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Way" crooner Davolee has dumped his label, for another record label, New Nation Muzik.

This information was released after the ‘Way’ crooner posted a photo on his Instastory on Friday, the 26th of April with the caption “onto the next one #NewNationmuzik #DavoleeWay #NewFamily”. This more than anything suggests that the artiste may have dumped YBNL after spending only two years with the label.

Speaking about the issue, an inside source opened up that Davolee may have moved on to another record label, New Nation Muzik, due to

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80% of all artist make this mistake, we record a new music then we only share it with friends. We can do more, Promotion is one of the vital roles an artist must consider after making new tracks...in case you are bothered on how to do this, you've gotten to the right source.
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Yes. You Might Be Wondering How Music Industry Generates Their Money. As an artist you work really hard for your money, unlike other professions where you collect your salary, The Greatest Challenges of Nigeria Musician is Generating Income. Not to Take This Too Far, Here Are the Ways They Make Money

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1. SALES OF CD
Sales of CD have been in existences for a very long time and it has been a good source for artists, though the power has decreased due to Piracy.

2. DIGITAL SALES
Internet as really help our society, this allows Artist to upload their music on popular site for sale, Digital Store like iTunes, Bandcamp. Promote your music for free

3. STREAMING
Streaming is a tremendous way of getting music to the fan, although pay per-stream payout is quite small
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The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.

She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.

Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o'clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire.

When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air, "Ah, the good soup! I don't know anything better than that," she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvellous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlike smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.

She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.

She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.

But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand.

"There," said he, "there is something for you."

She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words:


The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.


Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:

"What do you wish me to do with that?"

"Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Everyone wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there."

She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:

"And what do you wish me to put on my back?"

He had not thought of that. He stammered:

"Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me."

He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he answered.

By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:

"Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can't go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am."

He was in despair. He resumed:

"Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions--something very simple?"

She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.

Finally she replied hesitating:

"I don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs."

He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot larks there of a Sunday.

But he said:

"Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty gown."

The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:

"What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer these last three days."

And she answered:

"It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put on. I shall look poverty-stricken. I would almost rather not go at all."

"You might wear natural flowers," said her husband. "They're very stylish at this time of year. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses."

She was not convinced.

"No; there's nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women who are rich."

"How stupid you are!" her husband cried. "Go look up your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You're intimate enough with her to do that."

She uttered a cry of joy:

"True! I never thought of it."

The next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress.

Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:

"Choose, my dear."

She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with precious stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:

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#1: Let the Adventure Begin!
So this was how it all began...

It was night, and I was sitting on my bed, legs crossed as I bent over my guitar, fingers running up and down the neck while I strummed with my other hand. Then my phone chimed, a notification popping up and momentarily disrupting my view from the song chords I was studying. It was a text from an unknown number.

I ignored it.

A second one came in about five minutes later. This one a picture from the same number. Naturally, my interest was piqued. I thanked the heavens I put my guitar down, if not I may have thrown it against the wall. The picture was the last thing I expected it to be.

I let out a terrified shriek, dropping my phone unto the bed before I dove for my pillows to hide my reddening face. The sound of running footsteps made me sit right back up and scramble to turn off my phone screen just as the bedroom door opened with a bang, and my family spilled in.

"What happened, what's wrong?!" Mom demanded, looking just a bit crazy with her eyes as wide as saucers, and hands dripping with soap suds as she held up an equally drippy pan.

Dad was scanning my room like the cop that he was, Glock pistol clasped in both of his hands, while my younger sister bounced on the balls of her feet swinging her softball bat, that she actually used for playing, back and forth.

"N-Nothing! It's nothing!" I shook my head, heart pounding in my ears. "It's just that..." Think quick, Justine. "My favorite band released a new album!"

Everyone visibly relaxed, except for my sister. She looked disappointed, the tip of her bat hitting the carpet with a dull thud. "Aw man, and I was hoping for some cool shit to happen."

