“I Never Changed”: Ice Prince on Grace, Legacy and Surviving Nigerian Music’s Fastest Eras

More than a decade after “Oleku” became one of the defining records of Nigerian pop culture, Ice Prince still speaks about the song like it never left.

For listeners, “Oleku” is nostalgia. It reminds people of the early 2010s, the rise of a new generation of Nigerian stars, Blackberry days, Alaba CDs, campus parties and the moment Afrobeats began stretching itself into something global. But for Ice Prince, the song never became a memory because he never stopped living inside it.

“It feels like a brand new song every other week,” he says. “I still perform it almost every weekend.”

The rapper laughs as he explains why the song does not trigger the same feeling in him as it does in fans.

“You know why it’s nostalgic for you? Because maybe you hear it once in a while,” he says. “For me, I perform it almost every weekend, sometimes three or four times in a weekend. I can’t do a show without performing ‘Oleku.’ Weddings, birthdays, tours,  people still want to hear it everywhere.”

Years later, the record continues to follow him around the world. It still gets him booked. It still gets crowds screaming every word back at him, “as we wrote it together,” as he puts it. And maybe that is why Testimony of Grace, his fifth studio album, sounds less like the work of someone trying to reinvent himself and more like the reflections of someone learning to appreciate the weight of longevity.

“Grace is joy. Grace is happiness. Grace is success,” he says. “To still be here 16 years deep in the music industry and still be able to do what I do, still be able to take care of myself and the people around me, that’s grace for me.”

Throughout the conversation, “grace” becomes the word he returns to the most. Not fame. Not relevant. Not even legacy. Grace.

The album itself, according to him, is a reflection of every phase he has experienced since his breakout years.

“I’ve witnessed different eras,” he says. “Obviously, not every era because there were eras before me, but from the 2010s till now, every era I’ve witnessed is reflected in this album.”

He remembers the Alaba era vividly, before streaming platforms, before social media, before digital distribution changed everything about the way music moved.

“You had to distribute your music through Alaba,” he recalls. “So it’s safe to call me an OG before IG.”

There is pride in that statement, but not arrogance. More than anything, it sounds like someone who is aware that he belongs to a generation that experienced the Nigerian music industry in a completely different form from the artists coming up today.

Still, despite how much the industry has evolved, Ice Prince insists he never felt pressure to completely reshape himself to fit newer trends.

“A lot of artists try to reinvent themselves every few years,” he says. “But I’ve always tried to stay true to myself and my art.”

That idea of consistency comes up repeatedly. At one point, he references artists like Fela Kuti, Bob Marley, Tupac Shakur and Nas as examples of artists who remained rooted in themselves throughout their careers.

“I never saw them trying to become something else,” he says. “Nas is still Nas. Fela stayed Fela. Tupac stayed Tupac. These are the kind of artists I look up to.”

For him, authenticity matters more than constantly trying to stay in conversations online.

“We’re in a fast-paced era where people think there’s always a need to do something different to remain in the conversation,” he says. “But I’m not that type of artist. I don’t make music for entertainment purposes only. I make music for the art.”

He pauses briefly before adding something he repeats multiple times during the interview:

“I don’t even like to be called a celebrity.”

That distinction seems deeply important to him. He separates musicianship from celebrity culture almost instinctively, describing himself as someone who cares more about expression than visibility.

“What matters most to me is the message behind the art,” he says. “As long as people understand my perspective and get the message, I’m happy.”

It is also why he says he takes his time with albums rather than rushing projects out.

“I don’t just put a bunch of songs together and call it an album,” he explains. “I try to make my albums like books or movies. Different chapters, different topics, different genres.”

From Everybody Loves Ice Prince to Fire of Zamani, Jos to the World, C.O.L.D. and now Testimony of Grace, he says every project has been approached with intention.

“A lot of people are telling me this album reminds them of Everybody Loves Ice Prince,” he says. “I take that as a compliment because people call that album a classic.”

Even while staying rooted in his own identity, he says the album also benefited from younger collaborators and producers who brought fresh energy into the process.

“It’s a collection of everything I’ve been through from the very beginning till now,” he says.

