by
Chibuzo Emmanuel
Post-pandemic 2021 was supposed to usher Afrobeats’ unimpeachable ascent to global prominence. Confined indoors during the peak of lockdown measures in 2020, exasperated listeners sought haven in new musical terrains, eager to break free from the monotony of their usual music rotations. Afrobeats, renowned for its supple melodies and beguiling rhythms, soon became the choice destination for music pilgrims across the world.
The following year would see this motif unspool with startling clarity. Burna Boy’s electric stage performances mesmerized the world, sparking impassioned social media discourse; Ckay’s Love Nwantiti asserted dominance atop global charts. Meanwhile, Wizkid and Tems’ enchanting Essence enthralled global audiences, achieving the unprecedented milestone of becoming the first record by lead Nigerian acts to grace the elusive Billboard Hot 100. The vanguard artists and stakeholders of the day presented a united front as they proselytized the “Afrobeats to the World” message by dint of suave idealistic spiels echoed across social media, concert arenas, and interviews with Western media outlets. The genre’s growth for the foreseeable future seemed fated.
But that isn’t happening. Starting in 2023, the genre has slowly teetered towards stagnancy. And now, it appears to be in the throes of a pervasive crisis. As the first quarter of the year ends, Afrobeats finds itself without a standout hit record, a first in what seems like forever. Leading voices within the culture have only exacerbated concerns by giving it just enough patina to appear as a full-blown crisis.
In August last year, speaking to Apple Music’s Zane Lowe, Burna Boy cursorily denigrates the genre, by way of a meandering spiel centered on what he perceives as its lack of depth. “90% of them have almost no real-life experiences that they can understand, which is why you hear most of Nigerian music, or I’ll say African… I don’t even know what to say, Afrobeats, as people call it, it’s mostly about nothing, literally nothing. There’s no substance to it.” Predictably, his remarks, interestingly timed just days before the release of his seventh studio album, I Told Them, sparked a torrent of fiery online backlash.
When a prominent figure within a movement openly criticizes it, it inevitably raises eyebrows. However, in the case of Burna, beyond the anticipated flurry of online critiques, the genre’s fanbase remained largely unmoored. That’s Burna’s trademark: cloaking egotistical meta-narratives as lofty rhetoric, all the while parlaying the attendant controversy into useful publicity for his projects. Yet, as the allure of Afrobeats wanes, an increasing number of artists, especially the most affected, have scrambled to distance themselves from the genre. The favored approach seems to be subtle jabs on social media platforms, although some have opted for more direct measures. In a recent interview with Billboard Magazine, Fireboy, whose career trajectory has plunged since reaching its zenith in 2021 with the Ed Sheeran-assisted Peru remix, echoed Burna’s sentiments, even going so far as to characterize his sound as “Afro-life,” whatever that may entail.
Wizkid, who for the longest time has played the role of the genre’s foremost evangelist, is the latest actor in this flummoxed drama of genre denigration, perhaps aiming for an air of iconoclasm. In 2021, at the height of his powers, he was celebrated in a lavish profile by the esteemed culture publication GQ Magazine, which bestowed upon him the title of “King of Afropop.” At that time, few could have anticipated his abrupt volte-face on the genre.
Recently, through a series of discomfiting Instagram story posts, he denigrated and distanced himself not just from the genre but all things “Afro.” In his own words, “I’m not Afro anything bitch”. As expected, this incited a cacophony of conflicting opinions that traversed the entire spectrum of perspectives.
Online discourse usually sees industry experts and casual listeners alike herald the current dismal state of the genre and by effect the Nigerian music ecosystem as unprecedented. However, this narrative does not capture the full historical context. While the current barrenness may indeed stand out for its bitingly prolonged duration, it’s important to recognize that Afrobeats has always been characterized by a cyclical pattern of euphoric peaks and despondent lows since its inception. However, over time these downturns have grown more elusive and protracted, contributing to a sense of heightened concern among observers.
In 2016, a new sound heralded by acts like Juls via Mr Eazi, Runtown, and Tekno, took over Afrobeats, usurping the previously prevalent style that married South African Hip Hop and House music with archetypal Afropop. The new sound was the antithesis of the boisterous sound which dominated prior. For two transformative years, the Nigerian music scene was enveloped by the languid tempos and sultry melodies of poignant records like Mr Eazi’s Hollup, Runtown’s Mad Over You and Tekno’s Pana. Dubbed Banku Music by Mr Eazi, this innovative sound born from his time studying in Ghana skillfully weaves together sonic elements from both nations. The impact was profound: the genre’s tempo decelerated significantly, matters of the heart took center stage in lyrics, and saccharine-sweet melodies returned into style. Even songs like Ycee’s Juice or Davido’s If, while not strictly adhering to the Banku canon, subtly incorporated its defining characteristics.
