Days before its official October 1 release, pioneering Amapiano producer/DJ De Mthuda announced the impending arrival of “Wamuhle,” a collaborative effort headlined by singers Boohle and Njelic. Shortly after, the comment section of that Instagram post was flooded by fans who blamed him for not releasing the song much earlier. These criticisms weren’t induced by anticipation, they were the opposite. For those in the know, “Wamuhle” had already been available for public listening months prior to its official drop. Initially released through Boohle’s former management and making multiple streaming playlists before being pulled, the song was illegally uploaded to several YouTube pages—one upload dating back to eight months ago—inspiring an uncommissioned music video, and has inevitably made its way to music piracy sites for free download.
This isn’t the first time De Mthuda is being affected by this sort of widespread leak. “Emlanjeni” and “Jola,” two songs recently released in the lead-up to his coming album The Landlord, were available to illegally stream on YouTube, months before they would officially end up on DSPs. This trend is not limited to De Mthuda, though. In the past year, leaks have become hugely prominent in South African Dance music. Many Amapiano, Gqom, Afro-house and Afro-tech songs have leaked onto the internet, with a significant portion becoming hits in the streets, on dance floors and social media, before properly making their way onto streaming services, radio and TV.
We live in an era of instant gratification, where fans demand constant access to new music, a craving that intensifies once they know the music is ready. South African Dance music is being profoundly affected by this trend, especially with many prominent artists premiering songs on Instagram, Twitter, TikTok and several other digital platforms as part of their rollout—or just a way to consistently engage their audience. While this tactic, in practice, dates back to the early days of the respective genres, last year’s coronavirus-effected lockdown—and artists having excess leisure time—has led to a ubiquity of the gambit.
The lockdown’s hindrance on public events heightened the use of social media platforms to play music, or any other digital spaces that helped with live streams. Take Major League Djz’ Balcony Mix, which started as a pre-COVID showcase of the twin brothers and producer DJ’s skills and latest Amapiano tunes, for instance. The Mix series is currently on its third season and has seen twin-duo play back-to-back with the fellow ‘Piano heavyweights including DJ Maphorisa, Kabza De Small, Mr JazziQ, and DBN Gogo. Having ballooned in popularity during the period we were cut off from dancefloors, the Balcony Mix has become a go-to place for producers and artists to promote their already released music and tease unreleased ones.
Now, while these DJ/performance live streams have ensured that artists remain sharp during this period and have helped soothe fans’ lockdown blues, they’ve inadvertently contributed to the growth of leaks. Playing, performing and previewing new and/or unreleased music (affectionately known as “exclusives”) is constant with many producers and vocalists. In addition to market sampling, a popular habit of sharing unreleased songs amongst DJs, tenacious and savvy enthusiasts find ways to access music that’s not been scheduled for release, and even share them with a perennially anticipating audience.
So all the biggest songs on piano rn are all exclusive damn!
At the turn of the millennium, the global music industry had to reckon with the growing ubiquity of the computer as a ripping tool, the internet as an archival library and downloading device, and the continued ease of file sharing as the years rolled by. In the aftermath of the booming CD era of the ‘90s, artists and record companies had to deal with online music piracy, which was partly fuelled by the rampant nature of leaks. While the finer details are quite different, the same trajectory applies to the African music terrain. Where streaming has significantly stemmed the tide of illegal downloads and the hunt for leaks, the low to moderate adoption of streaming as the primary means of music consumption on the continent means we’ve not fully shed the hallmarks of the blog era.
Internationally, unfinished demos and reference tracks occasionally find themselves on the web, with little to no consequences or care from the artists. (A Kanye West album leaked a few years ago, parts of Drake’s latest LP made its way to the internet before officially dropping, a portion of the internet comprises hundreds of leaked Young Thug songs, and many more examples.) In South Africa, however, it has become regular for mixed and mastered versions of songs to make their way onto people’s speakers, before their intended dates. Most leakers rip the songs from mixes or otherwise manage to get their hands on exclusives, which they then share with the public. For many years, popular local blog Fakaza has been the biggest culprit, and the many other leakers have re-uploaded content that the site initially shared.
