Wizkid, Davido, and Olamide were the biggest names at Homecoming 2018, alongside UK stars J Hus and Not3s, and Alté behemoths Odunsi the Engine and Cruel Santino. At the 2026 concert held on Sunday, April 5, the biggest names were Zlatan Ibile, Boj, and 2025’s breakout star, Mavo. Not an A-lister more, none less.
This mainstream-minimalist lineup announcement led to a mild fuss online—in the sections where news like that mattered, anyway—as many enthusiasts expressed unfamiliarity with the selected names. Longtime attendees would know that this has always been Homecoming’s brand: platforming emerging artists from the fringes of Nigeria’s Afro-pop-saturated music industry while still appealing to broader interests. A retrospective glance at the four most recent shows reveals a curious decline in A-list curation, with 7 heavy-hitters in 2022 (Asake, BNXN, Central Cee, Victony, Zinoleesky, Lojay, and Fireboy), 6 in 2023 (Ayra Starr, Oxlade, Odumodublvck, Odunsi the Engine, NSG, and Lojay), 5 in 2024 (Shallipopi, Zlatan Ibile, Odumodublvck and the Anti-World Gangstars, and Sarz & Friends), and 3 in 2025 (Odumodublvck, Odunsi the Engine, and Cruel Santino). Compared to the mainstream, alternative acts’ billings have remained consistent over the years.
A congruence of factors are responsible for this shift, beginning of course, with the need for consistent stages for this community. Alté is more than the music, and even in the context of music, it’s more fusion than a specific genre. Unfortunately, it’s been so misappropriated as a term that people readily ignore why it originally exists: as a movement for the ‘othered’. Given the risk of encroachment, acts under this umbrella will always need platforms to project their artistry; hence, Homecoming’s continued insistence on alternative representation, as well as by concerts like NATIVELAND, Our Land, and Palmwine Fest. It’s no coincidence that the same names are behind the scenes for all four shows. It’s also no coincidence that Homecoming, in particular, integrates with other ecosystems and subsectors like the Visual Arts as part of the full festival lineup, offering visibility to creatives working outside the median.
Educated speculation based on the economics of concerts and bookings might also explain why fewer mainstream acts make the lineup. As early as 2023, event organisers and industry insiders lamented the steep cost of booking fees, which directly contributed to the decline in the number of live shows. Going by the high number of Detty December shows, fortunes appear to have picked up in 2025, although these were still priced beyond the reach of the average reveler. EDM raves have filled the gap somewhat, as have smaller shows by underground acts. When Llona, Odumodublvck, and Davido toured the country in 2025, the overwhelmingly positive reactions were telling of Nigerians’ willingness to watch their favourites perform live, just as long as admission fees account for dwindling economic fortunes. Of course, this then raises the question of sustainability and profit margins.
For what it’s worth, the quality of concert experiences hasn’t exactly justified admission fees. Not when ‘superstars’ still emerge six hours behind schedule, screaming along to backing tracks while their DJs navigate disjointed set lists. When fans complain, the retort is either that the Nigerian audience is not putting enough money in pockets or some other less rational excuse. Local music represents the greater majority of what we listen to, so much so that, in February 2026, Spotify reported Nigerian artists making up over 80% of the Nigerian Daily Top 50 Chart, with local consumption growth attaining 163.5% since 2021. But you wouldn’t know that from how frequently the market is downplayed to be inconsequential by artists, their managers, producers, and fellow listeners.
Dissent about the obscure lineup is not entirely without worthwhile rationale. If a platform’s self-professed ethos is to support hidden gems, then it follows that there be some level of quality control in selection, even with subjectivity. An artist with just one song —released last month and without enough virality to be a rave-of-the-moment inclusion—and who has barely made a mark in the music scene doesn’t align with the intended message. This is especially true when there are equally talented underrepresented performers who have also built an appreciable following in the same space.
Such selections are symptoms of the industry’s decreased focus on talent development. As more label imprints are magicked from thin air, and TikTok virality upends actual community-building, the barrier to entry into music descends lower. Vital pipelines like stagecraft are overlooked in favour of branding and aesthetics. Venues of this scale should ordinarily come after dominating more intimate settings or smaller stages. Instead, they become early stomping grounds for these budding artists. Skipping these steps eventually shows up down the line, regardless of how adaptable one is to the spotlight.
