How Weed Became Afropop’s Most Propulsive Muse
In a country where the scent of weed lingers amidst the chaos, Afropop has turned this once-taboo substance into a muse, celebrating creativity born from the haze of smoke.
“Catch am! Hold am! Slap am! Chase am!” Those were the words that energetically echoed into Fela Anikulapo Kuti’s well-worn wired microphone. He continued to fiddle with and unknot the clumsy wire until the end of his rehearsal of the remarkable and thoughtfully controversial “Authority Stealing.” Yet for a song so direct, provocative, and still painfully relatable years later, his demeanour was devoid of agitation. The tender chorus of his wives – his backup singers – cocooned his signature raspy, voice-of-the-voiceless tone with their unforgettable ad-libs: “Catch am, catch am, e be thief! Catch am, catch am, e be rogue!”
Throughout the rehearsal session, as the audience’s eyes adjusted to his blue underwear riding dangerously beyond the jurisdiction of his waist, his index and middle clung ever so slightly to a joint – or, as the locals call it, igbo – known for its calming, soothing effects. After it slipped from his fingers and violently crashed to the floor, both fingers knew they couldn’t let go again. From that moment on, as they had done before and would distinctively continue to do until Fela passed, they clenched tightly.
Decades later, Afrobeats – distinguishing itself from its progenitor, Afrobeat, which Fela pioneered – not only inherited the instrumentalism and je ne sais quoi of Afrobeat, but also, its sacred stash of weed. A muse if you may, that many would argue has served the genre and its evolution fruitfully over the years, especially now.
In the early 2000s, weed’s involvement in Afrobeats was a reflection of Nigeria’s attitude towards the substance. On Prof Linkin’s 2003 track, “Jogodo,” he raps about how getting caught by the police means you’re headed straight to Kirikiri Maximum Security Prison. Similarly, in Danfo Driver’s “Semsimilla” released the same year, the line “if you be army or police man, we no go open the door” captures defiance, even as the song celebrates weed. It doesn’t shy away from telling the story of fear and caution around the usage of weed. Today, with strains like Loud, Arizona, Colorado, and Canada widely available in Nigeria, the deference that older performers showed towards the criminalisation of weed has faded. It’s almost nonexistent now, as weed is now a norm and its scent, a familiar smell to all.
The proliferation of weed culture within contemporary Afropop is perhaps best exemplified on Burna Boy’s 2022 global smash record,‘Last Last’. With its searingly infectious hook, “I need Igbo and Shayo,” the track not only dominated the Billboard U.S. Afrobeats Charts – spending eight weeks at #1 and 74 weeks in total – but also highlights how inseparable weed is from the fabric of Afropop, woven deeply into its creation, sound, cultural aesthetics, and identity.
Beyond Burna Boy, many Afropop artists have increasingly embraced cannabis references as part of their artistic identity. Weed is now a recurring motif in lyrics, almost a marker of initiation into the culture. For instance, Fireboy DML solidified his place in the genre’s unofficial “Igbo Smokers Hall of Fame”with the unforgettable line, “I done dey smoke igbo,” from “YAWA” off his latest album, ‘adedamola.’
Another artist whose relationship with weed has evolved publicly is Blaqbonez. In an interview with YouTuber, Korty EO, three years ago, the rapper and Afropop artist claimed he doesn’t smoke and never has. On his sophomore album ‘Young Preacher,’ he reiterated this on the track “HOT BOY,” saying, “Incase you don’t know, I no dey smoke igbo.” Fast forward to 2023, and there’s a noticeable shift in his stance. In “BAD TILL ETERNITY” from his third studio album, ‘Emeka Must Shine’ he sings, “smoke igbo for my sanity,” suggesting a more nuanced relationship with cannabis.
Global star, Rema, also falls into this category. While it might seem as though the rave lord couldn’t wait to announce his newfound dalliance with weed, it wasn’t always like this. In 2019, the award-winning singer tweeted “I don’t drink or smoke but what I inhaled that night took me to Mars!” In 2022, he’d later again tweet, “If Big Wiz [Wizkid] pass the blunt, I’ll smoke.”
While talking about weed may seem cool on records and social media, the reality on Nigeria’s streets is far from glamorous. Marijuana remains illegal, despite Nigerians being its highest consumers in Africa. Recently, the #Smoke-Free Nollywood campaign by the National Film and Video Censors Board (NFVCB) even reinforced their stance against promoting smoking in films and music videos. As a young person in Nigeria, you’ve likely been stopped and searched by the police at some point, and accused of possessing marijuana. What starts as a routine stop can easily derail your entire day. However, instead of ending up in federal prison as the music once suggested, today you’d probably just need to post bail.
