This is not one of those Fridays.

This week has a little bit of everything. Solis4ever is doing something mischievous with a very familiar pop title. Omah Lay is getting cosy with bees & honey, BEAM and Gyptian. Shatta Wale is, well, being Shatta Wale. Shay Lia and KAYTRANADA are reminding us why they have always sounded so good together, while Tobby BadAss and scottyolorin have given us a song that is literally called an interlude and somehow made us listen to it like it is a full event.

So if you are wondering what deserves a place in your weekend rotation, here are five songs worth hearing.

Solis4ever — “Oops I Did It Again”

The title borrows from Britney Spears, but it feels less like an attempt to recreate the original and more like a wink. You hear the title and already have an idea of the attitude this song is walking in with.

That suits Solis4ever.

The Lagos singer has spent much of her career building a pop universe that doesn’t seem particularly interested in whether people think she is being too soft, too strange or too much. From her early YouTube covers to her work with Odunsi, Stairway To Heaven and the rock-leaning GHOST TOWN EP, she has always seemed comfortable treating pop as something she can play around with.

That makes “Oops I Did It Again” feel quite natural in her catalogue. There is no need for a dramatic announcement about a new era when the title itself is basically admitting, yes, I know I did it again.

That is part of the fun.

Solis4ever has always had a knack for making vulnerability feel styled rather than miserable. Even when she is dealing with heartbreak, there is usually some personality left in the room. “Oops I Did It Again” continues that instinct. It is cheeky without becoming cartoonish, and it has the kind of title that will probably make you curious enough to press play before you have even decided whether you like the song.

This is for the person who knows they probably shouldn’t send that text and is opening the chat anyway.

We are not judging.

Bees & honey, Omah Lay, BEAM, Gyptian — “As We Get High”

There are a lot of names on “As We Get High.” bees & honey, Omah Lay, BEAM and Gyptian is the sort of lineup that could either sound wonderfully chaotic or like four different ideas fighting for three minutes.

Thankfully, it works.

Released on September 1 through Bamboo Artists and produced by Berlin-London collective bees & honey with Kyjani, the song brings together artists from different corners of the African and Caribbean musical conversation. Gyptian’s presence immediately gives the record some dancehall memory, while the production leans into the kind of Afro-house groove that makes the song feel designed for movement.

Then Omah Lay comes in.

The interesting thing about Omah Lay is that he can make a song feel intimate even when the production around him is doing quite a lot. He has that slightly withdrawn quality to his voice, like he is telling you something privately while everyone else is dancing.

That works especially well here.

The lyrics about the table, belle and daily bread bring the song back home. Even the Volkswagen-versus-Mercedes line has that very Nigerian way of turning romance into a practical conversation. Love is lovely, but somebody still has to eat.

Gyptian’s contribution is another reason the record feels familiar almost immediately. The song draws on the language of his 2010 hit “Hold You”, so there is already a memory attached to the groove before you have fully settled into it. It is the musical equivalent of hearing a song at a party and knowing the next part before it arrives.

BEAM helps hold the middle together, too. He has spent the last few years moving between dancehall, trap and more left-field pop sounds, and his presence makes the collaboration feel less like a collection of impressive names and more like an actual record.

That is probably the biggest compliment you can give a song with this many people involved: nobody is fighting for attention.

It is warm, slightly hazy and very easy to sink into.

Put it on in the car at night. Put it on while you are cooking and suddenly decide you are having people over. Put it on when you have absolutely nowhere to be.

Just don’t be surprised if “As We Get High” ends up being the song you play three times.

Tobby BadAss, scottyolorin — “Scotty’s Interlude”

There is something inherently amusing about an interlude being released as a standalone single.

An interlude is usually the bit you discover halfway through an album. It is the breather between the big songs, the strange little detour, the two minutes where the artist gets to do something that doesn’t necessarily need to carry an entire project.

Tobby BadAss has decided that this one deserves to stand on its own.

“Scotty’s Interlude” follows his TWENTIES EP, which included songs like “Jaga Jaga”, “Ski Ski” and “Good Stuff” featuring Minz. scottyolorin also gets billing here, so the title is not just decorative.

There isn’t an enormous amount of information available about the song yet, and that is actually okay.

Not every new release arrives with a five-page explanation of what it means.

Sometimes you can just listen.

And “Scotty’s Interlude” works best when you let it be what it is. There is something appealing about a short record that doesn’t seem desperate to convince you that it is Important. It can just be a moment.

You know those songs you put on while getting dressed, then suddenly realise you have listened to twice because you were not ready to leave that mood yet?

This feels like one of those.

It is the pause in this week’s playlist. And sometimes the pause is exactly what you need.

Shatta Wale — “Catch Me If You Can”

Shatta Wale has never really been someone who worries about whether you understand the assignment.

He gives you the assignment.

“Catch Me If You Can”, released August 30 through Shatta Movement Records, is very much in that spirit.

The song arrives during another busy stretch for Shatta Wale, who has continued to release music at a pace that would probably exhaust several people sharing one Spotify account. This year alone has brought records including “African King” and “The Interface”, and this latest one keeps that momentum going.

Catch me if you can.

Good luck.

What makes Shatta Wale particularly entertaining is how little desperation there is in his confidence.

There are artists who rap about being the biggest person in the room because they need you to believe them. Shatta Wale often sounds like he already forgot there was an argument.

That attitude carries “Catch Me If You Can”.

The record is built for movement, but the real attraction is the personality. You can imagine it playing somewhere in Accra, Lagos or at someone’s house where nobody planned to stay past midnight and everybody is now pretending they never had an early morning.

And this is absolutely one of those songs that can make you feel richer than you are.

For three minutes, you might genuinely believe the money has landed.

Let Shatta Wale have you.

Shay Lia, KAYTRANADA — “So Good”

Some artists collaborate once and move on.

Shay Lia and KAYTRANADA have been doing this long enough that another song together feels less like a reunion and more like checking in with two people who never really stopped talking.

Their musical relationship goes back years. Shay Lia appeared in KAYTRANADA’s early orbit, including his 2013 Boiler Room set, and later became one of the recognisable voices attached to his music through records such as “Leave Me Alone” and “Chances”. Their collaboration continued through projects including FACETS, and now “So Good” adds another chapter.

You can hear that familiarity.

KAYTRANADA’s production has always had a very particular sense of rhythm. His beats don’t simply sit there waiting for a singer to perform on top of them. They move in little ways. There is usually some swing, some space, some tiny rhythmic decision that makes you want to move before you have consciously decided to.

Shay Lia understands that instinct.

She doesn’t try to overpower the production. She sits inside it.

That is one of the reasons their collaborations have worked for so long. It never sounds like a vocalist being placed on a producer’s beat because somebody needed a feature. There is an understanding between them about how much space the song needs.

“So Good” also carries a little bit of nostalgia, especially for anyone who has followed their work together over the years. But it doesn’t feel stuck in the past. It is more like returning to a place you know and finding that the furniture has changed slightly.

And maybe that is why this one feels so easy.

No unnecessary drama. No need to prove that the collaboration is important. Just Shay Lia, KAYTRANADA and a groove that knows exactly what it is doing.

If “As We Get High” is the one for the night out, “So Good” is the one for the ride home.

Or the ride nowhere.

Sometimes you just want the song to make the journey longer.

If you only have time for one song this Friday, start with “As We Get High.” There is enough going on in that collaboration to keep you interested, but it is still ridiculously easy to listen to.

If you need something with a little more chest, Shatta Wale has you covered. Solis4ever brings the mischief, “Scotty’s Interlude” gives you a moment to breathe, and Shay Lia and KAYTRANADA are doing what they have always done best: making a groove you can disappear into.

Different songs, different moods, no particular reason they should all belong on the same Friday playlist:

Which is exactly why they do.

Now press play.

The post Omah Lay, Shatta Wale, Solis4ever and More on New Music Friday appeared first on Afromixx.

‘Sienna’ arrives as UAX’s second single of the year, following a busy 2025 that saw him revisit and re-release his 2024 project ‘Love & Hustle’, expanding what was originally a nine-track EP into a 15-track album. But rather than sounding like an artist trapped in the urgency of that period, UAX approaches ‘Sienna’ from the distance of someone who has lived through some of it. He is reminiscing, taking inventory of the road behind him and the lessons that came with it, while still keeping one foot firmly on the road ahead.