A rebuttal to this would be that the majority of these musicians are independent and lack the talent development machinery of major labels, à la Mavin or Chocolate City. Tell that to Zaylevelten, Mavo, or Fimi. Zaylevelten’s December 15, 2025 ‘Craziest Show on Earth’ performance was acclaimed for remarkable breath work, crowd control, cadence, and delivery in a manner evidentiary to acquired skills from other stages. Similarly, Mavo, despite fair criticisms levelled at some of his showings, like at October 2025’s Spotify Greasy Tunes event, has improved in some ways. Objectively, both still have a long way to go before reaching peak showmanship. Circulating clips of their sets at Homecoming left a lot to be desired. Mavo’s high-octane yet off-key delivery of Aura Salad and Money Constant was subpar. His face towel-brandishing, and audience engagement were uncannily reminiscent of Wizkid’s late-career performances. Zaylevelten rapped seconds behind the backing track for his songs Pawon and Guide Pass, and left attendees the task of completing most of Wuse Tu themselves, which was a far cry from his earlier referenced show or even his Glitch Africa live performance. These are the leaders of the ‘Underground (UG)’-christened new school, but they still need the basics of performance. So, how practical is it then to grant far less experienced acts a stage this size?
Regarding the quality of music, critics are well within their rights to demand more from the underground. The je ne sais quoi of the first (early 2010s: DRB Lasgidi, Show Dem Camp, LOS, Blackmagic) and second generation (mid-to-late 2010s: Cruel Santino, Odunsi the Engine, Lady Donli) Alté acts—technically, the first generation went by ‘Alternative’—wasn’t about overcompensating for the music. But for the UG scene, aesthetics and experimentation for experimentation’s sake is a persistent problem. In his essay, “Zaylevelten, Mavo: The Case for the Nouveau Underground,” culture journalist Emmanuel Esomnofu argued for more balance within this scene, writing that, “Creating edgy music demands a depiction of belief, a currency of taste which affirms that there is an audience for this seeming madness.” Outpouring of encomiums from Homecoming’s audience members and online fans, despite glaring weaknesses in these artists’ performances, buttresses concerns.
Yes, the underground scene is diverse. Listeners are spoiled for choice with how far these young artists are willing to push their production and genre-hopping chops. “What a time to be alive!” If UG players are attuned to previous counterculture movements, they would recognise that only well-made music survives beyond the initial wave. This is not about boycotting certain production trends or making traditional progressions a bulwark against sounding outdated. Asake’s first two projects are an example of an arguably overextended Amapiano sound, with fresh perception years later. The same is true for projects from rappers like Playboi Carti and XXXTentacion, whose music influenced the rage, opium and emo rap direction of UG rappers, directly and otherwise. The Alté second wave produced instant classics, cohesive in subject matter and creativity. The same can’t be said of today’s new sounds. Respectable catalogues are sustenance. Discordant music made in the name of novelty is not.
On the same night as Homecoming, The Cavemen headlined the Afro Wonderland concert at the J Randle Centre, Onikan, Lagos Island, with emerging artists as opening acts. The gulf in performance quality between the Highlife duo and everyone except two—a young singer called Esoterica and, later on, Priesst—was apparent. It wasn’t that the crowd was not familiar with their music. However, what both (Esoterica and Priesst) lacked in popularity, they more than made up for with their stagecraft, stretching ten- to-fifteen-minute sets into intimate bonding sessions. For counterparts singing to an even more curated crowd to then be derided only goes to show the existing disconnect.
Review the footage. From Luwa.mp4 to Champz and others on the Homecoming bill, the silhouette of the UG package was not enticing. Alternatives to the colourless monotony of mainstream Nigerian music shouldn’t be guilty of the same sins. And observers calling out their weak discographies and pedigree aren’t just older men and women yelling at clouds in hate. In the name of platforming underdogs, sophisticated mediocre pop talents continue to bask in the spotlight. Things fall apart; the centre and fringes cannot hold.
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