Ife Ogunjobi – Records, Faith and Football

When people talk about musicians, they often talk about influence as though it’s something tangible: a favourite record, a genre, a technical flourish borrowed from another player. Sitting with Ife Ogunjobi, influence feels much less like imitation and much more akin to his philosophy. Before we talk about football, touring with Ezra Collective, we find ourselves talking about prayer, gospel music and the importance of beginning each day with intention. I’d begin to learn that music, for Ife, isn’t something he makes. It is the lens through which he understands people, community and ultimately his own place within both.

Growing up in Elephant and Castle, music was always present. These days his mornings still begin with gospel, a ritual that provides both grounding and perspective before the pace of touring or recording takes over. When conversation turns to the musicians who continue to shape him, he speaks less about copying what they did than trying to understand how they thought. Fela Kuti remains a constant point of return because, as he explains, every listen reveals something new. It is the phrasing, the structure and the generosity of the compositions that continue to fascinate him, qualities that reward patience rather than demanding attention. “Great music,” he suggests, “isn’t exhausted after the first listen. It continues to unfold.”

That curiosity informs his own practice. Ife speaks about music less as a product than as a responsibility. He hopes it brings people together, certainly, but more importantly he hopes it leaves them changed in some small way. “Music is meant to heal people,” he tells me, not as a lofty ambition but as a fairly matter-of-fact description of what music has always done at its best. Entertainment is almost secondary. The real achievement lies in creating something that allows people to feel understood, comforted or simply less alone.

“Everyone has their thing. Once you step into that, you’re truly being who you’re meant to be.”

That generosity becomes the defining characteristic of almost everything he says afterwards. Many artists speak about collaboration in practical terms, discussing process or creative compromise, but Ife frames it quite differently. Whether talking about Ezra Collective, his solo work or the wider creative community, he repeatedly returns to the idea that everyone possesses something distinct to contribute. The challenge is not proving yourself louder than everyone else, but recognising what only you can bring and allowing others the space to do the same. He talks about musicians alongside teachers, designers, healthcare workers and photographers with exactly the same reverence, arguing that culture is built not through celebrity but through countless people stepping fully into the thing they were made to do. “Everyone has their thing,” he says. “Once you step into that, you’re truly being who you’re meant to be.”

Listening to him, it becomes increasingly obvious that his understanding of collaboration has very little to do with music alone. Even the relationship between performer and audience is reciprocal rather than hierarchical. He describes live performance as an exchange of energy, explaining that the crowd fundamentally changes the way he plays. Their reactions shape the music in real time, giving him permission to push further, to take risks or to linger in a phrase a little longer. Performance, then, is not the act of presenting something finished but of building something together for a brief moment before it disappears again.

Perhaps that explains why football emerges so naturally within the conversation. On the surface the two worlds appear quite separate, but Ife sees remarkably little distance between them. Both create temporary communities. Both ask strangers to invest emotionally in a shared experience. Most importantly, both produce moments that remain with people long after they have ended. A last-minute winner, a favourite song on a difficult day, a festival set or a cup final all become landmarks in our personal histories. We remember where we were, who we were with and, often, what was playing in the background. He laughs while recalling that he and his band regularly listen to Tems on days off while touring, music that has now become inseparable from the places they have travelled together. Football works in exactly the same way. It creates memories that attach themselves to people for life.

“Those emotions that you can give people through your job… it’s history, it’s joy, it’s unfiltered happiness.”

When I ask what kind of footballer he imagines himself to be, his answer arrives almost instantly. A winger. Perhaps a striker. Not because of the goals, although he smiles at the thought, but because those positions allow for freedom. He admires players like Eberechi Eze, Cole Palmer and Kylian Mbappé because they are trusted to improvise, to solve problems instinctively rather than mechanically. The comparison becomes unexpectedly revealing because, in describing the footballer he would like to be, he is really describing the musician he already is. The work is at its strongest, he believes, when there is room to explore, to follow instinct and to express yourself honestly rather than being confined by rigid expectations. “When I’m allowed to articulate myself how I want to, that’s when you’re going to get the best from me.”

By the end of our conversation, football feels less like a diversion than another expression of the same worldview. Whether discussing Fela Kuti, gospel music, Ezra Collective or Chelsea, Ife returns to the same handful of ideas with remarkable consistency. Culture is collaborative. Creativity is an act of generosity. Freedom allows people to become themselves. And perhaps most importantly, whether through a trumpet solo or a goal, there are few greater privileges than being able to give someone a moment of unfiltered joy.