There are moments during the conversation where Ice Prince sounds deeply reflective, almost philosophical. Then suddenly, another side of him appears: the rapper, the veteran, the artist fully aware of his place in African music history.

At one point, he lifts his BET Award into the camera while talking about confidence and legacy.

“I’m the first artist, not even a rapper, the first artist to go on the BET stage and receive that award,” he says proudly.

He laughs after saying it, but the statement matters to him.

“Sometimes it’s okay to remind people who Ice Prince actually is.”

He speaks about meeting Jay-Z, Kendrick Lamar, Ed Sheeran and other global artists over the years, reflecting on experiences that younger fans may not even fully associate with him anymore.

“I’ve done something,” he says. “Sometimes you have to talk your talk.”

Still, the confidence never completely overshadows the vulnerability underneath it.

One of the emotional high points of the conversation comes when he begins speaking about “Same Love,” one of the songs on the album.

The track, he reveals, was recorded immediately after a traumatic experience involving a police issue that led to him spending six days in prison.

“I recorded that song literally the same night I came back from prison,” he says quietly. “Every time I hear it, it still gives me flashbacks.”

Another difficult record for him was “Dear Mama,” a song dedicated to his late parents.

“I recorded that song in tears,” he says. “Especially the verse about my mum. I didn’t even re-record it because I felt like if I did, it would take away the emotion.”

As the interview progresses, it becomes increasingly clear how much faith shapes the way Ice Prince sees his life and career. He references God repeatedly — not in a performative way, but in a deeply personal one.

“God is literally all I have,” he says.

He explains that both his parents are gone and that being an only son heavily shaped his emotional world.

“My real-life story is that I’m an orphan,” he says. “My parents are not alive anymore and I’m the only son. So my only brother is Jesus Christ, obviously.”

For him, music was never about fame in the first place.

“I started music in church,” he says. “Even if I didn’t blow up with ‘Oleku,’ I probably would still be making music somewhere.”

That perspective also shapes how he views influence. During the interview, younger artists like BoyPee are mentioned as artists who have cited him as inspiration, and Ice Prince admits he occasionally hears traces of himself in newer artists today.

“Some of those flows and cadences were things I created,” he says, referencing some of his older rap styles. “So sometimes I hear myself in younger artists.”

Still, he quickly redirects the credit back to God.

“All glory goes to God because He’s the original creator,” he says.

There is a noticeable sense of gratitude throughout the interview, but also a growing sense of peace.

When asked what he hopes people understand about him when they listen to Testimony of Grace years from now, his answer sounds less like an artist chasing immortality and more like someone learning contentment.

“I want people to see somebody who was grateful,” he says. “Somebody who felt blessed.”

Outside music, Ice Prince has also gone through a major personal transformation physically. Over the last year, he says he committed himself to a serious weight-loss journey after becoming uncomfortable with his health.

“At some point, my belly was all over the place,” he jokes. “I almost had to change my name to Big Daddy Ice.”

Now, his routine is built around discipline.

He says he sleeps by 10 p.m., wakes up at 4 a.m., goes on early morning walks, reads every morning, watches the news, lifts weights and practices intermittent fasting. He has also stopped smoking, stopped drinking alcohol and cut out sugar, bread and certain processed foods completely.

“Your body is a temple,” he says. “How you take care of your body is also a form of worship.”

He even shared parts of his routine in detail, from making homemade ginger and turmeric tea every morning to reading The Book of Joy daily.

The reactions online to his weight loss, he says, no longer bother him.

“Most of the comments make me laugh,” he says. “I know what I’m doing naturally.”

Despite the years, the industry changes and everything he has experienced personally, Ice Prince insists the core of who he is has remained untouched.

“My friends are still the same. My team is still the same. My DJ is still my DJ,” he says. “I’m literally still the same person.”

And maybe that is the clearest summary of Testimony of Grace itself.

Not an artist desperately trying to become new again. Not someone chasing trends or validation. Just someone looking back at nearly two decades of music, pain, influence, faith and survival with honesty and gratitude.

“I feel accomplished,” he says. “Obviously, we all want more because that’s human nature. But I’m happy with how much God has blessed me.”

Then, almost like a conclusion to the entire conversation, he says:

“I want to remain the same Ice Prince.”