“I don’t care how many followers they have and how much they help in pushing and making sure the music is out there. If something is illegal then it is illegal,” Amapiano superstar Lady Du declares. “You can’t take my song and release it before I want to release it because you have an application that can do that. If we as artists do not fight that certain platform, then who is going to fight it? They are the ones that are making us struggle. If we didn’t have those platforms, we wouldn’t be worried about COVID-19 lockdown implications. If those platforms were not there, then we would be making more money. The reason a lot of people are not making money is that we allow such things. We don’t speak against it and come together to figure out who is the owner of this thing. “
Historically, leaks have always been without the consent and sometimes knowledge of the artists. Once a song leaks, most musicians would rather rework it, or scrap it entirely, but with most Amapiano/Gqom/Afro-house songs, what fans get to hear prematurely is ultimately the final version. With this, and the added pitfalls of expensive data prices to legally access music, illegal download sites still have a significant market share. Fakaza and file-sharing sites like datafilehost are thriving. In fact, many artists use these sites to release music. DJ Maphorisa, acclaimed producer and one half of Scorpion Kings alongside Kabza De Small, infamously and deliberately used these channels to release several projects from his label in 2020, sometimes a week or two before they were available on DSPs.
While there are financial impacts and lost royalties attached to leaks and copyright-infringing uploads, a handful of artists don’t seem to be bothered, as most of their immediate revenue comes from performance and DJ gigs. They believe that if they have enough freely available music, then more shows will come their way and they will remain relevant in the much-saturated scene.
the thing with amapiano is that if you have an unreleased song that people love and you don’t release it soon, IT WILL LEAK!!!
Amapiano is the most affected genre. So many unreleased ‘Piano songs are just YouTube search away. The YouTube channels that upload these songs, without clearance from the artists, have millions of combined views and thousands of subscribers. One such channel, with over 152K subscribers, is the aptly named The King Of Amapiano. “My inspiration for my channel were popular channels that were already on YouTube,” shares the administrator, who asked to remain anonymous. “Channels like Masnic Entertainment, Worldwide News, Maravha Shaka, House Sanctuary and Mr Luu De Stylist’s channel. I could see that those channels were consistently growing, especially with Amapiano content.”
After initial organic attempts to grow his YouTube channel proved to be unsuccessful. He decided to name it after Kabza De Small because “Kabza’s own channel was not active”. “I was only focusing on songs that Kabza was on. For the first two months it was not growing, then I uploaded “Woza” by Mr JazziQ, Lady Du, Boohle and Kabza De Small, which got a lot of views. From there my channel took off.” The track is currently the most viewed on the channel, followed closely by Tyler ICU and DJ Maphorisa’s “Banyana” and Mellow & Sleazy’s “Bopha,” with these songs having been uploaded onto the channel before their official release dates. “The sole purpose is to promote the music and grow my channel as huge as it can be,” continues The King Of Amapiano channel admin. “It is an important role because music which is uploaded in our channels reaches more people and the artists also benefit financially.”
While these YouTube user-generated content (UGCs) and illegal websites play a major role in these leaks, artists have aided them by just previewing the music. It has become the norm for ‘Piano artists (mostly) to give fans a front-row seat into studio sessions or previews of unreleased music, mainly via Instagram Live. Many artists test out new music at shows and take into account the crowd’s reactions to particular songs. Most venues-clubs in the townships are known as the hotspots for exclusives.
SNK, a club in Soweto, which has branded itself as the “house of the exclusive yanos”, hosts “Exclusive Thursdays”—where billed DJs are expected to debut new, unreleased music. Depending on the audience, newer music usually gets more love. A DJ that spins older songs is sometimes looked down upon. And because of this judgement, most DJs then strive to get their hands on exclusives. Before its release, a couple of DJs had Cassper Nyovest’s eventual smash hit “Siyathandana,” and they would include it on their sets. The appetite for the song grew so much that Cassper had to drop it earlier than planned. The song has gone on to be one of the superstar rapper’s most successful singles in his decade-long career and his first number one song on national radio.