By 2018, after a terse period of disillusionment with the relaxed rhythms of Banku, the genre pivoted towards the raucous Nigerian Street-Pop milieu for invigoration. Shaku Shaku, a dynamic meld of Lagos hype culture and Street-Pop sensibilities, swiftly ascended to the fore of the genre’s zeitgeist. Anchored by anthems such as Wizkid’s infectious Soco, the collaborative effort Shepeteri from trailblazers Idowest and Slimcase, and Olamide’s ubiquitous Wo, Shaku Shaku catapulted Afrobeats into an era defined by boundless energy and earworm rhythms.
However, by 2019, the fervor surrounding Shaku Shaku began to ebb, yet the genre’s dalliance with gritty street pop persisted, evolving into what would be heralded as the Zanku era. Spearheaded by acts like Chinko Ekun, Zlatan, Naira Marley, and the production prowess of Rexxie, this new phase ensured another year of prosperity for Afrobeats. The airwaves reverberated with explosive hits like Able God by the formidable trio of Chinko Ekun, Zlatan, and Lil Kesh, the incendiary collaboration Killing Dem between Burna Boy and Zlatan, and the provocative anthem Soapy by Naira Marley.
Enter 2024, after a little under four years of mining sonic influences from the entrancing rhythms of Amapiano. The genre faces what is perhaps its biggest trial yet. What once promised unbridled creativity has now curdled into a drab morass of mediocrity and monotony. Amidst the lamentations of industry experts – A&Rs, music executives, and cultural commentators – a recurring scapegoat comes up: Amapiano. While it is undeniable that the prolonged reliance on Amapiano has contributed to the current malaise, such simplistic assessment fails to address the underlying complexities of the issue. Indeed, artists may have lingered within the bounds of Amapiano for too long, leading to an unnerving sense of monotony and diminishing returns. However, to attribute the genre’s woes solely to this factor is to overlook the broader systemic issues at play, ones that demand nuanced examination and concerted efforts to recalibrate the creative compass of Afrobeats. At the heart of this dilemma lies a pervasive yet often unnoticed culprit: the mischaracterization of genres.
It’s inherently human to categorize similar entities. From our everyday conversations to the complexities of machine learning algorithms, categorization serves as a fundamental tool for making sense of the world around us. However, the fundamental conundrum in categorization is delineating boundaries across a continuous spectrum. Take color, for instance, which exists along a seamless gradient rather than in discrete categories as we often perceive them. As a result, disputes frequently arise over where precisely these boundaries should be drawn – a dilemma faced by both the ordinary and experts alike. How many times have you mistaken a particular shade of green for yellow? Despite these complexities, the utility of categorization cannot be overstated. Consider expressing the precise hue of fabric to a tailor or articulating the specifics of one’s dream car. While “a Ferrari” may suffice as a general descriptor, “a red Ferrari” adds a level of detail and nuance that enhances communication.
Yet, as with any tool, how categorization is employed carries significant consequences. Careless or indiscriminate categorization can lead to misunderstanding or oversimplification, underscoring the importance of thoughtful consideration when navigating the complexities of classification.
In the early 2010s, Nigerian and Ghanaian music reached maturity and began its journey towards global recognition, with the United Kingdom becoming a key market for its expansion. Surprisingly, neither the artists nor the stakeholders within the Nigerian and Ghanaian music scenes had made concerted efforts to christen or provide nuanced descriptors for the contemporary sounds emanating from the region.
It was against this backdrop that London-based DJ Abrantee, perhaps in a moment of cursory inspiration, took it upon himself to bestow upon the music the moniker “Afrobeats” (adorned with an additional ‘s,’ perhaps to convey a sense of plurality, to “Afrobeat”, which was pioneered by the late Fela). Much like the convenient labels of K-pop and J-pop for music from South Korea and Japan, respectively. This term, or rather the lazy categorization lies are the root of the current turmoil in the Nigerian music landscape.
There’s something devilishly facile in labeling the diverse panoply of sounds emanating from West Africa under the catch-all term “Afrobeats.” Outside the obvious fact that it lazily borrows from the etymology of Afrobeat, it holds little semantic meaning. J-pop, K-pop & Latin Pop, whilst being blanket terms, sufficiently encapsulate the music they represent.
