why nostalgia is more than just a feeling.

You create across writing, music, curation, and spoken word. What part of your artistic identity formed first, and how has that foundation shaped who you are today?

At the foundation of everything, I’m a writer. I started out writing short stories and poetry. I used to have a publication on WordPress where I reached readers from different parts of the world. Then it evolved into spoken word poetry. But I’ve always been a visual person—in my head, I always see things before they come to reality. That shaped this album and the persona: June Sometimes.

I also used to release music in 2016, 2017. I had like three singles on SoundCloud, but I stopped due to financial and academic reasons. Then, in 2018-2019, the process of this album started. I read books like The Da Vinci Code that triggered my curiosity. I also listened to certain albums that made me want to create something that tapped into nostalgia and memories. That’s how the album came to be.

But at the very beginning, I used to make music as a child. I can’t remember how I started writing songs, but I had a neighbour who taught me the basics of certain instruments- the keyboard, acoustic guitar, harmonica and recorder. Outside of everything, though, I’m a writer. I like to take elements of different things and bring them together in all my artistic pursuits.

You started as a spoken word poet, competing in slams across the country. How did that performance background influence how you write and deliver music now?

I wouldn’t say it influenced how I write music; writing poetry influenced that because I see my music as singing my poems, but the performance aspect gave me the confidence to try new things.

The confidence that comes with being able to perform on stage can’t be replicated through anything else. It takes a lot of confidence to share your creative work because, as an artist, you’re not expecting feedback or applause. But when it comes, it builds your confidence. People appreciating my spoken word gave me the confidence to continue trying new creative measures.

Let’s talk about MeMoRies WiTH NoSTaLGiC FLaWS. It feels deeply rooted in early 2000s Nigerian childhood. What was the moment or memory that convinced you nostalgia should be the core of this album?

I remember as a child, when I was hungry, I would take my plate and spoon, hit them together, and start singing, “I’m hungry, I’m hungry, I’m hungry.” That’s one memory that made me think I’ve always been inclined to make music.

But what made nostalgia the central theme? I started writing these songs in 2019. That was when the Nigerian music scene picked up with the Alté scene; Cruel Santino, Odunsi, and Show Dem Camp. They brought a fresh idea to what music could be, and many of those projects took elements of growing up in the 2000s and shaped the music landscape we’re in today.

Then 2020 happened: The pandemic. Everybody was indoors. I spent a lot more time with family, friends, and neighbours. I realised so much had changed between when we were growing up and now, but many things also remained the same. It’s rare to see people playing outdoor games like suwe or ten-ten anymore. I thought, maybe we’re still the same people, just in a different time and space. Maybe the things happening now can be shaped by how we grew up, how we lived communally.

I was also inspired by the politics of what was happening in Nigeria, especially during the #EndSARS protest. We used to have songs like “Nigeria Jaga Jaga” or “You Don Bash My Car”, social commentary on what was happening in the country. But we don’t have many of those kinds of songs anymore. Everybody sings about money, jewellery, and women now. I wanted to do something that tapped into that element and reminded us of what music used to be when we were growing up.

The album is called MeMoRies WiTH NoSTaLGiC FLaWS. What does “flaws” mean in this context?

As much as you try to remember something, there’s no accurate memory. Memories are emotionally attached. What you remember about your childhood might not be exactly what happened. That’s why I say “nostalgic flaws you remember”, but is it exactly how it happened? Those are the flaws attached to remembering. You want to remember things perfectly and accurately, but you can’t always do that.

You use old voice notes, Uber driver conversations, retro sound effects, and childhood recordings throughout the album. What was the most emotionally striking archival moment you discovered or rediscovered?

The voice notes are of my family members and family friends, except for the Uber driver conversation, which was random. The one that connected with me the most is the voice note at the beginning of “S.I.M.P.S.”, which was me and my mom singing a song together. It’s called “Amazing Grace, How Sweet,” but not the normal version. It’s a different one.

My mom was one of the people who taught me how to sight-read music, so that was one of the songs she used as an example. We always sang it together. I know that if, 20 or 50 years from now, I want to hear my mom’s voice, I can go back to that song.

Do you have any favourite songs from the album, or any that were especially difficult to make?

My favourites change with time, but currently I like “U.F.O” and the last song, “Hmm tRy.” Those two are really special to me.

The most difficult ones to make were “Playing on Words” and “ouR warY Boot.” On the day we were supposed to record, I was going to the studio with Chi Wav, who’s featured on “Our Weary Boots.” We were stuck in traffic for over seven hours going from Ajah to Ikoyi. By the time we got to the studio, we were exhausted, but we still had to fulfil the mission.

You curated an album for Drummr Africa called Yamen Yamen in 2022. How did that experience shape your approach to songwriting and sound design on this album?

Yamen Yamen was released in 2022, but I already had an idea for this album in 2018-2019. I came into the industry as a writer for Drummr Africa before I started running the brand.

Curating that album was my way of navigating the industry, promotion, meeting other creatives, putting together a project that could span across the continent, and seeing what sound works in different places. It helped me understand the landscape better in terms of artists’ creative processes and what it means to market and promote a project.

Although the landscape in 2022 and now has changed drastically in terms of what’s required to promote music, that experience gave me insight.

You reference a lot of early 2000s pop culture, Nigerian games, nursery rhymes, and social commentary. How do you decide what childhood detail becomes music and what just stays as memory?