The song opens gently. Soft guitar licks sit beneath the harmony of a piano and flute before the percussion eventually settles in, slow and deliberate. It gives the record the feeling of a memory being revisited rather than a story being announced. There is no rush to get to the point because the point, in many ways, is the journey itself.

That journey comes alive in UAX’s writing. “Remember I was a learner / But I no get L for the back of my Sienna / Every single day man a chasin’ my agenda,” he sings, turning a very specific image into something larger. The learner without an ‘L’ becomes a small but effective piece of wordplay; the Sienna becomes the moving classroom. It is where ambition was carried, where uncertainty travelled with him, and where the pursuit of something better happened one day at a time.

This is where ‘Sienna’ finds its emotional centre. The car is not presented as a trophy so much as evidence. Evidence that he had moved from one point to another. The Sienna represents the modest beginnings that are often erased once the bigger picture starts to form. In remembering it, UAX is also remembering the version of himself who had not yet arrived.

His delivery moves between the confidence of someone who has survived his earlier struggles and the conviction of someone who knows there is still more work to do. “Still I go dey market until my shit sell out / See where I dey na where I dey for now,” he sings, and the lines carry the particular language of someone measuring progress without pretending the journey is finished. The flex, when it comes, is always tethered to where he is coming from.

The refrain, “No going back, no retreat, no surrender,” gives the song its clearest statement of intent. It is less a declaration of invincibility than a personal rule. UAX understands that progress is rarely a clean upward line; there are losses, uncertainty and the occasional need to begin again. His answer is simply to keep moving. Even his spirituality is folded into that philosophy: “Everything I do, I put God for the centre” The faith here is part of the machinery keeping the journey in motion.

There is also a sense of place in ‘Sienna’. UAX’s wordplay and phrasing draw from the world he knows, allowing the song to retain the texture of home even as its themes remain broadly familiar. The story may begin with his first car, but the emotions surrounding it—wanting more, working for it, remembering what it cost, and being grateful for how far you have come—belong to anyone who has had to build something from an unremarkable starting point.

The visual treatment extends this idea. UAX remains largely still within the frame while the world moves around him, creating the impression of someone looking back while time continues forward. The Sienna repeatedly appears as a visual anchor, no longer simply a vehicle but a physical reminder of the person he was and the distance he has travelled. The images feel deliberately still, almost like photographs pulled from an old album, reinforcing the song’s relationship with memory.

Ultimately, ‘Sienna’ works because UAX does not try to make the past sound prettier than it was. There is ambition in the record but also exhaustion; there is gratitude but also the acknowledgement of everything that had to happen before the gratitude could exist, and the Sienna is simply the doorway into that story.

And perhaps that is what makes the record resonate. Everyone has their own version of a Sienna—a place, a possession, a job, a room, a first opportunity—that reminds them of the person they were before things began to make sense. UAX takes his own and turns it into a meditation on movement: on staying ten toes down, putting God at the centre, and refusing to retreat even when the destination remains somewhere ahead.

LISTEN TO UAX’s SIENNA

The post “Sienna” Is UAX Looking Back Without Turning Back appeared first on Afromixx.

The clip currently making the rounds online is not new. In an October 2023 appearance on Ebro in the Morning, Tems was asked whether she considered herself an Afrobeats artist.

She didn’t.

Tems described her music as alternative, or “alté, as they would say,” and elsewhere in the conversation referred to it as “alternative afro soul R&B.” She also pointed out something that has become increasingly obvious as African music has travelled further around the world; music coming out of Nigeria is often automatically labelled Afrobeats simply because it comes from Nigeria.

Her point was that the Afrobeats label does not describe everything.

Tems Says She Is Not an Afrobeats Artist

In a 2021 interview with Billboard, Tems was even more direct.

“I’m not afrobeats. That’s the truth,” she said.

At the time, she explained that people often attached the label to her because she was African. She acknowledged that she could feature on an Afrobeats record without that automatically making her an Afrobeats artist.

It was a distinction worth making then, and it is arguably even more important now.

Because Tems’ career has become one of the clearest examples of how difficult it is for an African artist to exist outside the continent’s most commercially recognisable genre label.

The problem is that “Afrobeats” has become useful shorthand.

For international audiences, it makes African pop easier to understand. For streaming platforms, festivals, award shows and publications, it provides a convenient category. It has helped Nigerian music travel from Lagos to London, New York and everywhere in between.

Nonetheless, convenience has its limits.

At some point, Afrobeats stops describing a particular sound and starts describing a continent.

Why Tems’ “Essence” Feature Complicated the Afrobeats Debate

Of course, Tems’ argument becomes more complicated because one of the songs that introduced her to the world was “Essence.”

Wizkid’s 2020 hit, on which Tems appeared alongside the Nigerian superstar, became one of the defining African pop records of the decade. Its remix with Justin Bieber pushed it even further into the global mainstream, eventually reaching the top 10 of the Billboard Hot 100.

It is also, unsurprisingly, frequently described as Afrobeats.

Tems herself was less interested in putting it in that box.

In that 2021 Billboard interview, she described “Essence” as afrofusion and questioned whether it was necessarily Afrobeats.

A song can exist in the Afrobeats ecosystem without making every artist involved an Afrobeats artist.

Tems’ Music Is Bigger Than One Genre

Listen back to Tems’ catalogue and her resistance to the label becomes easier to understand.

“Mr Rebel” and “Try Me” announced an artist far more interested in atmosphere, vulnerability and introspection than in fitting neatly into the dominant Nigerian pop template.

For Broken Ears pushed that further. “Free Mind” became one of her biggest records and eventually spent 17 weeks at No. 1 on Billboard’s R&B/Hip-Hop Airplay chart.

Then came Born in the Wild, a project that moves between R&B, soul, Afrobeats, gospel influences and other African sounds without seeming particularly interested in announcing where one category ends and another begins.

“Love Me JeJe” is a particularly good example.

The song borrows from Seyi Sodimu’s 1997 Nigerian classic while remaining unmistakably Tems. “Get It Right” brings Asake into the picture. Elsewhere, she leans into the intimacy that has always been central to her music.

There are African influences everywhere.

There is also R&B.

There is soul.

There is alternative music.

There is Tems.

The mistake is assuming those things have to cancel one another out.

Why Tems Chose an Alternative Sound Instead of Following Afrobeats

Tems’ resistance to Afrobeats is not simply a recent branding decision.

In a 2023 conversation with Interview Magazine, she spoke to Kendrick Lamar about her early experiences trying to make music in Nigeria.

At the time, she said many producers around her were working within what she described as “just Afrobeats, the main genre of Nigeria.”

Again, she was not dismissing the genre.

Her frustration was that it was being treated as the only viable route.

She wanted to make something that felt different. She wanted the emotional scale she heard in artists such as Celine Dion. Yet the message she kept receiving was essentially that if she wanted to succeed in Nigeria, she needed to make Afrobeats.

So she found another way.

Tems taught herself production.

That decision eventually became one of the foundations of the career we know today.

It is difficult, then, to interpret her comments as some sudden rejection of Afrobeats now that she has achieved global success. She was making the distinction long before “Essence,” “Wait For U” and Born in the Wild.

The Problem With Calling Every African Artist Afrobeats

This is where Tems’ argument becomes bigger than Tems.

There is nothing wrong with calling an artist Afrobeats when that is what they make.

The problem is assuming that African origin is itself a genre.

That logic would be strange anywhere else.

We do not call every American artist a hip-hop artist because they are American. We do not call every British musician a rock artist because they are British.

Yet African musicians are often placed inside one enormous musical bucket.

Tyla is a South African pop artist whose music is deeply connected to amapiano, yet conversations about African music can quickly drag her into the Afrobeats conversation.

Amaarae moves between alternative music, R&B, pop, rock and electronic sounds, but her Ghanaian identity can become more prominent in descriptions of her music than the music itself.

The problem is not Afrobeats’ popularity.

It is its usefulness becoming its limitation.

The genre became the language through which the world discovered African pop. Now the same language sometimes struggles to describe what African artists are actually doing.

Wizkid and Burna Boy Have Also Questioned the Afrobeats Label

There is an interesting irony here.

Tems is hardly the only major African artist uncomfortable with the idea that Afrobeats should function as an umbrella term for everything.

Wizkid has criticised the tendency to describe all African music as Afrobeats, arguing that doing so would be similar to treating every American artist as a rapper.

