The night was lonely with the air of failed promises. We were in an Uber home from the club and my mood was sunken, to say the least. That's when I heard it. It started slowly with the familiar drum kick of a Burna Boy song – and then it kept going. Back to back to back, they were spinning Afrobeats songs on the radio in New York City. For what seemed a prolonged hour, I was ecstatic. I sat there smiling gleefully for the rest of my Uber ride, a soft smirk plastered on my face. Momentarily, I felt like I was back home in Lagos listening to Beat.fm on the way home from a night out. Nigerians are taking over the world I thought with pride.
This was important to me because for years I had received snide comments and prejudicial jabs about my being Nigerian. We were notorious scammers and drug lords. In South Africa, I endured the worst of its wrath. We - Nigerians - brought the drugs. We - Nigerians- called thousands luring them into bankruptcy at the click of a button. To put it bluntly, many people saw us as the bottom barrel and they didn't need to state it explicitly because their tactful transgressions said it all.
Perhaps on occasion, you had references to the great literature and some of the music that was a product of our country. Still, for the most part, Nigerians were associated with ostracization on some level.
But something changed.
We changed the conversation with our culture. With works of art across different mediums. We became a beacon of culture in Africa that other Western nations looked to - continue to look to - as sources of inspiration.
I remember being at a kickback over the summer. My friend had dragged me out to one of her friends' houses. For me, what makes social settings like these more bearable is a good conversation – one of those that tickle your intrigue and become the focus of your night entirely, drowning out the noise of pretentious conversation and drunken laughter. The man was young, barely in his twenties and his azur eyes instantly lit up when I told him I was from Nigeria. "Wow! You know I was in London and I heard Burna Boy everywhere!" he exclaimed. "Afrobeats is everywhere now, you know."
Indeed it is and I love it. I am so proud of Nigerians for changing the narrative. Changing the conversation through creation. There is something so powerful in cultural influence. In truth, my appreciation mainly stems from its ability to demonstrate the power of art by putting it on a pedestal - far above the bullshit that exists on the ground in its source. A country in Chaos.
Now, I've never been one to fear globalization on any scale – it's always been a word thrown around in history classes and in conversations surrounding political and economic systems but nothing to be too worried about. But, I'm a little trepidatious about how this widespread appreciation of Afrobeats is going to affect the evolution of the sound. I can already hear traces of dilution which seems to happen in music, or rather in society, with anything that becomes a trend or widely favoured and possibly mimicable.
I concede that in some cases, gatekeeping is necessary. We have changed our narrative through our creations, but just as quickly as we've reclaimed our power in these spaces, we can lose it without realizing it. I love that more people want to engage with our culture, and our music, but, what about those historian-types like me (mind you, this was written with the utmost seriousness), who care about the progression and evolution of the sound? I see Afrobeats taking on a more Western-friendly digestible nature – don't get me wrong, it sounds good – but some sounds feel like they are slowly getting diluted, in order to be more digestible for the masses, particularly geared towards Western audiences.
Afrobeats has had a crazy run – we've had so many eras of sound, and with each new era, it has progressed in a somewhat positively linear fashion. I only worry about how it will progress now when one takes into account the traction and engagement it is currently getting.
For some local Nigerians, a lot of the sounds that hit home are artists like Davido, Zinoleesky, Naira Marley, Asake – artists that haven't necessarily broken out into the mainstream in the same manner because their music is streaked with pidgin, Yoruba, references that non-Nigerians may not understand. It feels more like street music. Whereas WizKid, Tems, Burna Boy and the likes, make more "Afropop" – sounds that are more easily digestible to Western audiences. The difference is there – in the beat choices, in the language, and references – they are appealing to two different audiences. The West and The Nigerian. The distinction between these artists is to show that they are bringing two different types of Afrobeats to the market, not to take anything from either of their successes because they all make great music.
However, time has shown that appreciation quickly turns into appropriation because the lines are so thinly drawn when some regard it as inspiration. None of what I say repels my appreciation for the recognition Afrobeats is getting. It is overdue. But my mind loves a good game of devil's advocate and somebody needs to ask these questions.
I do, however, see both sides of the argument. Recognition is great ... sometimes. People are more curious – Nigeria is no longer 'Africa' but its own distinct country on the continent. People are no longer like, 'Oh you're from Africa', rather, it's 'Oh you're from Nigeria! Are you from Lagos?".
But here is my issue. After work one night I was sitting outside mentally preparing for my train ride (after the atrocities I have witnessed on the MTA Subway, one should not be surprised by my need to say a prayer before entering the lion's den), one of my co-workers struck up a conversation, and somehow the conversation veered towards the topic of Afrobeats.
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I played him an Asake song and his immediate response was, "This is not Afrobeats". I informed him that it was indeed an Afrobeats record. He deferred that it must have been made around the Fela Kuti era – old-school Afrobeats. Excuse my French but, What The Fuck?
Is it becoming clear to you now? Why I ponder these questions about the evolution of the sound when other subgenres of the sound are slowly being drowned out to the point where people don't even recognize those diverging as existing under the same bracket of Afrobeats?
My next problem then comes with the classification and Western audiences feeling the need to box the different strains of Afrobeats into their pre-existing terminology. The Cavemen supposedly falls under the bracket of "Afro-Indie" while the likes of Burna Boy, Wizkid and Tems fall under "Afro-Pop". I'm not necessarily sure where others like Asake and Zinoleesly fall on this spectrum. But again, all of these instances only seem to further illustrate my point.
Truly, it all boils down to a certain level of ignorance and blatant simplification of Nigeria (by way of its' culture and current happenings) that has pervaded –or perhaps become more blatant – with the rise of Afrobeats. At times, it may be with the depth of the genre or perception of its sounds, and other times it is with the perception of Nigeria as a place of "soft vibes only", when the city is perpetually in chaos.
They always say the future is in our hands and the more I reflect on the question of how Afrobeats will progress as a genre – the more true that statement seems. I say none of this to knock the noteworthy progression we've made on the world stage, but things often come at a price, and I wonder what ours will be. I hope in our efforts to be recognized by the world, we stay true to ours and the city that made us all.
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