Despite endless crackdowns and frightening cautionary tales, many Nigerian creatives, like singer-songwriter Buzz* remain undeterred. With one of the biggest songs of the year, bearing a weed-inspired title, Buzz has no intention of quitting. He loves it, regardless of how many jabs other artists like Adekunle Gold might take at substance use. Contrary to the idea that smoking weed makes you study or work better, Buzz doesn’t see it as an elixir for inspiration. “It enhances it, something I call 3D reasoning,” he tells The NATIVE. “The varied experiences people have with weed also shape how they interpret weed-related content. “Most people have had personal experiences with weed, whether good or bad.”
Directly or indirectly, weed’s reputation precedes it, and that has boosted its relatability and visibility. Despite its illegality, cannabis lingo is embedded in Nigerian culture and daily life. This influence is also evident on the music charts, where many of the year’s biggest hits have been shaped by the aesthetics of weed culture.
Since the release of “Awolowo,” by breakout artist Fido, the track hasn’t dropped below the Top 10 on the Spotify Daily Charts and currently sits in the top five at of the time of writing. Only the powerhouse duo of Asake and Wizkid – two artists who have, interestingly, both woven weed into their identities – are keeping the newcomer from clinching the top spot on Apple Music Top Songs Charts. Fido attributes the creation of his smash hit to hunger – both literal and metaphorical – and the companionship of ganja. “My producer and I hadn’t eaten anything at all. That day, Nigeria was just hot. There was fuel scarcity everywhere, and political issues were adding to the pressure,” he tells The NATIVE. “I asked myself, ‘How do I do it?’ Then, as the producer played the sound, I found myself ‘talking with the most high.’”
During the second quarter of 2024, consumers were excited to receive not one, but two bespoke interpretations of emotions further amplified by the symbolism of weed. Ayo Maff’s “Dealer,” featuring Fireboy, and Kaestyle’s “My Dealer,” which includes contributions from Omah Lay and, later, Kizz Daniel, in a remix. Buzz doesn’t entirely agree with the notion that weed is the sole driver of these songs’ popularity. “A good song is a good song,” he explains. “I can’t say the weed element alone makes it popular, but it does contribute to its appeal by automatically attracting a target audience. Those who discriminate against weed often dislike those records as well. From personal experience, I’d say a weed song with solid lyrics, an inspiring agenda, and strong wordplay will definitely resonate with listeners.”
Take Ayo Maff’s “Dealer” as an example. His approach on the song is retrospective, reflecting on the paths he, his friends, and, more broadly, today’s youth take to reach their zenith, as well as the muddy waters they must wade through to get there. The poignant lines, “Cana sa ni, ka ma sa. Omo oro mi ma lo sa,” followed by “Ti’le ba ti mo, ma pe dealer mi,” symbolise living in the present while looking back pensively at past struggles and appreciating the journey, seemingly shared with friends over a blunt. Fireboy also contributes to the subject matter, first acknowledging God as his go-to in times of worry and deep reflection, but elucidating that he seeks a different type of absolution – one that only his dealer can provide.
In contrast, Kaestyle’s “My Dealer” offers a different perspective, taking listeners on the scenic route through matters of the heart. The character is unapologetic about his actions, particularly in cutting off a woman who has overestimated her importance in his life. On this track, his dealer assumes dual roles: that of a friendly ear or therapist and, more prominently, the connoisseur of the weed Kaeestyle uses to douse his sorrows.
Both Omah Lay and Kizz Daniel adeptly tether themselves to the plot, adding their unique perspectives. The list of artists doing this continues, with Odumodublvck’s debut album ‘EZIOKWU’ littered with weed references and Asake’s memorable “Gbe kolos, emi nikan ole solo. E be like say ye, I done kolo. Jago say, “Na lie” uhn-uhn, say na igbo” line on Victony’s “Stubborn,”’ alongside Omah Lay on “Holy Ghost” paying homage to weed while charting highly upon release.
Truth be told, 2024 broke the dam in terms of how many songs reference weed and the culture around it . Several global Afrobeat(s) pioneers have indulged in cannabis to varying degrees, with some having left an indelible mark on the genre. Whether listeners embrace it or recoil in disdain, it’s clear that weed inspires tonnes of acts and is helping to open a new lane of expressionism in Afrobeats as the genre polishes its gleaming international image. Baked into the proverbial national cake, the daily bread we fervently chase contains not just the hunger for success, but also the inescapable allure of igbo.