Burna Boy has long described his own sound as Afrofusion.

Neither artist is denying the importance of Afrobeats. They are questioning the assumption that every African musical expression must eventually be filed under it.

The world is listening to more African artists than ever before.

It would be a shame if the vocabulary used to describe them remained stuck in one word.

Tems Is Asking Us to Be More Specific

There is a temptation to turn Tems’ comments into a headline; Tems says she isn’t Afrobeats.

That makes for a good social-media argument.

It is also missing the more interesting point.

Tems has never said that she has nothing to do with Afrobeats. She has collaborated with Afrobeats artists. She has appeared on Afrobeats records. Her music sometimes sits comfortably within the sound.

What she has consistently resisted is the idea that Afrobeats should be the final answer to the question of what she makes.

Afrobeats can be a Nigerian musical movement, a global industry, a sound, a commercial category and a cultural force without becoming the name for every African song that finds an international audience.

Tems does not need to escape Afrobeats.

She simply wants enough room to be something else when the music calls for it.

The easiest way to respect that is to stop arguing with the artist about what she calls herself.

Listen to the music.

Then call it what it sounds like.

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In a series of detailed posts on X on August 31, 2026, Abstraktt, born Isaac Afogie Ferdinand Ekheoveh, laid out grievances that he said he had stayed silent about for too long. He described operating like a fully independent artist—recording his own songs; handling styling, cover art, creative direction, shooting, and editing most videos—while KVLT was contractually entitled to 50 percent. “Why are you managing an artiste like you hate him,” he wrote. “Like u had a full artist in your hand But you dey manage me like say you hate me.”

Stalled project and lack of support

A central complaint concerns the Uncle Yellow EP. Abstraktt shared an old tracklist dated six years earlier and said the project was repeatedly delayed. After he re-recorded material in 2025 with collaborators including Fxrtune and Oladapo, the project was ready by September, only for Dafe to cite a lack of money. The EP eventually dropped in December 2025 under the KVLT imprint. Abstraktt alleged Dafe did not attend the listening party, opposed holding one, and ran no promotion because he was focused on parties. “we stalled UNCLE YELLOW EP for 5 years and the project was finally dropping and you couldn’t even make it count,” he posted.

He further claimed that on the actual release date he received no communication from his manager, and that KVLT later sent someone to discuss renewing the deal. Abstraktt said he designed, modeled, and marketed his own merch without taking a cut. He also referenced an earlier incident in which his manager prioritized clearing another artist’s record featuring Falz over his own.

Personal fallout and “healing”

Abstraktt said the relationship began as friendship—he performed at Dafe’s early events, including rap battles at Landmark while Dafe was in school, and appeared at Let’s Relate without payment. When he left the company after six years, he alleged Dafe insulted him. He described four months of being ignored after Dafe’s girlfriend accused him of hitting on her, an allegation he denied and said cost him opportunities. “Dafe you are a very wicked boy. cos you were my friend but you don show me pepper,” he wrote, calling the posts his “final phase of healing.”

A later post added that KVLT launched multiple parties during the contract period while treating his career as a side hustle. “It was never about money. U no just send.” He said another industry figure, Mr. Femi, tried to help with a next release but was made to feel unwelcome.

Who the parties are

Abstraktt, a Lagos-born rapper who blends hip-hop, Afrobeats, and soul, first gained wider attention with the 2019 political track “Allow Me To Rap.” He has released projects including The Yellow Tape (2024) and Uncle Yellow (2025). He has described himself as handling much of his own creative work while remaining signed.

Dafe, operating as Partyboy, built KVLT WRLD from high school parties into a Lagos-based 360 entertainment company involved in talent management, events Even In The Day, Let’s Relate, and artist development. The company has been associated with Victony (who later left), Llona, and DJ Six7even. Public profiles present KVLT as focused on nurturing African creatives and Gen-Z culture. No public response from Dafe or KVLT WRLD to Abstraktt’s posts was immediately available.

Broader industry pattern

Artist-manager and label disputes are a recurring feature of the Nigerian music business, often involving questions of investment, promotion, royalty splits, and attention given to developing acts versus more commercially immediate projects. Abstraktt’s account—self-funding core work while a 50 percent partner allegedly prioritized events—echoes complaints other mid-tier and independent-leaning artists have voiced about feeling sidelined. He framed the episode as closed, writing that he is “glad i’m over that even if it took me years” and signaling he is moving forward independently.

The posts quickly circulated among Nigerian music followers, with some commenters citing other recent artist-management tensions. As of early September 2026, the matter remains a one-sided public airing with no reported legal filings.

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For three years, Group Therapy has built its identity around the idea that nightlife does not have to be an exercise in hierarchy. According to its founder, Aniko, you do not need a table, a bottle, a guest list, or the financial muscle to occupy the best corner of a Lagos nightclub before you can have a good night. You simply need a ticket, a willingness to lose yourself in the music and, perhaps most importantly, the faith that somewhere in this increasingly expensive city, there is still room for people to gather simply because they want to dance.

That promise is what has made Group Therapy feel different from the beginning. It is why the event has grown from a rave into something closer to a ritual for the young people who have found community in its dark rooms and electronic soundscapes and why the backlash following its third anniversary at Queens Park on August 25 has been so visceral. For many of the people who attended, the problem was not that the night failed to be perfect; Lagos nightlife has never really promised perfection. The problem was that an event built around freedom and release became, for several hours, an exercise in negotiating space, safety, and basic access.

Across the reviews that surfaced after the event, the stories began to sound eerily similar. People described being compressed into queues while trying to get their tickets scanned, with different categories of attendees funnelling through spaces that seemed incapable of absorbing the number of people arriving at once. Some likened the experience to being packed like sardines, while others described the anxiety of watching people push forward as they waited to gain entry. Guest-list complications added another layer to an already tense situation, with some attendees reportedly discovering that their names had been claimed by someone else, while restrictions around ticket transfers and screenshots left groups of friends scrambling to prove that the tickets they had bought were, in fact, theirs.

Then there was the venue itself, which became another character in the night’s unfolding drama.

Queens Park may have been able to accommodate the numbers on paper, but the experience described by attendees suggests that physical capacity and functional capacity are not the same thing. The two-room arrangement, connected by narrow and poorly lit staircases, turned something as ordinary as moving from one part of the rave to another into a potentially dangerous exercise. People reportedly missed steps; one attendee almost fell and was caught by a stranger, and for an event built around movement, the architecture seemed to be working against the crowd rather than with it.

The complaints did not end there. Phones reportedly disappeared in the crowd, with some attendees leaving the event without theirs and at least one person describing how the loss affected their ability to leave Lagos days later. There were complaints about locked bathrooms, congestion around vendors and water points, and a security operation that seemed to exist somewhere between being insufficient and overly aggressive, depending on whose experience you encountered.

And yet, buried inside many of these complaints was an interesting contradiction: some attendees still admitted that the music was good. The DJs did what DJs came to do. The sound, where people could actually enjoy it, still worked. The community was still there. The atmosphere that had made Group Therapy special had not disappeared, but it had simply become difficult to access beneath a layer of logistical frustration. This distinction matters because it is tempting to reduce the entire story to one conclusion: Group Therapy was badly organised.

Yes, there is truth in that; the organizers should be held accountable for the things that were within their control, particularly because the event is no longer small enough to be treated like an underground gathering where improvisation is part of the charm. When thousands of people are expected to arrive within a relatively short window, ticket verification cannot depend on a handful of people standing behind a table and manually searching names. Different ticket categories should not be funnelled into the same narrow entrance, and crowd management should not become an exercise in hoping that everyone behaves themselves.

Five to seven people cannot reasonably be expected to manage peak arrival for several thousand attendees, particularly when those attendees are being asked to navigate different ticket categories, guest-list verification, security checks, and entry points at the same time. These are not abstract infrastructure problems; they are operational decisions, and Group Therapy deserves the criticism that has followed them.

The same applies to the venue. Whatever circumstances forced the organisers to move away from their original plan, choosing a space is ultimately part of producing an event, and capacity should never be understood simply as the number of bodies that can physically occupy a property. A venue built to accommodate a certain number of people for a wedding, conference, or banquet is not automatically equipped to handle the same number of people dancing, moving between rooms, buying drinks, using bathrooms, and trying to leave at the same time.