The influx of DIY distribution platforms and companies has also made it relatively easy for fans to spin and groove to their favourite jams, sometimes with incorrect metadata information. Mas Musiq’s latest singles “Uzozisola” and “Inhliziyo” lived on the internet as Kabza De Small’s songs for a while before they could be taken down. Surprisingly, Mas would still repost stories soundtracked by these songs on his IG page, even before their official release.
Despite the leaks and wide availability, many of these songs still do well upon release. Zakes Bantwini recently followed a similar route with his latest single, “Osama,”which became ubiquitous even before its official release. The song’s anticipation began brewing after being premiered by Afro-House producer-DJs Darque and Shimza on their livestream platform, KUNYE Live, reaching a fever peak when the artist himself performed it on KUNYE during his performance. Clips of Zakes Bantwini performing the song immediately went viral on social media; it became the number one song on the radio and there was even an Amapiano bootleg remix, all before it dropped officially. When “Osama” was finally released officially in early September, it immediately rocketed to the top of local Apple Music and iTunes charts.
South African Dance music is now firmly in the phase where artists have a better handle on leaks and can use them to their advantage. Weeks before it dropped, a promotional, in-studio video for the star-studded remix of Dlala Thukzin’s “Phuze” surfaced online, stoking anticipation for the song and inevitably making it to illegal upload pages before its proper drop. Previews and clips of Mellow & Sleazy’s “Bopha”—including one shared by DJ Maphorisa, a visualiser to his rap verse as Madumane—made the rounds on social media and were re-shared to other platforms. There are more examples of songs taking this route to hit success, and even though there’s still general derision for untimed leaks, many artists have chosen to adapt to the times.
That said, YouTube channels like The King of Amapiano and sites like Fakaza will still figure out ways to deliver unofficial leaks to an audience that’s always willing to indulge. Debating whether that’s a good or bad thing is a moot argument. Not only have leaks become prevalent in the South African Dance music scene, but their impact is also undeniable at this point.
@madzadza is a South African freelance writer. He has contributed to reputable online publications, writing extensive pieces on popular African music and emerging scenes. As someone who has a wide musical taste and a keen interest in most genres, he keeps his ear to the ground and his writing and commentary is not limited to one specific sound.
From working her way out of London’s Myatt’s Field, Tanika is now setting her sights on the bright lights...
Across a career that's in its second decade, Tanika has proven to be a force in her own right, holding her...
Across a career that’s in its second decade, Tanika has proven to be a force in her own right, holding her own on collaborations with Black British stars like Stormzy and Wretch 32, as well as popular record producer Naughty Boy–working with the Grammy-nominated beatmaker on his acclaimed ‘Hotel Cabana’ album.
Following a stint as an actor, she returned to the studio in 2021, releasing a new extended play, ‘333,’ in 2023. The project carried all the hallmarks of Tanika at her tantalising best: lilting cadences, well-paced narratives, a songwriting that reaches for the heart of the matter.
On her latest song, “Fast Fwd,” she’s growing into her own and stepping into a new era. In many ways, “Fast Fwd,” a hypnotic, sultry anthem, is landing just in time for summer revelry. Produced by her longtime collaborator, Naughty Boy, her silky vocals land effortlessly on the mid-tempo instrumental and pulsates with her desire for her love interest.
Joined on the song by her fiancé, Kida Kudz, they make an interesting duo and replicate the synergy they had on “Nobody,” off Kudz’s 2021 ‘Top Memba.’ Distinctively marked by use of neon lights, the video for the song captures the effervescence of romance that Tanika hums about throughout the song.
From working her way out of London’s Myatt’s Field to becoming a star with millions of streams, Tanika is now setting her sights on the bright lights of superstardom. Ahead of the official release of the single, we had a brief chat with Tanika about her career, the influences for “Fast Fwd,” and working with KIda Kudz on it.
Her answers, which follow below, have been lightly edited for clarity.
How would you describe where you are in your career right now?
I’m just enjoying the journey.
What does the release of “Fast Fwd” signify for you?
It signifies love.
Why is Kida Kudz a fit for the song? (
To be honest, we didn’t plan to do another song together. I have worked on two records with him before (“Nobody” and “Tasty Time” ) but we never thought to shoot a video for it.. “Fast Fwd” felt like a real testimony of our present moment in the relationship.
