Calling a Spade a Spade
So I like to think of myself as a music head. An eclectic listener of music whose taste spans various genres including reggae, high life, afrobeat, juju, classical music, dubstep, techno, RnB, 90s RnB (which is different), the works. I pride myself on being someone who loves music irrespective of genre as long as it’s good. I even use it as an judge of character when having conversations with people I’m meeting for the first time. “What type of music do you listen to?” I ask, patiently waiting to hear something mainstream like “just hip hop and rap” or worse yet “I don’t like slow music” before I proceed to judge them as someone who has a closed mind because in my mind, the more genres you listen to the more open minded you are.
Because of this mentality, I have found myself listening to a lot of music that others might not understand. I have gotten strange looks from strangers in cars passing by me when they hear the type of music coming out of my wound down window. The kind of look that says “you don’t look like the music you listen to” and I get that. And it’s true. But I want what I want. I like what I like. I didn’t ask to be this way, I was born this way.
One of the genres of music guilty of eliciting said looks is Nigerian pop music. Nigerian pop music is Nigerian mainstream popular music. Nigerian pop music is, mostly, shallow. No one should bother arguing that. It’s a fact. Have you heard some of the lyrics of these songs?
Lyrics, lyrics and more lyrics.
Who the heck is writing all this nonsense?
Why all the repetition? Why all the gibberish?
I know you’re asking, if I feel this passionate about the shallowness of Nigerian pop music why then do I listen to it?
Well, one word; rhythm. You cannot deny the fact that Nigerian pop music has rhythm. Nigerian pop music can make you bob your head. Nigerian pop music will make you dance and feel guilty afterward. And so the formula for a perfect Nigerian pop song is gibberish and repetitive lyrics on a dope beat.
Like this one.
And that’s the reason I listen to it, the rhythm, and how it makes me wanna dance.
Which brings me to the point of this quasi-rant. I feel that all the labels being used to describe Nigerian pop music falls short in describing the true nature of the genre. I am given to philosophical musings regarding utter nonsense and on one of such occasions of pondering, I got around to the challenge of adequately and accurately re-naming the genre and at the end of my musing I came up with a name.
Nigerian Dance Trash.
Let’s break it down. 1. The origin of the music is Nigeria so calling it Nigerian makes sense. 2. Does it make you want to dance? Try listening to Shakiti Bobo and tell me you didn’t bob to it. 3. Is it trash? Let’s consider, again, the evidence before us.
So there it is. If you feel, even after listening to my well researched argument, that I am wrong in my assertions and naming then my suggestion to you is that you face the music and call a spade a spade.