This is where the Group Therapy conversation becomes more interesting, because the event’s failures are also symptoms of a much larger Nigerian problem that has been hiding in plain sight for years.

Lagos does not have enough venues for the culture it has created.

This is perhaps one of the strangest contradictions of Nigeria’s entertainment economy. Lagos has become the country’s undisputed entertainment capital and one of Africa’s most visible cultural cities, but the physical infrastructure supporting that reputation has not grown at the same speed as the culture itself. We have built an audience capable of filling arenas, festivals capable of attracting thousands of people, and a nightlife economy that has become a serious contributor to the city’s economic activity, yet we continue to improvise when it comes to finding places where all these people can actually gather.

The result is a city where warehouses become concert halls, hotel ballrooms become festival spaces, event centers become raves, and open spaces are transformed into temporary entertainment districts, not necessarily because this is the most imaginative way to build a cultural ecosystem, but because the alternatives are limited.

Lagos’ nightlife economy was estimated at ₦2.9 trillion in 2025, according to a report by TAG by Oui Capital, almost twice the previous year’s estimate. That number is significant not only because of the money it represents but also because of what it says about the scale of the ecosystem that has developed around going out in Lagos. People are spending on tickets, food, drinks, transportation, accommodation, fashion, and everything else that surrounds a night outside the house.

But what happens when the economic value of an industry grows faster than the infrastructure that carries it? Eventually, the cracks become visible, and Group Therapy happened to find one of those cracks on August 25.

The shortage of suitable venues is not merely about the number of buildings available; it is about how those buildings are designed. A proper large-scale cultural venue needs multiple entry and exit points, sensible crowd-flow systems, emergency access, adequate lighting, distributed bathrooms, reliable power, loading areas for production equipment, security infrastructure, parking, and, increasingly, some thought about how thousands of people will get home when the music stops.

That is a very different proposition from finding a hall that can technically fit 3,000 people. The distinction is important because the modern Lagos entertainment audience is not particularly interested in sitting still. The rise of rave culture, electronic music, Afrobeats festivals, and hybrid live experiences has created an audience that wants to move through spaces, discover different rooms, interact with DJs and artists, and experience the event as an environment rather than a stage in front of a seated audience. The architecture has to understand the culture. Too often, ours does not.

This is where the economics of producing events in Nigeria make an already difficult problem even harder. Every improvement costs money, and the cost of producing large-scale entertainment has risen alongside virtually everything else. Power is expensive, diesel is expensive, security is expensive, equipment is expensive, venue hire is expensive, and transport is expensive. Even the seemingly minor things—additional lighting, more crowd marshals, more security personnel, more water points, more welfare staff—eventually become another line on a production budget that is already under pressure.

For a collective like Group Therapy, this creates a particularly difficult balancing act because affordability is part of the brand’s appeal. The rave exists partly as an alternative to Lagos’ increasingly expensive table culture, where a single night can become an extravagant financial transaction disguised as leisure. Its audience is largely made up of young people who want to participate in nightlife without surrendering the economics of an entire month to a bottle of liquor and a reserved table.

That means the organizers cannot simply pass every additional production cost on to the audience without eventually changing the very character that made Group Therapy attractive in the first place. And this is where the ticketing controversy becomes more complicated too. Restricting ticket transfers and screenshots may be an understandable attempt to fight fraud, duplication, and the thriving secondary market around popular events, but an event is also a social product. People buy tickets for friends. Someone decides to attend at the last minute. Someone else cannot make it and gives their ticket to a sibling. A group of friends pools money and figures out the logistics later.

The system has to protect the event from fraud without making ordinary behavior feel like a criminal offense. A better digital verification system, where tickets can be securely transferred, linked to verified identities or groups, and scanned without requiring staff to manually resolve every dispute at the gate, would address part of the problem.

But even the best ticketing system cannot fix a staircase, and that is the point we keep returning to. There is only so much a promoter can optimize when the physical environment itself is not designed for the scale of the demand. Nigeria’s creative economy has spent years being discussed as the next great economic frontier, but conversations about its future often focus on the glamorous parts: streaming numbers, global tours, billion-dollar valuations, international festivals, brand partnerships, and the growing influence of African music and culture around the world.

Less attention is paid to the boring infrastructure that makes all of those things possible. Where do the artists perform? Where do the audiences gather? Where do the trucks unload? Where do people park? How does a crowd of 5,000 leave a venue at the same time? What happens when the power goes out? Where are the emergency exits? How many ambulances are nearby? What happens to the person who loses their phone at 1 a.m.?

These questions are not peripheral to the creative economy. A city cannot continuously market itself as a global entertainment destination while leaving promoters to search for rooms that were never designed for the culture they are trying to build. 

This is why the Group Therapy backlash should not simply disappear once the timeline moves on to the next controversy. The organisers have a responsibility to learn from what happened, but the industry also has an opportunity to ask a much larger question about where Nigerian nightlife is going.

If Group Therapy is going to continue growing, the answer cannot always be another last-minute venue scramble. There needs to be a serious conversation around permanent or semi-permanent spaces built specifically for the kind of cultural events Lagos increasingly produces. The organizers have reportedly considered creating a home for the community, and perhaps that is the direction the rave’s growth is naturally pushing it towards: a space where the architecture is designed around the experience rather than the experience being forced to negotiate with the architecture.

Other promoters will eventually face the same question, because Group Therapy is not the only event trying to solve this problem. As more Nigerian artists tour internationally, as more electronic and alternative music communities grow, as festivals become larger and audiences become more willing to pay for experiences beyond traditional club nights, the pressure on Lagos’ limited venue ecosystem will only increase.

The city therefore needs to begin thinking about cultural spaces as economic infrastructure, not decorative additions to the idea of a modern city. Private developers can build multi-purpose entertainment spaces into large developments. Government can create incentives for investment in cultural infrastructure and strengthen standards around crowd safety and venue design. Transport planning can account for major entertainment clusters rather than treating nightlife as an inconvenience that begins after business hours.

And promoters, for their part, have to become more rigorous about the difference between what a venue can accommodate and what it can safely host.

There is also something to be said for the audience. The young people who make Lagos nightlife what it is deserve better, but they also deserve to recognize that a sold-out event is a shared responsibility. Pushing through a queue, refusing instructions, creating unnecessary pressure at entrances, or treating other attendees as obstacles only makes a badly designed system more dangerous.

Group Therapy did not create Lagos’ infrastructure problems, but it has reached the point where those problems can no longer be hidden behind the romance of the underground. The rave has become too big to be treated as a scrappy community event that can simply find a room, plug in a sound system, and trust that everything will work itself out.

The irony is that the rave itself has done exactly what successful culture is supposed to do. It created demand. It built community. It found an audience hungry for something different and convinced thousands of people that there was another way to experience nightlife in Lagos. Now the city has to decide whether it is willing to build for that audience.

The post The Group Therapy Debacle Is a Lagos Infrastructure Story appeared first on Afromixx.

Commentators hauled out streaming statistics, international festival lineups, collaborations, tours, catalogue, and the generational, footprint-altering weight of “Calm Down.” The consensus was unanimous; how dare an American trade publication reduce a bona fide global powerhouse to a one-hit wonder?

The argument was not difficult to understand. Billboard’s classification was based on its own chart history, but Nigerian audiences knew that chart history could not possibly tell the whole story of Rema’s career.

Billboard had unknowingly reduced a complicated career into a simple statistic and Nigerians hated that.

Yet there is a fundamental contradiction sitting comfortably inside that outrage.

We care deeply when Billboard gets our music wrong because we intuitively understand that charts and institutions help write the definitive historical record. A chart is an assertion of legacy. It becomes evidence of success and shapes how an artist is contextualised years later.

So why, then, do we treat our own domestic institutions, our own data aggregators and our own award shows with such casual contempt?

We demand that foreign platforms treat Nigerian music with reverence, yet we routinely ignore the domestic infrastructure built to measure and celebrate that very same music.

The problem isn’t simply that foreign systems sometimes misrepresent us.

It is that we have not done enough to build systems we trust enough to argue back with.

Rema, Billboard and the Power of Foreign Validation

The Rema episode it exposes how much authority we have willingly handed to international institutions.

There was nothing wrong with Nigerians pointing out that “one-hit wonder” is a poor description of Rema’s broader career.

If Billboard says an artist is a one-hit wonder, millions of people who do not follow Nigerian music closely may accept that description as fact.

That is the power of an archive.