You’ve worked extensively with Naughty Boy and he’s helped with “Fast Fwd,” what’s your relationship like and why does it work?
Naughty Boy knows me very well. We’ve known one another for over 10 years, so he knows what fits me musically. We gel. I think him knowing me and being a fan of Kida’s music made it all work. Naughty Boy does his listening before he makes a beat for you. A lot of producers don’t really understand the importance of knowing the artist musically but he does.
What were you aiming for with the video?
To be honest, I’m aiming for nothing. I’m just enjoying the journey. It’s been a very long road and I know I still have a long way to go.
Dutch textile brand Vlisco recently unveiled its latest campaign ‘The Garden Of Sisterhood,’ as part of...
Dutch textile brand Vlisco recently unveiled its latest campaign ‘The Garden Of Sisterhood,’ as part of its women’s month celebration. The campaign, which looks to extend Vlisco’s rich legacy in African fashion and its ongoing celebration of creativity and cultural storytelling, takes inspiration from Congolese musical icon Fally Ipupa’s latest single, “Mayanga.” The song’s accompanyingmusic video was shot in the Ivory Coast, and seamlessly balances Ipupa’s signature soulful Rumba music with intricate floral motifs and soft, elegant colour palettes that celebrate the strength and individuality that blossoms through community.
In addition to Fally Ipupa, Vlisco also tapped up Ivorian fashion designer Loza Maléombho and Nigerian director Daniel Obasi to contribute to ‘The Garden Of Sisterhood’ campaign. Maléombho’s unique designs and Obasi’s striking storytelling helped contribute to actualising Vlisco’s distinct aesthetic and vision of merging heritage, creativity and fashion.
In a statement discussing the collaboration with Vlisco, the Congolese superstar described it as a beautiful experience. “They understood my vision of working with talented artists and honouring the beautiful women who wear Vlisco fabrics. By creating exclusive designs for me and the remarkable women in the cast, Vlisco really brought our artistic vision to life, harmoniously fusing music and fashion,” he said.
Similarly, Marlou van Engelen, the creative director of Vlisco, expressed that it was an honour working with Fally Ipupa. “His song ‘MAYANGA’ perfectly reflects our admiration for the women who shaped us, inspire us, and mean so much to us. For us, it’s not just about fashion; it’s about the stories told through our beautiful prints. And I believe the best stories are always told together,” she said in a statement.
Having worked across every area in Nigeria’s sprawling music scene, T.G Omori’s lore has taken on an...
There are two types of producers in the industry: those who approach the art with a keen sense of...
There are two types of producers in the industry: those who approach the art with a keen sense of business—they know how to sniff out opportunities, and are generally aware of industry-wide trends and currents—and those who set the tone, who set the standards. The latter group is the animating force of the industry, TG Omori says in a 2022 interview with Korty EO. During the interview, he’s slouched in his seat, framed against the backdrop of a grand piano, wearing a bandana, dark shades, and a silk Hawaiian shirt—the first few buttons undone to reveal a glistening silver chain. In the intervening moments—fractions of a second—before Korty responds to the loaded assertion he just trotted out, the air is thick with balmy anticipation and nervous excitement “Which group do you belong to?” She asks, lancing the tense air that had inflated sharply like a balloon. “Me? Which group do you think I belong to?” He fires back, his mouth drawn into a smile.
Music video production, is at its heart, an art form that is significantly beholden to the vision and whims of the music artist and label executives. Music video directors—rightly—have to walk the tightrope between sufficiently distilling the essence of a song into a video and managing the desires and whims of an artist and their representatives. The problem, however, is that in between all of this, there’s often little wiggle room for the director to execute his ideas significantly. The result is often a situation where the music video director becomes diminished from an artist to a little more than an artisan. TG Omori, however, has in his long career railed against this. There’s no doubt that like his peers he has to straddle the demands of the song and the vision of his clients, but he does this without effacing his distinctive creative language. He has a fluency in packing his work with heady joy, a joy that pervades and steadies Nigerian society despite the many challenges it’s faced with.