In a country where the scent of cannabis lingers amidst the chaos, Afropop has turned this once-taboo substance into a muse, celebrating creativity born from the haze of smoke. This duality – where the coolness of cannabis meets the harsh realities of its legality – paints a complex picture of a genre that continues to shape cultural conversations. As we light up, metaphorically and literally, we should consider not just the music but the narratives we’re weaving. The rhythm of Afropop echoes the pulse of a nation, and in its melodies, the homages to igbo remind us that creativity often blooms in the unlikeliest of places.
South African House Duo, Black Motion, Return With Rhythmic “Khululeka”
The SA house music pioneers are back with a deeply moving and rhythmic new release.
South African house music pioneers, Black Motion, are back with a deeply moving and rhythmic new release titled “Khululeka.” True to its meaning in isiZulu— “be free” or “find peace”—this track is an anthem of liberation, urging listeners to let go, embrace love, and heal through the power of music.
With their signature percussion-driven melodies and the soul-stirring vocal chants of King Monopoly, “Khululeka” transcends the dancefloor. It is a spiritual and emotional journey, carrying an energy that is both uplifting and transformative. Whether in personal reflection or in the collective movement of a crowd, the song invites listeners to surrender to its message and rediscover love—both within and around them.
Since their formation in 2010 in Soshanguve, Black Motion—made up of Murdah Bongz (born Robert Mahosana), and Thabo (born Roy Thabo Mabogwane)—has become a dominant force in global house music. Their debut single, “Banane Mavoko,” put them on the map, and their albums, including the gold-certified Fortune Teller and the platinum-selling Ya Badimo, have cemented their status as pioneers of the genre. Their collaborations with artists like Oskido and Black Coffee, along with accolades such as multiple South African Music Awards (SAMAs), have solidified their place at the forefront of African electronic music.
Over the years, Black Motion has partnered with brands like Ballantine’s, Sony Xperia, and Coke Studio, and they are looking to partner with more under their new label Intascore, expanding their influence beyond music. With a combined social media reach of over 2.2 million followers, their music resonates with audiences worldwide, uniting people through rhythm, culture, and movement.
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KEMENA FINDS BALANCE
Following the release of '888', Kemena reflects on artistic evolution, self-acceptance, and balancing...
A little over two weeks after the release of his first project of 2025, Kemena and I sat down to discuss the joys of creating art, the clarity that powers ‘888,’ and the freedom he found in surrendering to his path. Even though we were speaking virtually, his presence feels steady. He is speaking with the quiet confidence that defines his music–intentional yet fluid, deeply personal yet resonant. Over the years, his artistry has evolved, shaped by a desire for creative independence and the pressures of an industry that often demands compromise.
With ‘888,’ Kemena has reclaimed his space. The project neither chases the mainstream nor rejects it; instead, it exists on its terms, rooted in self-assurance. Across seven tracks, he weaves through stories with a sharp lyrical style and layered production, a testament to an artist fully in tune with his craft. In many ways, ‘888’ feels like an arrival—not to the commercial peak the industry might expect, but to something more valuable: a place of artistic certainty.
Standout tracks like “Rainy Day” and “Bola” remind you that Kemena is a storyteller in more ways than one. On “Rainy Day” he flexes his production prowess but the summery vibe of the song does not blunt the sentimentality of his lyricism. With “Bola,” Kemena taps into his element, deploying witty puns and his brilliant approach of social commentary and “I’m not mad, just hungry” is as relatable as it is envy-worthy—to be so intertwined with a lover that they can complete your lines.
Totaling seven tracks with a runtime of 16 minutes, ‘888’ is brief but expansive, a collection of ruminative thoughts, nimble melodies, and declarations of self-assurance. There is no hesitance in Kemena’s voice when he speaks about the album, no lingering doubt about whether he made the right choices, which is the same confidence he’s communicating in “You don’t need me”. ‘888’ is the product of someone who knows who they are and, more importantly, knows that they do not have to prove it to anyone. From the powerful declaration of “I Will Never” to the easy groove of “Evelyn’s Vibration,” the album takes you on a journey. It is a return to himself, a rekindling of the mindset he had before industry expectations clouded his creative instincts. It is also reminiscent of ‘Bond,’ the project that first put him on the radar of music lovers.