It is also the power of a chart.

This is why the reaction to the 2026 Headies nominations is bigger than a disagreement over who deserves a nomination.

The nominations have already generated confusion over the age of some of the projects appearing on the list. Some fans saw albums they considered old and immediately concluded that the organisers had lost the plot.

But there is an important detail that changes the conversation.

According to the Headies’ official nomination page, the eligibility period for the 18th edition runs from August 1, 2024 to April 30, 2026. The organisers explicitly state that music released within that window was considered.

That creates another problem for The Headies.

If people cannot immediately understand why a project qualifies, the organisation has a communication problem.

An award cannot demand that the public respect its verdicts if the public does not understand how those verdicts are reached.

The Headies 2026 Nominations and the Eligibility Question

This becomes even more interesting when we talk about music data.

Nigeria has built a local charting infrastructure capable of documenting what Nigerians actually listen to.

TurnTable Charts tracks music performance across streaming and radio platforms and publishes the Nigeria Top 100, alongside specialised charts for songs, albums, artists, producers and airplay. Its methodology has evolved over time, but its central purpose remains to create a standardised record of music consumption in Nigeria.

TurnTable’s Nigeria Top 100 combines streaming and airplay, while its methodology has incorporated data from platforms including Spotify, Apple Music, Audiomack, Boomplay and YouTube alongside radio and television airplay.

Yet we have created a strange hierarchy around this information.

Nigerians will proudly announce that an artist has entered the Billboard Hot 100. We will debate Billboard positions with the intensity of football supporters arguing over league tables. We will celebrate Spotify Global numbers as though they are national honours.

But how often do we discuss TurnTable’s weekly charts with that same energy?

How many people know who sits at No. 1 on the Nigeria Top 100 this week?

We have elevated foreign charts into gospel while treating local charts like supplementary information.

Then we become angry when foreign institutions fail to understand our market.

There is a certain absurdity to it.

We have built a mirror and then keep asking somebody else what we look like.

TurnTable Charts vs. Billboard: Why Nigeria Ignores Its Own Music Data

The Headies was not always treated with this level of suspicion.

The awards began as the Hip Hop World Awards in 2006 and eventually became one of the most important institutions in Nigerian popular music.

For years, winning a Headies award meant something.

The Next Rated category, especially, carried enormous cultural weight. It was an institutional prediction about who was about to become important.

The problem is not that The Headies has ever made a controversial decision. Every major award show has done that. The Grammys have controversies. The Oscars have controversies. The VMAs have controversies.

Two intelligent people can listen to the same album and arrive at completely different conclusions about whether it deserves Album of the Year.

That is normal.

The difference is that established institutions have built enough credibility that people can disagree with a result without immediately dismissing the entire institution.

That is the trust The Headies needs to build.

The Headies and the Loss of Institutional Trust

Some of that distrust did not appear from nowhere.

The 2016 Headies, for example, was marked by the absence of several major artists. Premium Times reported that Nigerian artistes boycotted the ceremony, with some winners also absent and presenters collecting awards on their behalf.

By 2019, the ceremony was again dealing with conspicuous absences and logistical issues that attracted criticism. Contemporary reactions documented presenters going backstage to resolve problems while several winners were absent.

Then came the 2025 edition.

Shallipopi won Best Rap Single but reportedly did not receive a physical plaque at the ceremony because plaques were unavailable.

Odumodublvck’s Next Rated victory produced another viral moment when his microphone was cut during his acceptance speech. He later said the organisers cut him off because he was talking about Jesus; that explanation came from Odumodublvck himself and should be treated as his account of what happened, not as an independently established fact.

Then there was the car attached to the Next Rated prize. Odumodublvck eventually received the promised vehicle in December 2025, months after winning the award.

None of these incidents, individually, destroys an awards institution.

Together, however, they create an impression.

Every time an organisation mishandles something that should be simple, it spends a little bit of the credibility it needs for the complicated things.

If an award show struggles to put the physical award in a winner’s hand, people will naturally begin to question whether the more subjective decisions about Album of the Year or Artiste of the Year were handled with equal rigour.

That may not be fair but credibility rarely survives on fairness alone.

It survives on consistency.

The Headies Controversies That Damaged Its Credibility

This institutional fragility feeds directly into our obsession with foreign validation.

An artist can sell out shows in Nigeria, dominate local airwaves and soundtrack people’s daily lives. But the tone of the conversation changes when Billboard, the Grammys, MTV, BET or another international institution acknowledges them.

Suddenly, history has been made.

Suddenly, Nigerian music is taking over.

Suddenly, we have proof that our music has gone global.

There is nothing wrong with celebrating international recognition. Nigerian artists deserve those stages, and global recognition can create opportunities.

The problem begins when international institutions become the authority on whether Nigerian success is real.

Why do we need Billboard to tell us that a Nigerian artist is successful before we believe it?

Why does an American chart position sometimes carry more cultural authority here than a Nigerian chart that actually measures Nigerian consumption?

Why are we more willing to forgive the imperfections of an international system than the imperfections of a local one?

The Rema controversy makes the irony obvious.

Nigerians were angry because Billboard reduced a complicated career to a simplistic chart narrative.

Fair enough.

Imagine if our domestic music infrastructure carried enough authority that a Billboard list could be challenged with more than outrage and screenshots.

Imagine if we could point to years of respected local charts, properly documented awards, transparent criteria and reliable industry data and say: Here is the record.

Why Nigerian Music Still Depends on Foreign Recognition

This is where the conversation must resist becoming a lazy “support Nigerian institutions” sermon.

Institutions do not earn respect simply because they are Nigerian.

The Headies cannot ask Nigerians to take it seriously while giving them reasons not to.

If the organisation wants people to trust the awards, it has to make the process easier to understand.

That means clear eligibility rules, consistent communication, transparent nomination processes, reliable award distribution, professional production, better documentation and clearer explanations when controversial decisions arise.

When something goes wrong, accountability is more useful than defensiveness.

The public has responsibilities too.

If we want local institutions to matter, we cannot only pay attention when something goes wrong. We cannot ignore TurnTable charts all year and suddenly remember that Nigerian music data exists when we need ammunition in an argument with Billboard.

Respect has to work both ways.

The institutions must give us something worth respecting.

We must also be willing to respect them enough to engage with them seriously.

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Seyi Vibez — “BACK 2 U”

There is an interesting thing happening with Seyi Vibez lately: the further he moves into his career, the less interested he seems in proving that he can make a hit and the more interested he becomes in exploring the emotional architecture underneath one. “BACK 2 U” is perhaps his clearest expression of that instinct yet, arriving as a love song that leans into longing, family, community emotional attachment, and the complicated pull of returning to someone even when the relationship has already given you reasons to walk away. A tender, understated pivot from Seyi Vibez that trades immediate street-pop adrenaline for emotional intimacy, and in doing so reveals another convincing shade of an artist increasingly comfortable with his range.

For an artist whose catalogue has frequently thrived on the physicality of street pop—the Fuji inflections, restless percussion, Amapiano textures, and songs designed to move through speakers with immediate force—this is a noticeably different temperature. It’s a slower, vocal-led R&B departure from the sound Seyi Vibez is usually associated with, and that distinction matters because “BACK 2 U” does not sound like an artist abandoning his identity; it sounds like one temporarily lowering the volume on it.

The production gives him room to do exactly that. Rather than crowding his voice with the kind of kinetic arrangement that has become synonymous with his street-pop run, the record is built around melodic instrumentation, warm bass, atmospheric textures, and restrained percussion. The result is a softer backdrop for his voice, allowing the grain in his delivery and his Yoruba-inflected phrasing to carry more of the emotional weight.

And this is where Seyi Vibez has always had an advantage: he understands that vulnerability does not necessarily mean becoming polished to the point of losing character. His voice still carries that familiar roughness, but on “BACK 2 U,” the rough edges become part of the romance. He sounds less like someone performing heartbreak and more like someone caught inside it, circling the same person and the same memories because some attachments are stubborn enough to survive logic.

That emotional tension is also what makes the song fit neatly into the larger evolution of his catalogue. Seyi Vibez has repeatedly moved between spirituality, ambition, street realism, romance, and personal reflection without completely abandoning the musical language that first made him resonate with listeners. “BACK 2 U” simply pushes the emotional dial further forward, and it wants to be the one that stays with you after the room has emptied.