TG Omori stumbled into music video direction by chance. He had been struggling as an actor, begging directors for roles as an extra—his skits and sketches from this period are still available on the internet—when it dawned on him that achieving success as a performing act was incredibly difficult. He noticed that a lot of upcoming actors were struggling to get by and often had to abase themselves in the process of currying favors with directors. The role of film director slowly started to worm its way into his heart, driving a wedge between him and his acting aspirations. Finally won over, he made the pivot to filmmaking, eventually settling on music video direction on account of its relative ease.
His early works lack his distinctive style, instead taking inspiration from directors before him. Consider YCee’s “My Side” which he directed in 2018. The video opens with YCee perched atop a high-rise building. The colors are muted, contrasting his current works which generously deploy bright hues and saturated lighting. There’s a gorgeous scene where YCee is framed against a wall with slits. Shafts of light stream in from behind him, creating a transcendent portrayal of an animated silhouette enveloped in light. The entire video evokes the elevated minimalism of Moe Musa. Think of the opening scene where YCee saunters atop a high-rise building, it’s a motif that has been deployed countless times by Nigerian directors, but something about that scene—the minimalism of the setting juxtaposed with dynamic camera movements—brings to mind Moe Musa’s video for Olamide’s “Bobo.”
While his early works lack his signature–the distinctive exuberance we’ve come to know him for–they hold kernels of what would come to be. Even in the muted ambiance of “My Side,”we see an early iteration of the pristinely dynamic camera movements that sweep through his oeuvre. In the video of Olamide, Wizkid & ID Cabasa’s “Totori,” released in 2019, his directional language starts to take form. He was contracted at the last minute to film the video—he had less than a day to come up with a concept, marshal his crew and steward the logistical aspect of the shoot, and yet in this pressure cannon, a gem was formed.
The video contains just one main scene—one of the few vestiges of the shoot’s hurried nature. We see Wizkid and Olamide encircled by an energetic crowd. A circle of dark bodies sways to the beat, handkerchiefs flailing in the air. We also see the flamboyant lighting that has come to define TG Omori’s work. There are light sources outside the frame but the scene itself is illuminated by a clever array of light sources. Moving headlights cut through clouds of smoke, LED lights and tungsten bulbs of varying colors suffuse the atmosphere with warm iridescence. The effect is the feeling of being transported to a rave. What’s perhaps most striking about this video is that, having been hastily formulated, it contains a single scene, and yet not one minute of it feels boring or repetitive.
Having worked across virtually every area in Nigeria’s sprawling music scene T.G Omori’s lore has taken on an almost mythic quality over the years. However, nowhere is his impact more pronounced than in the Nigerian Street-Pop scene. Today, Street-Pop has largely ridden itself of its underground status. Artists like Seyi Vibez, Shallipopi, and Asake imperiously lord over charts in the country, each boldly raising the banner of their respective cities and hoods. But this wasn’t always the case. In Afropop’s early days, Street-Pop was relegated to the margins, sneered at by industry gatekeepers for its brash flourishes, even though the mainstream routinely tapped it for inspiration. By the early 2010s a new generation of Street-Pop acts—Olamide, Phyno, and Reminisce amongst others—would elevate Street-Pop’s profile to historic heights. But it still maintained an insidiously tense relationship with the mainstream.
The first signs of an industry-wide shift–the shift that has blossomed into Street-Pop’s hegemony today–arrived in 2019 at the height of the Zanku movement. The addition of “movement” underscores just how significant Zanku was. On one front, it’s the title of Zlatan’s titular 2018 hit and an acronym for the phrase “Zlatan Abeg No Kill Us.” But it’s also used to denote a distinct flavor of Street-Pop characterized by skittering drums, cascading percussion, and a laissez-faire style of delivery—heralded in late 2018 by Street-Pop folk heroes like Zlatan, Chinko Ekun, and Naira Marley.
When culture critics reminisce on the Zanku era, the focus is usually on the artists who spearheaded it, but T.G Omori’s contributions to that period of Street-Pop’s ascendancy are impossible to ignore. While the artists shaped the sounds and dance steps that defined its grassroots appeal, it was T.G Omori who gave it its distinctive aesthetic. His early collaborations with Zlatan—most notably on “Shotan” and “Bolanle” offered a template for how the videos of the era could be presented on screen: hyper-stylized yet rooted in the whimsical chaos of street culture. His use of slow motion, jump cuts, and dynamic tracking shots turned what would otherwise be yet another ephemeral trend in Afropop’s dynamic history into a cinematic experience that embodied the feeling of the era.
