Kofi Stone’s [@kofistone] flowers have finally bloomed.

There’s a calmness to Kofi Stone that makes you lean in.
He speaks softly, almost like he’s thinking aloud, but the meaning lands with weight. Maybe it’s the Ghanaian poetry in his blood. Maybe it’s the years spent learning himself before the world ever caught up. Or maybe it’s the name the one his grandfather gave him the day he survived the complications that almost stopped everything before it started.

Kofi Ekba. Water Stone. A blessing and a prophecy. A reminder that softness and strength aren’t opposites – they’re a balance. He laughs about it now, turning it into something clean enough to sit on a streaming platform: Kofi Stone. But even in that simplicity, you can feel the story underneath

He grew up surrounded by creativity, but not in the Instagram sense: in the real way. Older cousins who seemed larger than life, Nas CDs stacked like holy texts, Nike fits that felt like armour, that one cousin who was just… cold. As a kid, these things matter. They teach you what’s possible. They show you what cool looks like before you can name it.

And then there was Vice City. One random day, one random mission, one random song on the in-game radio and suddenly, he knew. That’s the funny thing about callings: they don’t whisper, they interrupt. At ten years old, he printed out his own face, slid it into a blank CD case and declared his future. His cousins laughed. He still remembers the sting of it. But he also remembers what came after – the quiet decision to keep going anyway. The tiny seed of delusion that every artist needs. The part of you that says I know they don’t see it yet, but I do.

That delusion carried him from Birmingham bedrooms to stages around the world, while still keeping him slightly outside the noise. He’s never chased the industry: not in London, not anywhere. He’s built in Brum, built in London, then stepped back from both just enough to stay focused. It’s given him a strange kind of dual identity: present but not absorbed, visible but not dependent. An underdog who secretly isn’t one.

He talks about wanting acceptance, but not in the desperate way, more in the human way. Every creative knows that feeling: wanting to be part of the conversation without having to distort yourself to fit in. He’s navigated that tension with patience, letting the music speak and letting time do what time does.

And now, he’s arrived at an album (All The Flowers Have Bloomed) that feels like a full stretch. A loosening. A letting in of light. He describes it like a garden, different flowers, different colours, different shapes of him. The depth is still there; that’s Kofi’s DNA. But there’s a new energy too. The kind that makes you move without thinking. The kind that feels like summer evenings where someone opens the windows and suddenly everyone’s smiling. The kind that suggests he might actually dance on stage this time. He talks about risk like it’s a friend. He talks about fun like he’s reintroducing himself to it. He talks about joy like it’s the point of everything. Maybe it is.

The more he speaks, the more it becomes clear that knowing yourself isn’t just part of his artistry – it is the artistry. “If you don’t know yourself, you end up being someone else,” he says. And he’s right, the world already has enough copies. His work leans into the opposite: a refusal to dilute the parts of him that make the music feel lived-in, human, textured.

“All The Flowers Have Bloomed” shows all of that at once. The introspection for the thinkers. The rhythm for the dancers. The heart for the lovers. The risk for the ones who like change. It’s the most open he’s ever sounded, like he’s pushing the door wider for whoever wants to walk in. When you ask what he hopes people take from it, he doesn’t say legacy or numbers or impact. He just says joy. The simple kind. The real kind. The kind that makes you feel hopeful about your own life, even if you’re not exactly sure why.

In a landscape obsessed with blowing overnight, Kofi Stone is a reminder of the beauty in moving slowly, honestly, intentionally. He is a flower that bloomed in its own season not delayed, not early, just right on time. And now that he’s bloomed, he’s not looking back.