Its timing within the SWAGUU rollout makes that especially intriguing, serving as a lead SWAGUU track. That early positioning suggests that the record is part of the framing for whatever Seyi Vibez intends his next chapter to sound like.

There is also something revealing about the song’s arrival after “GTA,” which came only weeks earlier. Seyi Vibez’s recent run has shown an artist comfortable moving quickly without necessarily repeating himself. “GTA” helped keep his street-pop machinery running, while “BACK 2 U” turns inward, choosing romance and reflection. The contrast is useful because it suggests that his current creative direction is not built around finding one formula and squeezing it dry, but around testing how far his voice can travel without losing its Nigerian core.

Even before release, “BACK 2 U” had begun circulating through snippets, creating anticipation for another solo offering. Now that the full record is available, the appeal becomes clearer: this is Seyi Vibez taking the emotional vocabulary that has always existed underneath his music and giving it more space to breathe.

Perhaps that is the most compelling thing about the song. Seyi Vibez does not need to abandon the street to become more vulnerable; he simply needs to let us hear what happens when the street goes quiet, and on “BACK 2 U,” it sounds like longing.

Blaqbonez — “BIG PERFORMER”

Blaqbonez has never been particularly interested in being modest, and on “BIG PERFORMER,” he leans fully into the larger-than-life persona that has become one of the most entertaining parts of his artistry. Produced by P.Priime, the new single finds the Nigerian rapper floating over an infectious Afrobeats-tinged production while rapping about women, nightlife, success, and, naturally, his own star power.

“BIG PERFORMER,” arrives as the title piece of a three-pack drop that also includes “FYP” featuring Monochrome and his earlier “Chanel.” The rapper previewed the title on August 17 with a snippet and the caption “BIG PERFORMER,” then spent the following week clarifying that listeners would get two new songs, not one.

What makes the record work is Blaqbonez’s commitment to performance. He is not simply rapping about being the center of attention; he sounds like someone who has already assumed the audience came specifically to watch him. His delivery carries the familiar humor and outrageous confidence that have long separated him from the more serious end of Nigerian rap, while the production gives the record enough bounce to function just as well in a party setting as it does in a headphone listen.

Coming alongside “FYP” featuring Monochrome, “BIG PERFORMER” extends Blaqbonez’s current run with another reminder that his greatest strength may be his ability to turn personality into music. It is brash, playful, and intentionally excessive, but that is precisely the point. Blaqbonez is not trying to convince us that he is a big performer; he is simply giving us another performance big enough to prove it.

Zinoleesky — “DANTATA”

Zinoleesky returns to the street-pop terrain he knows best on “DANTATA,” a 2:51-minute single released on August 27 through his Zinodict Music imprint. Built around a lively blend of electronic rhythms and Nigerian percussion, the record finds Zinoleesky in his familiar melodic pocket, weaving Yoruba and English through a song centered on money, attraction, and the pleasures that come with having enough of it.

In Nigerian popular speech, Dantata still functions as shorthand for generational wealth—the Kano business family whose fortune sits beside Dangote in the national imagination. Calling a street-pop record that is an argument as much as a flex. Zinoleesky is saying he can reach that scale, or at least sound like a man who intends to. In April 2026 he left Marlian, launched Zinodict Music, and marked the exit with “Nostalgia.” “Dantata” is the first major original statement since that break that is not a feature or a remix. The independence is no longer a press release. It is the label on the file. Four months later, “Dantata” arrives as the first real stress test of that office. There is nothing particularly radical about the formula, but the singer’s voice gives it the looseness and melodic character that have kept him relevant within Nigeria’s street-pop conversation. His recent releases, including “Nostalgia” and the “Bundle Bundle” remix, have similarly kept him active outside the shadow of his earlier ‘Grit & Lust’ era.

What “DANTATA” lacks in experimentation, it makes up for with immediacy. It is an easy, replayable record designed more for the atmosphere than deep contemplation, and its early motion suggests that the song is already finding its audience.

KiDi, Sarkodie — “IDK”

“IDK” is not a standalone Friday single so much as the flag planted on KiDi’s third album. ‘Where Do We Go From Here’ arrived August 27, 2026, a 15-track project whose tracklist also carries Lasmid, AratheJay, and Kwesi Arthur. The Sarkodie collaboration was the song that dominated the listening session at Array Osu and the one the rapper himself posted as a lyric video on release night.

KiDi and Sarkodie make a particularly natural pairing on “IDK,” bringing together KiDi’s warm, melodic delivery and Sarkodie’s sharper rap instincts on the fourth track of ‘Where Do We Go From Here’, KiDi’s third studio album, released on August 27. Produced by Ugly and Tough, the 2:23-minute record sits comfortably between Afrobeats and hip-hop, built around the uncertainty and emotional confusion that can come with love.

The pairing has history that is more interesting than a simple co-sign. Sarkodie put KiDi on “Hello” from Black Love in 2019. Years earlier, old tweets in which a younger KiDi dismissed Sarkodie’s Grammy talk had resurfaced; KiDi later apologized and admitted he assumed the rapper still held it against him. Sarkodie invited him to Rapperholic London anyway, then brought him into an Apple Music interview. In March, Sarkodie told KiDi that watching the next generation thrive is what still motivates him. “IDK” therefore arrives as more than a feature.

KiDi carries the song with a smooth vocal performance that feels deliberately unsure, while Sarkodie arrives with the lyrical precision needed to give the record some weight without disrupting its easy-going groove. Their chemistry is the song’s strongest asset: KiDi brings the emotion, Sarkodie brings the perspective, and neither tries to overpower the other.

As part of an album that moves between romance, introspection, and the realities of growing into a new chapter, “IDK” feels like one of its more effortless collaborations. Ghana’s most decorated rapper and one of its most consistent singers chose uncertainty as the title and still showed up on time. It settles into that familiar Ghanaian sweet spot where melody and rap can coexist without either side feeling like an afterthought.

Skyla Tylaa, Sofiya Nzau, Chlöe — “MAKUHIA”

“MAKUHIA” is the kind of collaboration that makes sense before the music even starts. The single pairs British electronic artist Skyla Tylaa with Kenyan vocalist Sofiya Nzau, who brings her unmistakable East African vocal identity, and Chlöe adds the polished R&B presence that ties the record to a wider pop audience. Released on August 28, the 3:08-minute single blends amapiano, house, R&B, and traditional Kenyan vocal textures into an expansive Afro-electronic record built squarely for movement.

The most compelling element is Sofiya Nzau’s contribution, particularly because her Kikuyu-rooted vocal style has already traveled remarkably well through electronic music following her global breakthrough on Brazilian DJ Zerb’s 2023 house rework of “Mwaki.” Here, that same distinctive quality becomes part of a much bigger sonic canvas, while Chlöe’s vocals add warmth and pop precision against Tylaa’s dancefloor-focused production. The result feels less like three artists meeting halfway and more like three musical worlds being allowed to occupy the same space.

There is a genuine sense of international ambition to “MAKUHIA,” but it never feels like cultural identity has been sacrificed for crossover appeal. Instead, the record finds its strongest quality in the contrast between its sleek electronic foundation and Sofiya Nzau’s deeply recognizable vocal character. It is atmospheric, rhythmic, and immediately accessible, the sort of song that can move comfortably from an Afro-house playlist to a global pop set without sounding out of place.

LISTEN TO THE FULL NEW MUSIC FRIDAY PLAYLIST BELOW

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Bruno Mars is bringing ‘The Romantic Tour’ to Australia and New Zealand in February and March 2027, and he is not coming alone. Two-time Grammy winner Tyla will join every show on the Oceania stadium run as special guest, a booking that turns an already oversized world tour into a more pointed event for this region.

The dates sit inside a wider expansion announced this week: 26 new stadium shows across Australia, New Zealand and Asia, plus a fifth Mexico City night later in 2026. With the additions, ‘The Romantic Tour’ now stretches past 115 stadium performances across North America, Europe, the United Kingdom, Asia, Australia, New Zealand and Mexico.

Anderson .Paak will appear on the newly announced shows as DJ Pee.Wee. The same nights also promise a special Silk Sonic performance, putting Mars and Anderson .Paak back onstage together. For local fans, that combination—Mars’ catalogue and new album material, a Silk Sonic reunion, .Paak on the decks and Tyla as featured guest—is the real story.