"Aubrey Grant! Language!" Mom scowled at her youngest child. "A dollar in the swear jar, right now."

I watched in mild amusement as Aubrey turned away from mom and mouthed a Bleep before stomping off down the hall. Mom followed after her, scowl still in place, while dad holstered his gun.

"Scared the crap out of me, Jus." He planted his hands on his hips before continuing. "Next time, do that into your pillow, yeah?"

I nodded, trying to appear sheepish, hoping to all hell there won't be a next time. Dad gave me a smile that clearly said, Teenage girls, before turning on his heel to leave, shutting the door after himself. As soon as it clicked shut, I looked back down to my phone, my hand shaking slightly as I built up the courage to open it once again. When I finally did, I felt myself blush to the roots of my hair, before pointedly looking at the text sent before the damn picture.

Uknown Number:
Hey! It's Leo from last week's party. I remembered you asked for this, so here ya go.

I swallowed. Unfortunately, I knew all too well who Leo is. Or better yet, Leonardo Bracci. He was my high school's Mr. Popular, our own Golden Boy, and captain of the football team.

And I know for a fact he did not intend to send me his nudes.

Ignoring the picture of my hot school mate in his birthday suit, I typed in a reply with trembling fingers.

Me:
I think you have the wrong number.

I nervously watched as he read the message, then those three moving dots appeared and my heart just about leaped right out of my chest.

Unknown Number:
Aw, come on. Don't break my heart like that, Veronica. We met at Trent's party last week, remember? You gave me your number on a napkin with a note that said to send you nudes. And I delivered. What do you think?

Yep, definitely not for me.

Me:
I'm sorry, Leo. But she either got her own number wrong, or she gave you fake one because I'm definitely not someone you met at a party.

Those three damned dots again. I stared at it as it moved, and when three minutes passed, I put my phone back down on the bed and wiped my sweaty hands down my pajama pants. I was lying down, and staring at my ceiling when he finally replied.

Uknown Number:
Well...shit.

You and me both, dude.

#2: Send Me Nudes
Uknown Number:
So...this is awkward.

I would've scoffed if it wasn't for the fact I was still reeling from getting a picture of a completely naked Leonardo Bracci. I mean, it wasn't bad or anything. He actually has a nice body, and he's definitely well endow - NO! Shaking my head, I tried to push back the image that I had received not minutes ago and had ingrained itself into my brain. It didn't help that he had a sexy smirk - STOP!

I resisted the urge to bang my head against a wall. No need to alert my family again. So I went with my dad's suggestion. I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. When I resurfaced, there was another text waiting for me.

Uknown Number:
Still there??

I groaned. Unfortunately.

Me:
Yeah, still here.

His reply came much quicker now.

Unknown Number:
So...I think it's only fair I know who I sent my nudes to...don't you?

Hell no! I physically shook my head. Hell-to-the-fucking no!

Me:
No...I don't think so.

Unknown Number:
Well at least send me something in return! You just got a nude picture from a complete stranger, I think it's common courtesy to send some back.

Except he's not a complete stranger. I go to the same school at him, even if he doesn't know I exist.

Me:
Still no.

Unknown Number:
Well you gotta give me something! Hell, anything! You can't just dangle this in front of me for the rest of my life!

I frowned, just a bit confused.

Me:
I wasn't planning on it...

Unknown Number:
Blackmail is a crime, you know!

My eyes widened in shock at the accusation. Suddenly feeling angry, I typed away.

Me:
I'M NOT BLACKMAILING YOU!

Unknown Number:
WHERE'S YOUR SENSE OF ADVENTURE! YOU GET AN OPPORTUNITY LIKE THIS AND YOU SEIZE IT!! JEEZE!!! AND HERE I WAS HOPING YOU'D DO SOMETHING!!!

And I'm back to confused.

Me:
...you want me to...blackmail you??

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