I remember the first time I heard of Nobantu Vilakazi, it was in a Musa Keys’ song, Vula Mlomo, in 2021.
Every taxi, tavern, club and bottle store played it as though it were stitched into the national soundtrack of that year.
The bass travelled through minibus speakers with a slight crackle, it poured into township streets on warm afternoons and it followed you into late-night grooves where amapiano was less a genre and more a shared pulse.
But beyond the production, beyond the now-iconic log drum bounce, it was her chant that captured most of us. She delivered it with so much conviction and belief that it didn’t feel like a background element; it felt like a statement.
There was authority in her tone. Certainty. The kind of presence that makes you stop mid-conversation and ask: “Who is that?” even when the rest of the country seems
to know.
Years later, that same assuredness remains intact.
“I say Nobantu Vilakazi is a young woman in the entertainment industry,” she tells me. “I’m a DJ, I’m a vocalist, I’m a songwriter and I’m a hitmaker.”
Then comes the title many fans have long echoed.
“I’m the first lady of amapiano.”
It’s a bold claim in a genre that has often centred on male producers and DJs but she doesn’t waver. When I ask whether the title invites criticism, she answers plainly: “No, I can’t get in trouble because people gave me that.”
In many ways, they did. Through chants that became cultural markers. Through performances that lingered long after the set ended. Through
a tone that felt township-rooted yet globally resonant.
Although amapiano might be where many discovered her, her foundation runs deeper. Before the chants that dominated airwaves, she was immersed in the house scene as a DJ.
“DJing was my first love,” she says. “I was a DJ in the house scene first. And by God’s grace, something happened that made me record a song and that song actually worked out. And my first gig was not as a DJ but as a performer.”
That pivot could have easily boxed her into a singular identity but she refused to let it.
“I came back to DJing because I just wanted to enhance all my skills and be a powerhouse and not limit myself to being just a singer,” she explains. “It’s very nice being a singer but that is not where I want to end.
I also want to venture into production. Right now I just want to be a woman that does everything in the music scene.”
The refusal to be one-dimensional has defined her steady rise. When amapiano was finding its footing, she didn’t approach it cautiously.
“I don’t wanna lie, I wasn’t scared,” she says. “I was actually excited to try out the new sound.”
At the time, the industry questioned whether amapiano would last. Artists wondered whether committing fully to the genre was a risk.
“It has always been on everyone’s mind that it is an amazing sound,” she admits. “But also it needs to be in you — How do you elevate and inject something to the sound that makes the sound last?”
Her answer was contribution.
“I feel like I was one of those people that gave the sound a subgenre when it comes to chants,” she says. “I just wanted to showcase myself.”
That instinct to showcase rather than shrink is evident in her latest release, Abafana Base Goli, a bold and striking single that brings together a powerful collective: DBN Gogo, Lady Du, Tman Express, Felo Le Tee, Fake’Well and Soul Jam.
The track is not just another collaboration; it is a candid anthem about men from Goli (Johannesburg) who love loudly but struggle with loyalty.
Through sharp storytelling and emotionally honest lyricism, Nobantu captures the excitement, charm and contradiction of being desired but not fully respected. It is a reality many women recognise immediately: the thrill of attention intertwined with the quiet understanding that affection does not always equal faithfulness.
“Abafana Base Goli is a candid song about men from a particular area who love women loudly but struggle with faithfulness.”
There is humour in the delivery but there is also truth. The song does not villainise; it observes. It acknowledges the charisma, the big gestures, the public displays and then gently exposes the cracks beneath them. In doing so, it becomes relatable rather than accusatory.
The collaboration reflects amapiano’s communal spirit. Rather than spotlighting one dominant figure, the record moves as a shared creative direction. DBN Gogo and Lady Du bring their established national presence, while Tman Express’s familiar vocal texture and Felo Le Tee’s production identity anchor the track in the sonic conversations shaping current charts.
Fake’Well and Soul Jam complete the line-up, reinforcing that this is less about individual ego and more about collective energy.
The origin of the single, however, mirrors the spontaneity that often defines her career.
“There was not a planned session,” she recalls of an earlier studio experience with DBN Gogo. “I did a couple of songs and when I was about to leave, they played that beat. I was like: ‘Hey, this is a nice beat.’ I started with the hook before I did the verse. I recorded alone. And then I left the song. I forgot about this song.”
Months later, hearing it played at a festival jolted her memory.
“I was so shocked that, oh my God, I did this song. I had forgotten about this song. And they were like: ‘We always play the song. The song is
too much.’”
That rediscovery shifted her perspective, not only about that track but about holding music back in general.
“You know what’s funny? It’s not even me taking my time,” she admits about her release pace. “It’s me being scared of dropping.”
Fear of oversaturation. Fear of numbers not aligning. Fear of momentum stalling.
But the organic growth of her recent releases has reassured her.
“It wasn’t a TikTok song,” she says. “It never trended. I was very scared about what the numbers were going to be like when it dropped. But it’s just moving on its own organically.”
That organic movement, streams climbing and listeners multiplying has pushed her into a new mindset.
“I just don’t wanna lock my music anymore and keep music in the vault,” she says. “If you have something dope, drop it right now when it’s hot.”
Stepping confidently into what she describes as her solo era, Nobantu is expanding her sound and commanding stages across the continent.
Beyond the music, her image remains intentional. She credits her grandmother’s influence for her polished aesthetic.
“My grandmother was a fashion killer,” she says. “She made sure that when she stepped out of the house she was looking clean.”
That lesson became personal philosophy. “I don’t go to the wardrobe and look, look, look. I actually envision the outfit in my head … and it always comes out clean. I don’t want to have a bad-looking day. When someone sees me, I want them to remember me, my personality, my vibe and mostly the outfit.”
From that first chant in Vula Mlomo to the layered storytelling of Abafana Base Goli, what has remained constant is belief. Belief in her voice. Belief in her range. Belief that she belongs at the forefront of a genre that continues to shape global dance conversations.
Perhaps that’s what we heard back in 2021 without fully articulating it: not just a catchy chant echoing through taxis and clubs but the sound of a woman stepping into
her title long before the industry confirmed it.
Nobantu Vilakazi cements her solo era with ‘Abafana Base Goli’, a bold anthem blending township truth and irresistible grooves