The itinerary

The Australia and New Zealand leg opens in the west and moves east before crossing the Tasman: Saturday, 13 February 2027 (Optus Stadium, Perth); Friday, 19 February and Saturday, 20 February (Marvel Stadium, Melbourne); Sunday, 28 February (Suncorp Stadium, Brisbane); Thursday, 4 March and Friday, 5 March (Accor Stadium, Sydney); and Saturday, 13 March (Eden Park, Auckland)

The run follows previously announced January 2027 dates in Japan and precedes a return to Asia, including multiple nights in Singapore and further stadium stops in Bangkok, Kaohsiung, Hong Kong, Manila and South Korea.

Bruno Mars last toured Australia in 2022 and New Zealand in 2018. This is his first stadium-scale return in years, built around ‘The Romantic’, the album that gave the tour its name and delivered one of the biggest opening chapters of his solo career.

Why Tyla is the booking that changes the night

Tyla’s assignment is specific: she is a special guest on all Australia and New Zealand dates, not a full-tour opener, framing the Oceania shows as a distinct chapter rather than a carbon copy of the North American and European legs.

Since her global hit, Tyla has moved from breakout to Grammy-winning international act with a sound that sits between pop, amapiano, and contemporary R&B. Putting her in front of stadium crowds in Perth, Melbourne, Brisbane, Sydney and Auckland is both a commercial calculation and a statement about where Bruno Mars wants the night to start—current, rhythmic, and internationally minded.

The Romantic Tour has already been defined by volume: multi-night stands at venues such as Wembley, SoFi Stadium, Rogers Stadium, and BC Place, record first-day sales, and a routing that keeps growing instead of winding down. The Oceania dates are part of that same pattern. Promoters and venues have presented the expansion as a response to demand rather than a late afterthought.

The New Zealand date at Eden Park is being positioned as a one-off stadium event for the country, supported in part by the government’s Events Attraction Package—a major international concert treated as both a music booking and an economic draw.

Tickets

Artist presale is Wednesday, 2 September 2026, with start times varying by city. Registration generally closes Sunday, 30 August 2026 at 11:59pm local time. General tickets go on sale Friday, 4 September 2026 through Ticketmaster and the official channels listed at BrunoMars.com.

What the night is likely to be

A Bruno Mars stadium show is still built on live-band precision, catalogue depth, and the kind of showmanship that made him one of the most reliable arena and stadium draws of the past 15 years. The Romantic gives the set new material. Silk Sonic gives it a reunion hook. DJ Pee .Wee gives it a different texture between or around the main set. Tyla gives the opening hour a contemporary international headliner in waiting.

A carefully stacked bill for seven stadium nights in Australia and New Zealand, with Tyla as the most significant new name on the poster. For audiences here, that is the booking that makes February and March 2027 feel like more than another stop on a world tour that already seems determined not to end

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The singer and son of billionaire industrialist Rasaq Okoya announced the decision on August 26 in an open letter shared on X, saying he would stop releasing new music while exploring other creative fields.

The timing is particularly interesting because SirRaheem had recently found himself at the centre of a very different conversation.

For much of his music career, the criticism was that he was rich, but was he actually talented?

His early releases and performances attracted plenty of scepticism, with some listeners questioning his vocal ability and whether he had the skill to justify pursuing music professionally. His background as the son of a billionaire also made it difficult for him to escape the assumption that privilege, rather than ability, had opened the door.

Then came his recent performance on Glitch Africa.

The performance did not suddenly transform SirRaheem into a superstar, but it did give people something new to discuss. Rather than the familiar jokes about an affluent kid playing at being an artiste, conversations began to focus on noticeable growth in his performance and delivery.

For an artist who had spent much of his career fighting the perception that he was simply a wealthy man with a microphone, that shift mattered.

And then, shortly after, he announced that he was leaving music.

In his letter, SirRaheem explained that music began as a hobby he shared with his friends before gradually becoming something more serious. However, balancing music with his other commitments had become increasingly difficult.

“I no longer feel I can give this craft the effort, patience, and dedication it truly deserves,” he wrote.

He thanked fans and colleagues who supported his career and clarified that the decision does not necessarily mean the end of his creative life.

SirRaheem said he intends to explore other creative ventures and pursue new challenges outside music. He also left the door open for his unreleased album to eventually see the light of day.

“Music remains therapeutic for me,” he wrote. “With time, maybe the album finds its way into the world somehow after all.”

The announcement comes after SirRaheem attempted to establish himself as an artist while simultaneously navigating the expectations that came with his surname.

His career began in Afrobeats, with live performances and releases helping him build a following. He has also spoken about the difficulty of balancing music with his responsibilities as an executive director at Eleganza Group, his family’s business.

In January 2026, SirRaheem attracted further attention after unveiling an exclusive members-only bowling club with an annual membership fee of $5,000. The venture generated significant conversation online, particularly around its price and intended audience.

At the time, he rejected speculation that he had abandoned music for business.

Now, however, the decision is official, at least for the foreseeable future.

SirRaheem’s wording leaves plenty of room for interpretation. This is a professional exit, not necessarily a permanent goodbye. His belief that he has created the best material of his career also suggests that the story of his music career may not be completely finished.

Whether the unreleased album eventually arrives or not, time will tell.

The post SirRaheem Announces Exit From Music After Recent Performance Sparks Talk of Growth appeared first on Afromixx.

Released today, the nominations for the 18th Headies Awards mark a meaningful evolution for one of Africa’s most prestigious music honors. Established names like Davido, Wizkid, and Burna Boy still command major categories, yet the slate feels notably more open. Rising acts such as Fola, Mavo, Fido, Shoday, and Llona appear not just in Next Rated but across Song of the Year, Afrobeats Single of the Year, Digital Artiste of the Year, Best Male Artiste, and more.

This is inclusivity with substance. The list spans Afrobeats, R&B, alternative, street-hop, rap, inspirational, and live performance categories. Women hold strong ground: Ayra Starr features prominently in Song of the Year “Hot Body”, Best Performer (Live), Digital Artiste, Viewers’ Choice, and Best Female Artiste, joined by Tems, Tiwa Savage, Qing Madi, Teni, and others. R&B Album nods go to projects by Fola ‘Catharsis’, Tems ‘Love Is a Kingdom’, Tiwa Savage ‘This One Is Personal’, Kunmie, Qing Madi, and Tay Iwar.

Regional categories recognize talent from West Africa, East Africa, North Africa, and Central Africa, while a new African Diaspora-Canadian Artiste category reflects the awards’ move to Toronto under the theme “Africa to the World”. International Artiste of the Year brings in names including Ciara, Dave, and others who have engaged with African sounds.

Song of the Year pits Kunmie’s “Arike,” Ayra Starr’s “Hot Body,” Fido’s “Joy Is Coming,” Asake & Wizkid’s “MMS,” Davido & Omah Lay’s “With You,” and the collaborative “Hey Jago” against one another. Afrobeats Single of the Year includes Rema, Asake & Wizkid, Shallipopi, Fola, Burna Boy, and Davido & Omah Lay. Afrobeats Album of the Year features Davido’s ‘5ive’, Wizkid’s ‘Morayo’, Burna Boy’s ‘No Sign of Weakness’, Omah Lay, BNXN, and Adekunle Gold. Best Male Artiste places veterans alongside Fola and Mavo; Best Female Artiste is competitive among established and rising women.

Next Rated—often a career-launching category—spotlights Fola, Shoday, Mavo, Fido, and Llona, underscoring how the awards are tracking genuine momentum rather than recycling the same faces. Digital Artiste of the Year further blends streaming and social impact across veterans and newcomers.

Eligibility covered material released between 1 August 2024 and 30 April 2026. The ceremony is set for 23 October 2026 in Toronto, Canada, with Headies Week events surrounding it. Special recognition and Hall of Fame nods including Awilo Longomba will honor broader contributions.

In an industry that can tilt heavily toward a handful of global stars, this list feels like a deliberate widening of the lens. It still celebrates the commercial and cultural heavyweights who defined recent years, yet it makes room for the artists reshaping the sound from the ground up across styles, regions, and career stages. That balance is the real development. The Headies have long been a barometer for Nigerian and African music; this year, the barometer reads more of the full ecosystem. The October night in Toronto will test how these nominations translate into hardware in a broader, deeper, and more competitive scene.

