To my Musician Friends who have Decided that Nigerians don't need Brains

My dear,

See the thing about most Nigerian music? They are like a virus. They sneak into your subconscious and infect you with grooving vibes while chomping away slowly on your brain. That’s just my opinion.

In case you are not a Nigerian musician and you think that this isn’t for you, you are wrong. You’ll soon find out why.

I have tried. I promise you I have tried to be kind. After all, we can admit honestly that the Nigerian music industry has seen great progress in the past few years. Many of our music videos have managed to accomplish what most of Nollywood still struggles with. Great picture quality and angles, wonderful graphic imagery, clear sound, etc. So yes, indeed, we have come some way.

Bet why? Why, dear Nigerian musicians have you chosen to punish your people like this? Have we offended you in any way? Did we kill your mother or make your father withhold pocket money from you in school? Did we straf your girlfriend/steal your boyfriend and parade their underwear all over the neighbourhood? Did we wet your bed then set you up by laying new bed sheet and sweeping the room? Ogini kanyi mere gi bikonu, that you have chosen to punish us like this? Why?

Terry G, oh thee Founder of the Weed, Groovy Beats and Terrible Lyrics Church, we remember you and how you tested the microphone. I really wish you hadn’t. Because you didn’t tell them the truth. You didn’t tell these people that you were just the sound technician ‘Testing microphone 1, 2’. The real speakers were coming, people who had something to say, people who knew that their audience was made up of intelligent people who came to listen to them speak because iron sharpens iron, people who were trying to grow by edifying those around them. Now that all these randoms know the microphone is working, they have decided that it is open mic/karaoke season, and they can get inspiration from anything, from the peculiar sound of a person’s fart to pants hanging outside. What positive value can a bombom bigger than Bombay add to anyone’s life, bikonu? Guys, try not to think what I know you are already thinking...

A friend of mine introduced me to Hip Tv’s Lyrics 2 Go. I recommend that show to every Nigerian. I personally get amazed and awed by the creativity of these people. It takes talent to be able to create such beautiful nonsense. Like baby poop for instance. There are times I stare in wonder at it and think, ‘Wow! That piling is so artistic! It should be put into a cone and sold as chocolate!’

I liken Nigerian music these days to Resident Evil, World War Z, Night of the Living Dead, etc. A viral outbreak that infects Nigerians and zombifies everyone, and no one seems to be looking for a cure. We are so busy enjoying the badass beats in the song that we ignore the emptiness and stupidity of the lyrics, forgetting that all the knowledge we hold is gained through our senses, that the quality of what comes out of a man is as a result of what has gone in, and that when we saturate our senses with things that are mediocre and lack value, that is usually what we become – mediocre and valueless. So by the time we realize that our IQs are no longer as sharp as they used to be, or that we can’t seem to find solutions to problems around us, waiting instead for ‘the government’ to solve all of our problems, we have already become as empty as the songs we listen to. Yet we never realize that they are at least partially responsible, so we keep on grooving, baby kpalanga!

I blame the Nigerian artistes who have chosen to insult our intelligence by feeding us with bullshit. But the lion share of the blame rests on our shoulders. If bullshit couldn’t make money in Nigeria, no one would try to feed us with it. Look how no one knew Inyanya when he was talking; he started to kukere, then everyone wanted a piece of him. Even till date, it is usually Tu Face’s party jams like Implication and Ihe ne me that sell like hot peppersoup and Oompa during Premier League games. We patronize bullshit; we are so addicted that we raise our children on it and feed them with it. So I can’t entirely blame the opportunists who take advantage in our government, business organizations and of course, music.

Many do not understand the power music holds. They do not get why T.Y. Bello’s We are the Future or Fela’s Suffering and Smiling or Sinach’s I know who I am or Omawumi’s If you ask me are songs that never get old and always speak to everyone – young , old, poor, rich, Christian or Muslim. Music assaults the brain directly through the ears, so whatever is absorbed therein, goes into our subconscious and adds up to make our character whatever it is. This is why you sometimes find yourself singing along to songs you thought you didn’t know, and why even songs you hate become part of your existence (that your rascal neighbour that always has it on repeat…) This is why music therapy is used to treat many conditions that involve the brain. You can google it if you don’t believe me. It is even used by many pregnant women to help develop the brain of their children in the womb, because the olfactory nerves are very sensitive at that stage, and since the child is still in formation, the music and whatever it says or how it feels becomes his/her foundation.

Nigeria is made up of a lot of highly intelligent people that think average. There are a lot of factors that contribute to this, but the fact that we love terrible music so much definitely does not help. I’m not saying that all Nigerian music is bad (as a matter of fact, I believe that talent abounds in the industry. Look at Olamide and his metaphors for example; still blows my mind). What I am saying is that we should stop patronizing the ones that are. Let’s challenge these talents to think and to develop into skills. If dem no get market, dem go start to dey use dem brain. And if they use their brains, then it will be so much easier to weed out the chaff from among them. Say something I'm giving up on yooouuuu...

Abeg. I no know how I go take beg una again. All you wonderful mizikshans, plix, stop choking our brains with poopoo. All you patronisers, plix, stop listening to poopoo. All you Alaba market promoters, plix, stop selling poopoo to us and calling it mizik.

And all you neighbours with those fake Chinese speakers that make us look like we are shouting at our friends for pouring away our hard-earned pot of obstacle-filled Egusi soup even though we are just saying, ‘How are you dear?’, I lay a curse upon thy weapons of mass destruction. May rats consume the wiring inside and out, may the artwork they leave behind bamboozle all repairers, and may all new ones disappear mysteriously from the dealers’ shops when you want to buy. AMEEEEEEEN!!!!!!!!!!

Yours in friendship always,

∞

Omachies.