“I made ‘Bond’ as a student,” he reflected during our conversation. “I wasn’t trying to be anything. I just wanted to make music. And then all of a sudden, people started calling me—people I never expected. That was how I got into songwriting for other artists. But somewhere along the line, I forgot what it felt like to make music just because I wanted to.” When I asked him how he found his way back, his answer was certain: “I stopped overthinking. I just made what felt right.”
Our conversation, lightly edited, follows.
‘888’ just dropped. How are you feeling?
I feel cool. It’s been nice. I feel like a celebrity, to be honest. I’ve done a couple of interviews already, and I feel like I’m saying the same thing over and over again. But that’s a good thing, right?
‘888’ feels different from ‘Guitars and Malaria.’ Did you approach this project differently?
‘888’ feels like me making music the way I want to again. With ‘Guitars and Malaria,’ there were a lot of industry conversations and people saying, “Work with this guy, collaborate with that person, do this to make the music more commercial.” I don’t regret making that album, but looking back, I think I was trying to fit into something instead of just being myself. I wouldn’t say I lost myself completely but, I lost the balance between the business and my authenticity. I started to feel like my music wasn’t valid unless it was getting industry attention. And for a while, I was chasing that. I was doing what I thought I should be doing, instead of what I wanted to do. I had to learn that I’m probably a project artist. I needed to stop feeling like my music wasn’t enough just because it wasn’t ‘blowing up.’
I started thinking about why people liked ‘Bond’ and, back then, I wasn’t overthinking it. I was a student just making music because I loved it. I wasn’t trying to force anything. But then, suddenly, things started happening—I started getting calls from people I never expected. That’s actually how I got into songwriting for other artists. People in the industry heard ‘Bond,’ reached out, and asked me to write for them. And before I knew it, I was deep in that world. But in the process, I started to forget what it felt like to just make music for me.
Was there a specific moment that made you realize you needed to return to that authenticity?
Yeah. At some point, I just stopped overthinking. I realized [that] I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. I didn’t have to chase industry validation. I could just make what felt right. That’s where ‘888’ came from.
One of the things that stands out about your music is how it feels both deeply personal and universally relatable. Do your lyrics come from lived experiences?
Not exactly. I think the way my music is put together—the energy, the emotions—is influenced by what I’m going through at the time. But the actual content? Almost none of it comes from my personal life. I don’t write songs like, “Oh, this happened to me, let me put it in a song.” Instead, I take a feeling, a perspective, or something I’ve observed and build a fictional story around it. I also like humor. I like to be witty, to play with words in a way that feels natural but unexpected. That’s always been part of my music.
That makes sense. Your lyrics often have a layered meaning like they say one thing on the surface, but there’s a deeper story underneath.
Exactly. I like to phrase things in ways that make people stop and think. I want someone to hear a line and go, “I’ve thought about this before, but I never knew how to put it into words.” Or sometimes, I just want the music to feel good. It doesn’t always have to make sense, it just has to resonate.
Would you say that’s why artists like Omah Lay and Jon Bellion resonate with you? Because they do something similar with their songwriting?
Yes! Jon Bellion especially. His music is almost like sermons sometimes. He says things in a way that makes you pause and reflect. Like in “Conversations with My Wife,” when he sings, “What if all the things I’ve done were just attempts at earning love? Cause the hole inside my heart is stupid deep” That’s the kind of songwriting that gets to me. That’s such a simple way to express love. He could have said it in a hundred different ways, but he chose that one. That’s what I admire. Not just what they’re saying, but how they say it.
That approach is very present in your music, especially in ‘888.’ What’s your favorite lyrical moment on the album?
It’s a conversation. It’s not one person talking. On ‘I will never,’ there’s this part where one voice says, “The things you want for me, I want it too. The things you like for me, I like it too.” And then another voice—almost like a god-like figure—responds: “Hope you know that I would never say something I don’t mean.” That moment feels special to me. It’s basically a prayer, but I don’t like to box my lyrics in, I keep it open-ended.
With the album it feels like you weren’t just making music but you were reclaiming something. Would you say this project is a turning point for you?
Yes, I think so. It’s not my first turning point, though. ‘Bond’ was the first one. ‘Bond’ was the project that put me in rooms I never expected to be in. Before that, I was just a student making music. Then, suddenly, people were calling me—people I respected. That was how I got into songwriting for other artists. But then, in trying to navigate that world, I lost a bit of myself. ‘Guitars and Malaria’ was me trying to find that balance, and ‘888’ is me realizing that I don’t have to balance anything, I just have to be.