I started writing these songs before I even knew it was going to be an album. By the fourth or fifth song, I realised, “Okay, this is going to be a body of work.”

For example, “T.B.S” is about missing a lady, having conversations, and probably falling in love. When I was writing it, I had in mind that nursery rhyme “Oh Susanna, oh won’t you cry for me” which was attached at the beginning. It’s like a modern version of what would happen if they rewrote that rhyme in 2020.

At that time, star signs were a way of flirting. More young people were getting into drugs and cigarettes. I was also referring to myself as a banjo, a stringed instrument musicians use. Meeting a stranger and striking up a conversation around that.

Each song had its way of attaching a memory to it, and it became seamless. Some were pre-planned, some happened along the line, and some were inspired by things happening in the moment, like “Playing on Words,” which references the 2020 #EndSARS protest.

You’ve described the album as a game. What inspired that, and how do you want listeners to engage with it?

There’s a digital game, a web game designed for the album that will be launched soon. You’ll basically be answering questions, and there’ll be a leaderboard with rewards for each stage and a grand prize.

All the answers in the game are in the lyrics of the songs. There are references in the songs you have to know to play the game: games, movies, cartoons we grew up on, and people’s names. All those references are elements of the game.

If you notice the tracklist, the first part of the album is abbreviated, and the second part is an anagram. The song titles are part of the game. You have to rearrange them. You have to know what the abbreviations stand for, because those things are already said in the songs, in the hooks, in the verses.

Nostalgia is a powerful psychological tool. How has it helped you build a community around the album?

The state we’re in as a people, as the human race, we’ve gotten to a place where everyone is worried about what’s happening. Security, artificial intelligence, and technology are going beyond what we could have imagined. Every time there’s a shift in how we interact as humans, there are reservations and fear. But change is constant. Those things are important for how human experience progresses.

One thing that will never change is things that have happened before. Things people remember. That’s what the album is about. We’re using memories and nostalgia, both personal and collective, to build communities around not just the music, but around me as an artist and other artists who create similar work.

As much as nostalgia is important in creating this community, I also think having a future-forward approach to creativity, community, and friendship is important. I don’t want to call it a fan base because tomorrow I might not be making music. Tomorrow I might be rolling out another project. A lot of people don’t even want to be called fans anymore. It’s more about creating a safe space where people have the intellectual capacity to understand what I’m trying to do and can contribute, because people have their own individual talents and creativity they want to express.

You’ve also been teaching photography to students. How does that connect to the album?

I’m currently serving with the National Youth Service Corps, and I’m in a CDS called IT and Education. We’ve been going to schools, and I’ve been teaching people how to use cameras to take pictures and document their memories.

A few weeks ago, we did one at Ikeja Comprehensive High School. I taught them how to use both digital and Polaroid cameras, and I allowed the students to take pictures and test what they’d learned.

I’m using the album as a way to not just encourage nostalgia or using your memories as a tool for growth, but also to teach people things they don’t know. Beyond that, I’m building communities. That’s been the basis of everything I’ve done, from running Drummr Africa to what I did at university. Now I’m extending that to my world, which is Lagos and beyond.

We’re attaching other things to the album, going on tours to different states, building concert experiences, and touching base with people interested in literature, adventure, and games. Everything is built around the music.

The album feels like a coming-of-age story. What part of your present self are you most proud to finally be capturing in your art?

It’s one thing to imagine something and another to see it come to life. While making this album, I’d close my eyes. I wrote many of these songs in my dad’s garden when I was still living at home. I imagined that by the time I was done, I would be living by myself, with my own community, and finding like-minded people. I wanted to express myself in certain ways and be intentional about where I feature.

The freedom to pick and choose. The freedom to bring a vision to life. The freedom to say, “I have made this thing, and it is whole.” That thing I was closing my eyes and imagining is right in front of me now. That’s one of the most important things I’ve been able to prove to myself. It’s a confidence builder.

When someone listens to this album 10 years from now, what do you hope it reminds them of?

I want the album to be a time capsule. When it comes to archiving, you can say, “I want to listen to a song from the 2000s,” and go listen to 2Face’s “African Queen” or P-Square’s “Beautiful Onyinye.” In 10 years, if someone listens to this album, what will they get from it?

I want people to feel like, “This is someone who grew up on that music, making music in a different time, but still trying to point back to the time he grew up in.” If you’re looking for an archival record of what happened in the 2000s, the voice notes and archives will make you understand. If the world is destroyed today and AI is trying to figure out what African children were doing in 2005, they can listen to this album and get a reference from that.

The direct translation of what the album is: opening a photo album. You know, when you go to somebody’s house, and they give you a photo album to look through, good times, bad times, happy times, sad times, love, and even the politics of what was happening? That’s what I want people to feel. It’s like a literal album that lets you go through how people were feeling as Nigerians at this particular point in time and the times before.

Any final words?

Listen to MeMoRies WiTH NoSTaLGiC FLaWS. Share it with people because it’s an important project at this point. I know a lot of albums came out this year, so you might be wondering why you’d listen to this guy’s album. One thing I know is that it’s very different. It’s not the regular Afrobeats you’d listen to as a Nigerian. Some of it is slow-paced. It’s like sitting by the beach side, enjoying nature, but also transporting yourself through a time machine.

If you want to understand what I mean, just play MeMoRies WiTH NoSTaLGiC FLaWS by June Sometimes.