Not a single year passes in the Nigerian music scene without a heated public conversation either on the relevancy of Hip Hop in these parts or obscure discussions about certain technicalities around the Nigerian Hip Hop orthodoxy. Hip Hop enthusiasts would remember 2022, when Psycho YP took swipes at “Rap OGs,” essentially crowning himself the new king in a lineage that includes stalwarts like M.I Abaga, Olamide, Naeto C, and Mode 9, amongst others. Rappers are especially given to boastfulness. So, despite the audacious slant of Psycho YP’s tweet, he wasn’t saying anything that hadn’t been said before. His polemic, however, stirred existential discussions, mostly wistful ones about the decline of the Nigerian Hip Hop scene. What soon followed was a rap beef between the two leading cultural scenes in Nigerian Hip Hop—The Lagos and the Abuja scenes. Psycho YP led the charge on the Abuja front while dndSection garnered relative acclaim leading the charge on the Lagos front.
Looking back, this period feels lacquered in nostalgic bliss, a quaint memory from a distant past. It hardly feels like three years ago. Odumodublvck was still a scrappy misunderstood artist—albeit close to his breakout moment. He joined in on many of the Twitter Spaces that served as virtual halls where battle raps and discussions on the trajectory of Rap took place, playing the role of Psycho YP’s brash deputy and defending Abuja with a mix of wonky-but-energetic freestyles and impassioned bluster. In one memorable Space that I attended, he was shouted down after he delivered a freestyle. The antagonism wasn’t necessarily in bad faith. Rap cyphers aren’t exactly the place for niceties or courteous language. The perfect metaphor for a Rap cypher is perhaps an illegal dog fight—ravenous hounds packed in dimly lit underground caverns, eyes bloodshot, tongues dripping with saliva, their legs poised to spring into action.
What struck me the most during that encounter was the measuredness with which he handled the blitz of critiques that came at him from all directions. He coolly explained his sound and his story, before segueing into a hilarious anecdote about threatening to rain down hail on a DJ who disrespectfully cut his music off. Three years later, Odumodublvck finds himself at the center of this year’s edition of the unremitting conversation about Nigerian Rap’s slump in renown. On Sunday evening, a clip of rising rapper Major AJ on Banks Podcast started making the rounds; and by Monday afternoon it developed into a full-blown rift between the two rappers. In the clip, Major AJ expresses shock at Shallipopi and Odumodublvck’s Cast earning a nomination for Best Rap Song at The Headies. “Cast is an amazing song, a viral song, I love the song, but respectfully, it’s not a Rap song,” he says. Odumodublvck didn’t take too kindly to his comments and has spent the past few days pummeling him with insults. The contrast between the composure he evinced three years ago, on that Twitter Space, and the imperiousness he has displayed over the past few days is stark.
Hip Hop enthusiasts and industry professionals have also joined the fray, populating the conversation with their opinions on whether Cast fits the definition of a Rap song. To the extent that these debates have varied in their positions, it’s largely a reflection of how fluid genres have become in our age, especially in Nigerian music where music tends to fuse multiple influences. There is also a conversation to be had about the point of strict categorization of music in this age—outside the commercial benefits of separating items into groups for easy identification.
Cast is however not a Rap song by any yardstick. Neither the production nor the delivery on the record is predominantly Hip Hop. This, however, does not invalidate the duo as rappers. These two have successfully transmuted the essence of Rap to fit the Nigerian sonic landscape, which is laudable. Odumodublvck has songs like Declan Rice and Shoot and Go Home—Rap songs adapted to accommodate elements of Nigerian culture. However, calling Cast, which is decidedly poppy in both its beat and lyrics, would be like calling SZA and Doja Cat’s Kiss Me More a rap song because the pair sprinkled it with some rhymes. Which you’d probably agree makes zero sense.