You’ve mentioned that you’re at peace with not chasing commercial success. Is there a part of you that wants mainstream recognition?
If it comes, great. But I’m not going to force it. I know how the game works. I’ve written for big artists, so I know the kind of songs that work in that space. And if I wanted to, I could sit down and make those songs. I could make music that fits neatly into what’s trending. But that’s not why I do this.
Does songwriting for other artists help you keep your music pure?
Yes! That’s a big part of it. Since I also write and produce for other artists, I don’t have to rely on my music to pay my bills. That takes a lot of pressure off. It means I can release what I want, when I want, without thinking, “Will this chart? Will this go viral?”
That freedom must be refreshing.
It is and it’s why I don’t overthink my releases anymore. I’m constantly creating. So when something feels ready, I put it out. I don’t have to wait for industry validation or the “perfect” timing.
What does that mean for the future? More projects?
A lot more. I’ve realized that my way forward is to just keep giving. The Lord has put me in a position where I can create without stress, so that’s what I’m going to do. No long breaks. No holding back. I’ll just keep releasing.
What is the biggest takeaway from ‘888’ for you?
That you don’t have to force anything. Whether it’s love, creativity, or success—what’s meant for you will come when you’re aligned with yourself. And if you have to fight too hard to keep something, maybe it was never really yours to begin with.
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Afropop is the love child of its many influences
In a reversal of events at the turn of the 2000s, Afropop is profoundly reshaping the texture of music...
Over the last two and a half years, some of Afropop’s biggest stars have denounced the genre to advance their personal agendas. In a wide-ranging interview from 2023 with Apple Music’s Zane Lowe just ahead of the release of his last album, ‘I Told Them…,’ Burna Boy derided Afrobeats for a perceived lack of contextual subject matter. “Afrobeats, as people call it, it’s mostly about nothing, literally nothing,” he said. “There’s no substance to it. Nobody’s talking about anything. It’s just a great time, it’s an amazing time. But at the end of the day, life is not an amazing time.”
Just a few months later, Nigerian music superstar, Wizkid, also disavowed the genre, claiming that he was not an Afrobeats act and that his then-forthcoming album, ‘Morayo,’ would not be an Afrobeats album as he considered the genre – and the classification it infers – too limiting for the type of music he made. Predictably, fans were incensed by both artists’ stances and the casual dismissal of the genre that their statements invited. What was almost lost in the whirlwind of that discourse is that for all the attempts to capture the totality of African music under the loaded ‘Afrobeats’ label, African music has never been just one thing; and, in that spirit, Afrobeats itself has always been all-welcoming of a multiplicity of influences and styles.
From its earliest iteration, Afropop has always been a potpourri of sounds that took influences from various parts of the Black diaspora and distilled them with an African sensibility. The work of early Afrobeats pioneers like Junior and Pretty is a direct descendant of the burgeoning Hip-Hop blueprint of the ‘80s; while the early 2000s popularity of Ajegunle-based rabble-rousers like Daddy Showkey, Danfo Drivers, and African China occurred tangentially to the rising profile of Reggae on a global scale. The mid-2000s to early 2010s saw the arrival of several dulcet-toned singers like Banky W and Tiwa Savage rooted in the R&B and Soul traditions, introducing a slicker dimension to Nigerian popular music. As always, homegrown stars adapted these foreign styles for their own market while continuing to work on a distinctive style that centered genuine indigenous expression and ingenuity.
Over the years, the fruit of those experiments has ripened to produce a scene that’s bustling with life and talent. As the genre has attained global attention, many sub-genres have come to the fore, showcasing the depth of African music on a global scale. If Wizkid’s sonorous melodies and unbeatable charisma made him the sun of Afrobeats in the 2010s, Olamide’s militaristic bars and Pop anthems rooted in their street sensibilities mark him out as the genre’s moon. It was on Oamide’s back that a nascent indigenous rap circuit rested. Taking the mantle of DaGrin, the Bariga-raised rapper who helped institutionalize rapping in Nigerian languages with cult classics like “Eni Duro” and “Voice Of The Street.” Along with the effort of other stars like Reminisce, Phyno, Lil Kesh, and CDQ, the indigenous rap movement gained steam and, recognizing the Nigerian market’s zest for melodies, soon morphed into Street-Pop, a distinct hybridization of local genres like Fuji, Apala, and Highlife.
