“Which line, let them bring it out, has had more impact than that like on Cast,” Odumodublvck asks in a radio interview with Beat 99.9FM’s Osi Suave. “Which Hip Hop song,” he continues, “has had more cultural impact, in the last 20 years? Brother in the history of Nigerian Hip Hop, no song has had more impact than Declan Rice.” Since these assertions, cleverly phrased as questions, were trotted out days ago, social media has worked itself into a great frenzy, perhaps the most riveting music conversation we’ve had in the past six months, as music enthusiasts fiercely debate his claims.
All of this happened against a percolating rift between Odumodublvck and Blaqbonez. After almost a year of exchanging subtle jabs—which many interpreted as playful jousting between friends given that they have in the past collaborated on three songs—the tensions between them came to a head about a week ago when Blaqbonez tweeted “Whenever you rap, people call you wack, could never be me though.” Within moments of posting, fans of Blaqbonez and casual provocateurs camped in the comments, tagging Odumodublvck and goading him into responding. Odumodublvck, whose oeuvre is to no small extent beholden to themes of vengeance, in turn, spent the next few days firing a salvo of equally disparaging tweets, memes, and screenshots, at Blaqbonez; whatever he felt would abet his reprisal was marshalled.
One tweet reads: “The album (Blaqbonez’ imminent) cannot come out because all the singles flopped. Who was the face of Rap when Wizkid said it was dead? Definitely not Odumodublvck.” Another more scathing one reads: “They made you sign a deal you can’t get out of. Now you want to use my name to sell records. Disturbing every label exec that you want out, don’t you know they will tell your oga” Perhaps feeling that tweets and online rabble rousing packed minimal damage, he embarked on what can only be described as a podcast tour which finally led him to the interview, on The Beat Beat 99.9FM, with Osi Suave.
While the ensuing debate, the one occasioned by Odumodublvck’s claim, exists along a divide—those for and against his claims—the conversation has mostly skewed against him. Almost immediately after the clip, in which Odumodublvck utters the now-infamous claims, surfaced on X, an X account, @TheAjibolaGrey, replied with a quote tweet listing legendary Nigerian Hip Hop songs. “Oleku. Pon Pon Pon. Kini big deal. Alobam. Kako bi chicken. King Kong. 10 over 10. First of all.” Before long the platform seemed to be saturated with tweets championing other songs as better placed for the position of most culturally impactful Nigerian Hip Hop song.
Clips of Vector’s King Kong, which were posted and reposted feverishly in response, conjured in my mind reams of memories. I remember the deluge of remixes and covers it fomented; also how, in that time, it functioned as the defacto anthem for hyper-machismo, much like how one would, today, listen to Rema’s March Am, or Seyi Vibez’ Shaolin, to feel, coursing in their veins, that jolt of electricity that makes you feel like you can take on a 100 men and prevail. Ycee’s Jagaban, especially the remix with Olamide, holds a special place in my heart. I was in high school when it dropped, and I remember how fast I’d race to the living room each time I heard it play on the television, just to immerse myself in the untrammeled cool the duo were evincing.
Clips and pictures of Phyno’s Alobam and the cultural movement it brought about evoked in me so visceral a reaction that for a moment I was back in 2014, Alobam had just come out. I’m at my school end-of-the-year party, or should I say after party, more than half of the guys are gussied up in shirts or vests emblazoned with the word “Alobam”—which had by then become a kind of social currency in itself—the song, Alobam, comes on and the crowd erupts in pandemonium, total chaos.
Compared to these classics, Declan Rice, for all its cultural resonance, and that line on Cast, despite its rollicking infamy, pales in comparison—this is the near consensus on the matter. But I wonder if nostalgia, that magic potion that inexorably tempts us to view the past favorably, shorn of its unsavory accouterments, as though lacquered in pixie dust, has something to do with this. I also. I also wonder if Odumodublvck’s status, among many, as persona non grata contributed to the verdict. All this is to say that in considering his claims it’s important that we first rid ourselves of biases.
His first claim, which is that that distastefully lewd line on Cast, is the most impactful in the history of Nigerian Hip Hop, is as ridiculous as it is inane. Infamy does not equal impact. Phyno’s Alobam, Ice Prince’s Oleku, and Olamide’s First of All are festooned with lines whose impacts are still felt to this day. But his second claim—“No song has had more impact than Declan Rice”—requires more rigor to adjudicate. With almost 32 million streams on Spotify, Declan Rice is perhaps the most-streamed Nigerian Rap song on the platform, depending on how one defines Nigerian Rap. To say nothing of its impressive performance on both local and diasporic charts. In 2023, it peaked at number 2 on Spotify’s Best of Global Hip Hop chart and debuted at number 27 on the Billboard U.S. Afrobeats Songs.
In the unveiling video for Declan Rice (the player), which Arsenal football club posted on their social media page, the song was deployed as the soundtrack and the clip has been viewed some 38 million times on X alone. Now certified platinum by TCSN, it debuted at number one on TurnTable’s Top HipHop/Rap songs and in 2023 set the record for the biggest streaming tally ever by a single in a week on Spotify NG. The song also won the award for Best Rap Single at the 2023 Headies. This is to say that dismissing Declan Rice entirely is dishonest.
This then raises the question of what the parameters of cultural impact are, especially in these times when there seems to be a tacit expectation for artists today to straddle both the local and international audience. Consider Burna Boy, who for some time now has been the banner bearer for Afrobeats. When we discuss his greatness, the first talking points we invoke are his Grammy, his innumerable sold-out shows in some of the most esteemed venues in the world, and his brand deals with brands like Burberry and Louis Vuitton. Similarly, it’s impossible to adequately contextualize Wizkid’s position in Afrobeats’ lore without touching on how he has perennially served as a bridge to the diasporan market. First with Ojuelegba—the first veritable crossover Afrobeats’ song—and again with the Tems-assisted Essence, which cracked the Billboard Hot 100 open, allowing subsequent releases from Tems, Burnaboy, Fireboy, and Rema, amongst to coast to Billboard glory.
One of the key features of the Nigerian music scene today is that cultural impact is no longer considered singularly through the lens of the Nigerian market; local and international impact, taken together, are now the yardstick. Essence, Last Last, and Calm Down—some of the most culturally significant Nigerian songs—did not just have an impact at home but also abroad. Using the old rubric of cultural impact, the one which is wholly dependent on gambits at home, a couple of other songs—Alobam, Oleku, Naeto C’s 10 over 10, Dagrin’s Pon Pon Pon, and Olamide’s First of All, to name a few—very clearly leave Declan Rice in the dust. However, considering it through the current rubric which takes a holistic approach to gauging cultural impact—one that takes both local and international perspectives into account—it’s hard to think of another song with nearly as much cultural cachet as Declan Rice.