Full List of Nominees – 18th Headies Awards (2026)

Next Rated
Fido
Fola
Llona
Mavo
Shoday

Rookie of the Year
Amma
Danpapa Gta
Firstklaz
Kidd Carder
No11
Priesst
OG Abbah

Song of the Year
Arike — Kunmie
Hey Jago — Poco Lee, Shoday & Rahman Jago
Hot Body — Ayra Starr
Joy Is Coming — Fido
MMS — Asake & Wizkid
With You — Davido & Omah Lay

Afrobeats Single of the Year
Fun — Rema
Jogodo — Asake & Wizkid
Laho — Shallipopi
With You — Davido & Omah Lay
You — Fola
Bundle by Bundle — Burna Boy

Afrobeats Album of the Year
5ive — Davido
Captain — BNXN
Clarity of Mind — Omah Lay
Fuji — Adekunle Gold
Morayo — Wizkid
No Sign of Weakness — Burna Boy

Album of the Year
Catharsis — Fola
Clarity of Mind — Omah Lay
G.O.A.T — Erigga
Morayo — Wizkid
The Machine Is Coming — ODUMODUBLVCK
This One Is Personal — Tiwa Savage
No Sign of Weakness — Burna Boy

Best Recording of the Year
Arike — Kunmie
How Do You? — Amaeya
Baby (Is It a Crime) — Rema
Coping Mechanism — Omah Lay & Elmah
With You — Davido & Omah Lay
You — Fola

Best R&B Album
Before We Became Strangers — Kunmie
Catharsis — Fola
I Am the Blueprint — Qing Madi
Love Is a Kingdom — Tems
Reflection Station — Tay Iwar
This One Is Personal — Tiwa Savage

Best Alternative Album
Afrika Magik — SDC
Detox — Sewa
Duplicity — BOJ
Healers Chapel — Wizard Chan
Olorin Pack — Scottyolorin
Then 1t Got Crazy — Zaylevelten

Best Alternative Song
Luwa.mp4 (ft. Jeleel!) — CYK Baddie
Lagos Lovin — Sewa
Oliver — Wizard Chan
Omo to Sexy — Binde
Prada Baby — Wavestar
Sweet Danger — Obongjayar
Summer Adina (ft. BoyPee & Zoro Swagbag) — Chief Priest

Best R&B Single
6:35 — Layefa
How Do You? — Amaeya
I Love You — Amma
What You Need — Tems
Winter & Summer — Magixx
You4Me — Tiwa Savage

Best Rap Single
2:02 PM in London — Odumodublvck
ACi — Blaqbonez
Man2Man — Dremo
Moshood — PDSTRN
Nkemakonam — Tuff King
Wuse Tu — Zaylevelten & Mavo
John Wick — Zhus Jdo

Best Collaboration (Best Headies Collaboration)
Body (Danz) — CKay ft. Mavo
Escaladizzy — Mavo ft. Wavestar
Hey Jago — Poco Lee, Shoday & Rahman Jago
Lost — Fola ft. Kizz Daniel
Pity This Boy — Odumodublvck ft. Victony
With You — Davido ft. Omah Lay
See What We’ve Done — Mr Eazi & King Promise
Finally — Chief Priest ft. Spyki

Best Street-Hop Artiste
Na Scra — Famous Pluto
All My Money — Kashcoming
Hey Jago (ft. Shoday & Rahman Jago) — Poco Lee
Shaolin — Seyi Vibez
Laho — Shallipopi
Nkemakonam — Tuff King
Gaddem (ft. Shoday) — Rybeena

Best Vocal Performance (Male)
I’m Not Done — Adekunle Gold
Orente — Flavour
Winter and Summer — Magixx
Patience — Odeal
Love Egbugomo — Syemca
Bad Belle — Tay Iwar

Best Vocal Performance (Female)
6:35 — Layefa
How Do You? — Amaeya
Lagos Lovin — Sewa
Scum Bag — Qing Madi
Skin to Skin — Liya
You4Me — Tiwa Savage

Best Performer (Live)
Live at the National Theatre, Lagos — Adekunle Gold
Red Bull Symphonic — Asake
Global Citizen Festival 2025 — Ayra Starr
Johnny’s Room Live 6 — Johnny Drille
Live at Indigo at The O2, London (2025) — Ruger

Music Video of the Year
10 Kilo (Director Pink) — Davido
With You (Dammy Twitch) — Davido
Afroculture (TG Omori) — Flavour ft. Baaba Maal
(Jyde Ajala) — Wizard Chan
Bundle by Bundle (DK) — Burna Boy

Producer of the Year
Magicsticks (Jogodo / Real, Vol. 1 — Asake & Wizkid)
P.Priime (MMS — Asake & Wizkid; Baby (Is It a Crime) — Rema; Billionaires Club — Olamide, Darkoo & Wizkid)
Ragee (Hot Body — Ayra Starr)
Sarz (Hot Body — Ayra Starr; Who’s Dat Girl — Ayra Starr ft. Rema)
Tempoe (With You — Davido ft. Omah Lay; SMH — Joeboy)

Songwriter of the Year / Writer of the Year
Many People — Adekunle Kosoko (Adekunle Gold)
Cough Syrup (with BNXN) — Anthony Ebuka Victor (Victony)
Time Traveler — Fuayefika Maxwell (Wizard Chan)
Who Does That? — Odunlami Afolarin Temiloluwa (Fola)
(Oluwabukunmi Ariyibi Peter / Kunmie)
How Do You? — Peace Chidinma Amaefula (Amaeya)

Lyricist on the Roll
ACi — Blaqbonez
Man2Man — Dremo
If You Like Gym (with Odumodublvck) — Modenine
Moshood — PDSTRN
Man2Man (Ycee Remix with Dremo) — Ycee

Best Inspirational Single
Amioluwa (ft. Yinka Okeleye) — Sunmisola Agbebi
Favour — Lawrence Oyor
Idinma (You Are Good) — Sinach
Korin Iyin (I Will Praise You) — EmmaOMG
No Turning Back 2 (ft. Lawrence Oyor) — Gaise Baba
We Move — Mercy Chinwo

Digital Artiste of the Year
Asake
Ayra Starr
BNXN
Chella
Fola
Mavo
Seyi Vibez
Wizkid

Best Female Artiste
Ayra Starr
Qing Madi
Sewa
Tems
Teni
Tiwa Savage

Best Male Artiste
Adekunle Gold
Asake
Fola
Mavo
Rema
Wizkid
Burna Boy

Headies Viewers’ Choice
Hot Body — Ayra Starr
With You (ft. Omah Lay) — Davido
Baby (Is It a Crime) — Rema
You — Fola
Jogodo (with Asake) — Wizkid
Arike — Kunmie
Escaladizzy (ft. Wavestar) — Mavo

Best West African Artiste
Black Sherif (Ghana)
Himra (Côte d’Ivoire)
KiDi (Ghana)
King Promise (Ghana)
Moliy (Ghana)
Wally B. Seck (Senegal)
Stonebwoy (Ghana)

Best East African Artiste
Abigail Chams (Tanzania)
Bien (Kenya)
Bruce Melodie (Rwanda)
Harmonize (Tanzania)
Joshua Baraka (Uganda)

Best North African Artiste
Balti (Tunisia)
Dystinct (Morocco)
Marwan Moussa (Egypt)
Soolking (Algeria)
Tul8te (Egypt)

Best Central African Artiste
Fally Ipupa (DR Congo)
Ferré Gola (DR Congo)
Héritier Watanabe (DR Congo)
Hiro (DR Congo)
Innoss’B (DR Congo)
Locko (Cameroon)

African Diaspora-Canadian Artiste
Lipsync — Debby Friday
CC (ft. Alpha P) — Tôme
Diana (with Friyie) — Bolu Ajibade
Dive In — Nonso Amadi
Deeper — Rooky Kamiz
Out the Mud — Tobi

International Artiste of the Year
Ciara
Dave
Gunna
Jazmine Sullivan
Shenseea
Tiakola

Best Original Song for Visual Media
All My Love — Osas Okonyon & Abbey Wonder (from Evi)
Behind the Scenes — Funke Akindele & Tolu Obanro (from Behind the Scenes)
Save Me — Oscar Heman-Ackah & 2Baba (from To Kill a Monkey)
Only in Lagos — WurlD & Liya (from Christmas in Lagos)

Hall of Fame
Awilo Longomba

The post The 18th Headies 2026 Nominees: Full List appeared first on Afromixx.