VERSUS: Tell us about your early years in ‘La Courneuve’ and the place music held in your memories.
Tiakola: Since we started young, most of my memories are with the group. My childhood was basically a crew of friends rapping together in 2015, blowing up fast in 2017, then splitting up. After that, everyone went their own way. Before then, I was surrounded by all kinds of music. My brothers were into 90s rap — Nas, Tupac, Biggie, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony, you name it. My sisters leaned more towards R&B, while my parents played a lot of rumba and gospel. So just stepping out of my house, I already had a lot of different sounds in my head. Outside, I was with my boys listening to French rap. At home, TV channels like Trace TV or MTV put me onto pop songs I really vibed with — Coldplay, Maroon 5, that kind of stuff. I soaked it all in. From that point on, music became a daily thing. On my way to school, I had music on. On my way to football, I had music on. It was always there.
You are the main ambassador of "melo," a new subgenre. How would you define this sound and its influences?
That’s a great question. [pauses to think] “La Mélo,” that’s me — it’s all the influences I just mentioned. It’s like walking through every room in my house. But since I also grew up on ndombolo, I might bring that “rapper” energy to a ndombolo track. Some days, I’m in the mood for doing R&B harmonies; other times, the melody comes from an instrumental whilst I come in more aggressively. It’s not fully rap, not fully singing…Tayc, for example, he sings. Me, I’ve got rapper flows. I pull from everywhere, and in the end, that’s what La Mélo is.
It’s a new sound that’s been introduced, and now, everyone has their own way of doing it, their own balance. People debate, "is it rap? Is it not rap?" It’s our music, that’s it. When Chief Keef came through with drill, that was his thing, period. He couldn’t have explained it any other way.
Do you remember when you first discovered your gift for melodies?
Like I told you, with all the influences I had, the first time I stepped into a studio, I didn’t know anything about 16-bar verses, 12-bar verses — any of that. But I knew when a track was good. It was all instinct. With the group, we just lacked structure and practice. But the more time we spent in the studio, the more we found our sound.
One day, I laid down a verse, added some harmonies, and the guys went crazy. It just happened naturally — it was already in me. They were the ones who started calling me "La Mélo" because I was solid on the hooks. I was like Henry — the one you count on to make a difference. They told me, “you’re the melody guy. You’re La Mélo.” Then you go back to the neighborhood, and the name just sticks, you know?
Since the beginning of your career, you've been the ultimate team player: first evolving in a group before standing out through numerous collaborations. Do you like to approach music with a collective, like it’s a team sport?
Exactly. For me, music is all about sharing. Every feature I’ve done — whether it’s with Dadju, Tayc, or Niska — has been about exchanging energy and blending cultures. We may not come from the same place, but we grew up listening to the same things. I always love realizing that we share the same influences, the same references.
I think I’m good at collaborations because I understand other people’s music. Even before stepping into the studio, just by listening to their work, I can tell what they’ve been influenced by. And in the process of collaborating, you learn a lot.
With BDLM vol. 1, it's as if you decided to take on the captain's armband for a new generation of artists. What made you feel like you were ready for it?
When I dropped Mélo, I never imagined the album would have such an impact. With BDLM, I had no choice but to own it. I told myself, "there have been so many debates about what this sound is, but in the end, a lot of us are making this music — so why not turn it into a movement?"
We need to move forward together and take this as far as possible. That’s what I see in Afrobeats — Rema, Burna Boy, Wizkid — they all do their own thing, but in the end, they’re part of the same wave. I want the same for La Mélo. Right now, the spotlight is on me, but I want people to see beyond just me. Take an artist like Prototype — he started in 2015, pretty much at the same time as me, but he didn’t get the same commercial success. That’s why I’m proud we’re celebrating together today with PONA NINI, one of the standout tracks on the project. But I have to own this because the facts are there.
Today, if you go to any neighborhood in France, you’ll see a lot of kids who look like me — and I’m not just talking musically. I can’t hide from that.
What does it take to be a leader?
I don’t know if I’d call myself a “leader”. I mean, yeah — I’m a leader of what I do, in my own lane, with M3lo World. But in my mind, just because my music influences other artists doesn’t mean I’m here to guide their careers. That being said, if they see me as a leader, I’ll accept the role.
In the French national team, Kylian Mbappé recently inherited the captain’s armband. Like him, you're from the 93, about the same age, and both wonderkids who have chosen to take on heavy responsibilities. Is he someone you can identify with?
Of course. Having seen him a couple of times, I pay close attention to what he does. I really watch him, knowing the weight he carries on his shoulders. Bro, it’s intense. But he owns it — he doesn’t back down. Look at him now — he’s at Real Madrid! His first steps were tough, he had to find his footing. On my side, I’m going independent, and it’s the same thing. It’s not easy. I see a lot of parallels between football and music. I relate to his choices, his mindset, the situations he finds himself in. I can only respect that.