His video of Naira Marley’s “Soapy” is especially telling. Arriving in the wake of Naira Marley’s arrest by Nigeria’s anti-graft agency, the Economic and Financial Crimes Commision (E.F.C.C.), the video very cleverly satirizes the experience, framing him, as well as others who were arrested alongside him—Zlatan and Rahman Jago, amongst others—as heroes as opposed to criminals. It’s important to grasp the significance of this. Street-Pop acts had always been treated with suspicion. There almost seemed to be a tacit consensus that regardless of their success or status, they mirrored an unsavory part of society, and so they deserved the asterisk that seemed to loom over their every move. The arrest of Naira Marley and his posse only served to further strengthen this narrative. TG Omori’s video, however, spun an alternative narrative, a hagiography perhaps, from this fraught situation. The video opens with annotated mugshots of the group, their names tacked onto each mugshot. Through TG Omori’s lens, prison becomes transformed from a place of despondency to a sanctuary where friends happily muck around, regaling themselves with games and bubbly dancing.
TG Omori’s influence in shaping emerging sonic movements extends beyond the Zanku era. It’s impossible to recount Asake’s rise without considering the video director’s input. 2022 marked Asake’s singular and meteoric rise to fame. His music blurred the boundaries of genres, creating an amorphous sound spread across the continent with intensity. His ascendancy also broke the boundaries between Street-Pop and mainstream Afropop, marking the dawn of a new era. TG Omori played a pivotal part in Asake’s early days, crafting a freewheeling visual aesthetic to match Asake’s disposition for subversion. In the video of Asake’s “Peace Be Unto You,” we see his freewheeling ethos at its peak. The song’s themes span faith, hustle, success, and street credibility. In the hands of a lesser director, the video would have followed the familiar script of a grass-to-grace narrative. TG Omori, however, rejected that cliché in favor of a more abstract approach.
Each of the themes explored in the song is distilled to a representative scene, the scenes are then cleverly stitched into a brilliant whole. The opening sequence sees Asake on a motorcycle, a formation of riders trailing behind him. As he rips through the freeway, doting fans wave and scream in adulation. Watching this scene, one is tangibly enveloped in the feeling of street credibility, the sense of ascendancy, that Asake explores in the song. It’s poignant and symbolic, conveying the essence of the song in a manner that would be difficult to achieve with a literal narrative. Similarly, the video of Seyi Vibez’s “Shaolin,” TG Omori’s inaugural work following a health-induced break, defies any discernible narrative logic in favor of a freewheeling approach. The video’s boisterous energy almost seems like a bold assertion of his continued reign; as if to say “I’m back like I never left.”
In August of 2024, through a series of heart-wrenching videos, as well as tweets, TG Omori let the public in on his health challenges. In a tweet, he revealed that his only brother gave him a kidney, so he could live again. He revealed that the transplant failed and, later, brought on thoughts of mortality. In one harrowing photo he posted on his Instagram stories, he’s hooked to a life support machine, the words “I don’t want to die” superimposed on the image. In the intervening moments, prayers and well-wishes poured in from all corners of social media. In recent months, however, he appears to be in better health and has fully thrust himself back into work, with “Shaolin” being the first of many projects he has lined up.
Eight years after his directorial debut, he remains not just relevant, but the frontman in an industry that’s as cut-throat as it gets. It’s uncommon in Nigeria’s music scene—for a video director to maintain this level of dominance for nearly a decade into the game. It’s his fidelity to subversion and his unique perspective on the art of videography that has earned him his position as Nigeria’s foremost video director. To watch a TG Omori video is to be transported into a world of his creation: where the sun pulses with exuberance, foliage throbs with palpable life, streams of light vibrate with saturated colors, and the streets are perpetually packed with graceful black bodies. It is a world where, regardless of the tyranny of fate, joy manages to always streak through.