The Quiet Power of Mastery

Photograph: Mogli Maureal

I’ve noticed something interesting about myself: excellence pulls me in like a magnet. When I discover someone who is truly, deeply exceptional at what they do, I fall into a state of total obsession. I will spend hours on their page, completely consumed, just marveling at their craft. I have a number of people I could talk about, but my latest find is Jacob Collier.

As a chronic TikTok user, I recently came across Jacob Collier’s account, and I honestly cannot believe I am only just discovering him. It feels like the rest of the world was gatekeeping him. I spent an absurd amount of time completely fascinated, watching clip after clip just to catch up with everyone else. You click one short video, and before you know it, half an hour has vanished because his energy is that hypnotic. You simply have no choice but to pay attention.

In Nigeria, when we say something isn’t “follow come,” it means something isn’t an automatic default you are just born with. True to that sentiment, excellence is something developed over time. Yet watching Jacob, his brilliance feels almost innate because he isn’t merely performing music; he is thinking in music. Whether he is reharmonizing simple melodies on the spot into unexpected soundscapes, conducting entire concert crowds as if thousands of untrained voices were a single unified choir, or breaking down impossibly complex musical theory with childlike excitement, it looks effortless. He is so charming that you are left with the impression that music is literally his native language.

There are plenty of technically gifted people in the world, but very few remain deeply curious once they have reached the top. Perhaps Jacob’s natural inclination towards music is part of what makes him exceptional, but his mastery is the result of years of devotion to his craft. What feels like “follow come” is often the visible result of invisible work.

What sets Jacob apart isn’t just his technical perfection, but his raw, contagious fascination. When he talks about rhythm, harmony, or sound, he has the energy of someone discovering music for the very first time. You aren’t just watching a high level performance; you are watching someone who is genuinely delighted by the act of creation.

We see that ease on stage, but we rarely see the thousands of unglamorous, invisible hours that built it. There is a quote often attributed to Michelangelo that captures this idea: “If people knew how hard I had to work to gain my mastery, it wouldn’t seem so wonderful at all.” Whether or not those exact words are authentic, the sentiment is true. Mastery has a way of hiding its own labor. That invisible effort is what makes his brilliance feel almost supernatural. Watching someone who is completely consumed by what they love, and absurdly good at it, is rare and impossible to turn away from.

In that same vein, this magnetic pull of excellence reminds me of a certain Nigerian musician and songwriter I came across not too long ago. I had heard of him before but never really cared to listen. Then, for whatever reason, I finally paid attention, and just like that, I became completely obsessed. His songwriting is stellar and deeply intentional. You can just tell this is someone who has put in the work. He isn’t making music just for the sake of it; his lyrics are so carefully curated and profoundly good.

I liked his work so much that I started sharing it with my small circle, posting his music on my WhatsApp status the way I usually do when I find something intriguing. One day, while discussing him, an acquaintance attempted to water down the artist’s sound. They casually remarked that since “even this guy” was amassing thousands of attendees at his concerts, perhaps they should start writing music too, implying his success was easily replicable or lacked substance.

I was completely stunned. Did they think the person behind such fantastic music was an olodo? He didn’t achieve these things by chance. He is not just some jobless guy who randomly decided to pick up a microphone; he is exceptionally good at what he does, and you can hear that dedication the moment you press play.

Excellence has a way of revealing itself. It is difficult to fake, impossible to manufacture overnight, and magnetic to witness. Long before people know your résumé or your story, they can often sense when someone has done the work. That is the quiet power of mastery.

I hope that, someday, I can become a “Jacob Collier” in my own way — not by making music, but by becoming so immersed in my own craft that the work speaks long before I do.