Moreover, the term “Afrobeats” is marred by ambiguity and subjectivity, which has led to perennial disputes over its true meaning and scope. While some may argue that it serves as a convenient umbrella term for marketing purposes on a global scale, this defense fails to hold up under scrutiny. In truth, there exist alternative terms that could more accurately and adequately describe the music. The term “Afropop” for example is more apt, being that Pop music from West Africa and indeed most parts of Sub-Saharan Africa sound similar.
The havoc wreaked by this miscategorization runs deeper. It has had a profound impact on the growth and evolution of the industry. By imposing the restrictive label of “Afrobeats,” the natural progression of genres or music styles into fully realized child genres or subgenres has been stifled. As the genre entered its maturation phase and showed promising signs of branching into subgenres by the mid-2010s, the omnipresent label “Afrobeats” persisted in overshadowing the music, constraining its organic evolution and compelling potential offshoots to regress toward a common denominator.
(Complex harmonies distinguish Western classical music, and subtle melodic gradations characterize traditional Indian and Chinese music. The distinguishing quality of Sub-Saharan African music, however, is complex percussive rhythms. Yet rhythm in African music is not like that in Western art music. From its inception, West African contemporary has interwoven influences from all parts of the globe with its distinctive percussive pattern, starting with Hip-Hop, Soul, and R&B in the late 90s through to the early 2000s.)
Thus began a rapacious cycle of treating emerging genres and subgenres as fleeting trends to momentarily invigorate a superficial mainstream, only to discard them after a brief period. Banku music, for instance, had the potential to evolve into a distinct subgenre of Afropop. While it remained firmly ensconced within the Afropop umbrella, its sonic characteristics were unique enough to merit classification as a subgenre. The music had a distinctive tempo, melodies, and thematic elements that set it apart. Culturally, it sparked a movement that left an indelible mark on the fashion tapestry. Mr Eazi’s iconic straw hat and Ankara ensembles became sartorial staples, while his signature prayer pose, captured in countless social media photos, became ubiquitous. Similarly, Runtown’s iconography of tying a bandana over his head resonated with Nigerian youths.
The same has been the case with potential genres, such as Zanku, which stands as one of the most explosive sonic movements in recent Nigerian history. Yet, even as new genres spring up, they are often subsumed under broader labels or dismissed altogether. Afro-piano, for instance, a fusion of Amapiano with the distinctive rhythms of Afropop, continues to be erroneously categorized simply as Amapiano, despite its unique sonic identity. Sadly, it appears fated to follow the same trajectory.
Nigerian music artists and culture commentators have long known this to be a problem. The artists in particular feel the visceral impacts of this miscategorization. Whether they dabble with sounds from other parts of the world or pioneer new iterations of what is known as Afrobeats, everything they create seems doomed to a singular characterization. Their solution is often spurious self-aggrandizing claims to birthing new genres — Afro-Rave, Afro-Fusion, Emo-Afrobeats, and of course the latest contraption Afro-Life. This is hardly surprising, to be honest, celebrities are not exactly famous for meekness. The solution would involve culture critics, artistes, artists, producers, musicologists, and other stakeholders from this part of the world, being dedicated to documenting and properly categorizing the myriad sounds from our sonic landscape.
This piece is not intended to cast aspersions on DJ Abrantee, who is credited with coining the term “Afrobeats”. Sub-Saharan African music, with its dynamically evolving rhythms, diverges significantly from Western musical traditions. Consequently, as contemporary West African music made inroads into Western markets, it was inevitable that it would be mischaracterized. Nor is this piece an attempt to propose a singular solution to the entrenched problem at hand. Both labels and music executives must move beyond the practice of waiting for the next fledgling star to put money behind and instead focus on nurturing fledgling talent. Similarly, artists must prioritize originality over chasing every passing trend, this only perpetuates a pervasive sense of monotony and accelerates diminishing returns. However, it is undeniable that progress on these fronts hinges upon a fundamental shift in our approach to categorization.
The current framework is not only unsustainable but also impractical. Very few music scenes are forced to evolve dynamically, and frankly, our infrastructure struggles to keep pace with the demand. Neither is it fair that so countless budding styles are perennially subsumed by the churn. Only by improving our understanding and treatment of genre classification can we hope to address the underlying issues and pave the way for a more vibrant and diverse musical landscape.
Chibuzo Emmanuel is a multi-hyphenate whose creative universes stretch between design and prose. His work, showcased in numerous leading cultural publications, centers on his nuanced exploration of youth culture.
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