MUSIC

Stonebwoy’s Year of The Torcher

With ‘THE TORCHER,’ Ghana’s leading reggae-dancehall artist expands his sound while confronting the structures that threaten creative freedom.

A portrait of Stonebwoy. He is looking at the camera through a window, and wears a red beret, dark shades, and a white top.
Stonebwoy talks to OkayAfrica about his new EP ‘THE TORCHER,’ navigating the streaming era, and keeping the fire of Ghanaian music alive.

We meet with Stonebwoy at a hotel in Johannesburg, where he’s come to film a music video with Zambia’s Yo Maps and speak to OkayAfrica about his new album, THE TORCHER — a compact, self-contained album, and, as its cover suggests, ablaze in all directions.

The interview takes place by the poolside, overlooking the Sandton skyline as the sun spills deep shades of orange across the horizon. His past few days have been packed — press runs, video shoots, appearances — and once we wrap, he’s headed straight to a studio session.

THE TORCHER is a delectable nine-track EP swaggering with dancehall and hip-hop energy, held together by his lyrical mastery and a sleek production lineup that includes Street Beatz (“Torcher,” “Deeper”), Guiltybeatz (“Outside Lifestyle”), and MOG Beatz (“Xosetor,” “Deeper”). More than a decade since his 2012 breakthrough, and with both triumphs and turbulent moments behind him — including his long-running feud with fellow Ghanaian dancehall titan Shatta Wale — Stonebwoy sounds grounded and self-assured. He wears his influences openly: Capleton’s fiery motifs, Shabba Ranks’ rugged toasting, Buju Banton’s depth. But there’s also an awareness of the African sounds that shaped him, from Ghana’s highlife and hiplife to the reggae traditions of Lucky Dube, Alpha Blondy, and Tiken Jah Fakoly.

During our chat, the conversation drifts across multiple terrains – from how support structures like youth clubs and radio stations nurtured his early talent, to how an older generation of Ghanaian rappers — Wanlov the Kubolor, M3nsa, Blitz the Ambassador — helped carve out the freedom and confidence that artists like him now move with.

“I grew from the grassroots,” he tells us. “I was fortunate enough to start as early in senior high school. We’d go on radio every weekend, battling other artists. Imagine doing that for three straight years — you’d have built a fanbase that already knew your skill and talent, from the underground to the top.”

He pauses, then adds: “If not for that radio exposure, how would I have started? That’s when you realize how important it is to protect those fundamental structures – the ciphers, the battles, the freestyle sessions. That’s how you unearth talent. I’m proud to say it’s that culture that birthed artists like myself and Sarkodie.”

The radio platform he’s referring to is Dr. Duncan’s Kasahari Level rap show on Adom FM, the same platform that helped launch careers for the likes of Flowking Stone, Sarkodie, and Yaa Pono. Dr. Duncan’s influence extends beyond radio; he’s often credited with bridging Ghana’s street-level cipher culture and the mainstream, helping formalize the nation’s hip-hop movement.

Stonebwoy stands on the balcony looking out to the street in a promo shot. He is wearing a red beret, dark shades, and a white vest.
“Online is great…[but] we need an agreement that gives musicians full control and lets fans connect emotionally,” says Stonebwoy.

Born Livingstone Etse Satekla in Ashaiman, Stonebwoy is now one of Africa’s most decorated dancehall and reggae artists. Emerging from that same battle and cipher circuit in the late 2000s, he broke through with his debut Grade 1 (2012) and cemented his global stature with Necessary Evil (2014) and Epistles of Mama (2017). Anloga Junction, 5th Dimension, and UP & RUNNING followed in 2020, 2023, and 2024, respectively.

 On THE TORCHER, he stretches his ribbon of rhythm even wider — threading the Amapiano pulse of “Gidi Gidi (Fire)” with the drill textures of “Susuka” (featuring Beeztrap KOTM and Yaw Tog) and “Xosetor” (with Agbeshie and Kenny Ice).

“For the features that I did, these are rappers from the Volta and Ashanti regions,” he explains. “The Volta region, where Agbeshie and Kenny Ice are from, speaks Ewe; the Ashanti region speaks Twi. It was intentional; I wanted to hit home and touch the grassroots. I went for Ghanaian drill (known as Asakaa) on both songs. It’s a sound that’s already simmered deep into the system, and people appreciate that grassroots mentality I have.”

“I’ve been aware of them since they broke into the scene, and it’s been beautiful to see,” he adds. “That’s why a collaboration of that nature was worth making.”

For an artist who came up when physical media was king, from CDs to magazines and beyond, adjusting to the streaming era has required some unlearning.

“It’s a development that hasn’t sat well with some creatives to this day,” he says. “The elders were steeped in CDs and cassettes; those were times when you could touch and feel the music. The dynamic wasn’t so complicated: you went to the studio, created a masterpiece, distributed it, and got your cut. There was a physical commodity to exchange.”

He considers himself fortunate to have experienced that tail-end of the CD era, to know the thrill of handing music directly to fans. “Some artists today never experienced that,” he continues. “All in all, musicians are being underpaid. Third parties have blocked and gatekept the distribution system via the Digital Service Providers (DSPs). They excite artists with numbers, but the financial gain isn’t in the creators’ control. That’s something we have to debate.”

As calls grow to divest from DSPs — most notably Spotify, over investments in military-grade AI technology — artists and listeners alike are re-evaluating the ethics of music consumption in a time of global conflict. The question of where one’s streams go, and what they fund, is beginning to unsettle the foundations of an industry built on access and convenience.

“Online is great,” he admits, “but in terms of remuneration and control, that’s where the debate lies. We need an agreement that gives musicians full control and lets fans connect emotionally. Gone are the days when you’d take a CD or vinyl and clean it. You treated it like an art piece. Psychologically and emotionally, that created a bond between artist and fan that lasted.”

He circles back to the meaning behind his new project. “The theme I wanted to work with was the year of the torcher,” he says. “I felt it in my spirit. The fire has been burning, and it shall continue, because we’ve got to keep the vision alive. The title means we must carry the torch for the next generations – let your light shine, don’t let anyone dim it. Music must preach these messages to uplift people. When you carry a torch, and someone carries equal energy or more, it produces more fire – we elevate, and we achieve.”