Inspired by the work of their forebearers, a new crop of artists have taken Street-Pop to new heights. Zlatan and Naira Marley served as a transitory generation; together with Rexxie, they patented a more melodic take on Street-Pop while infusing a devil-may-care disposition that launched them to the top of Nigerian music. It is fitting that Olamide was the one to hand the baton to Asake, the biggest Street-Pop star of the moment. Similar to the YBNL head’s legendary album run, Asake has released three albums and one extended play in three years, each coming out to a world paying more and more attention to his work. Impressively, Asake has also established himself as a global touring star, regularly playing sold out arena concerts across the world with a music style that is rooted in Yoruba oral tradition.
Asake is not spreading the Street-Pop gospel alone, though. Ikorodu star, Seyi Vibez, has also grabbed mainstream attention for his gritty take on the genre. Initially a divisive figure, his 2023 song, “Different Pattern,” saw him reach a new level of cultural relevance in 2024 and his new extended play, ‘Children Of Africa,’ arrived in February 2025, marking a new era in his career. The yearning for a reclamation of cultural heritage that has created a Street-Pop golden era has not evaded other parts of Nigeria. Shallipopi’s drawling, sprawled-out sound mimics the playful pulse of South-South pidgin while Jeriq, hailing from Nigeria’s South-East, has emerged as one of Nigeria’s most acclaimed rappers. Outside Nigeria, there’s a yearning in Ghana to preserve the purity and history of its Highlife genre, an elemental component of Afrobeats. British-Ghanaian producer, Juls’, ‘PALMWINE DIARIES’ and ‘High Life Sessions,’ both pulsate with the beguiling riffs of the storied genre while the work of Nigerian brother-duo, The Cavemen, is reintroducing Eastern Nigerian highlife to a new generation of listeners.
A youth-led zest for exploration outside the framework of Afropop has also produced a sub-culture that rejects the tenets of mainstream conservatism. Beginning as a band of friends and collaborators who prioritized freewheeling experimentation, Alte music has emerged as one of the most important sonic evolutions of the last two decades. First championed by OG pioneers like DRB Lasgidi, LOS, and Show Dem Camp, the Alte community drew in left-field thinkers and madcap auteurs setting the stage for a new generation of stars to emerge from the depths of SoundCloud circa 2016. In the hands of stars like Odunsi (The Engine), Cruel Santino, and Lady Donli, the Alte experiment reached an unprecedented level of critical and commercial success.
Odunsi’s ‘rare.,’ throbbing with influences from ‘70s Disco and Funk, sits in the canon of great Nigerian debuts and Lady Donli’s ‘Enjoy Your Life’ artfully melded Folk music with Afrobeat and Soul across its 15 tracks. Taken along with the work of producers like GMK and Genio Bambino, these acts built a community that successfully created the blueprint for a sound that reflected the tensions and joys of younger Nigerians who saw life in a specific fashion. It even took flight beyond the borders of Nigeria with a young Amaarae cutting her teeth working alongside some of the most prominent names in the Alte community. The inventiveness and clarity of vision that the community prioritises is evident across both of the Ghanaian-American artist’s albums, ‘The Angel You Don’t Know’ and ‘Fountain Baby.’
In a reversal of events at the turn of the 2000s when Afropop was heavily influenced by outside sounds and genres, music from the continent is profoundly reshaping the texture of music outside its borders. Much like how the Windrush Generation and other immigrants from the West Indies helped to introduce Britain to Reggae, Dancehall and Soca, generations of African immigrants are making music that signals their African heritage, with Afropop as a base influence. The rise in popularity of African sounds has helped UK artists mesh the lingo and sonics from the continent into their work, creating a new genre referred to as Afroswing. Taking influences from Afrobeat, Dancehall, and Grime, Afroswing is distinctive for its use of lyrics from Africa with British rapper, J Hus, credited as one of its pioneers. Songs like J Hus’ “Did You See,” Ramz’s “Barking,” and Not3s’s “Aladdin” signal to the sound of the homeland and speak to Afrobeats’ incredible stride to global popularity as a base reference point for global Black music.
Nearly a decade out from “One Dance,” the Drake, Wizkid, and Kyla collab that pushed Afropop into a different stratosphere, the genre is in safe hands with several stars emerging across different sub-genres that speak to our past, present and future. It is perhaps more than the pioneers imagined when they were making music all those years ago, but all the roads have led here to Afropop being a global sensation that offers various forms of expression to a watching world. There are no limitations on what can be done within the genre, that sense of open-endedness and possibility was always our strength, and it’s why Afropop will stand the test of time.
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