In a dimly lit studio, Wizkid and Gunna puff on stocky blunts, alternating between exchanging friendly chatter and dispatching verses into disc-shaped microphones. As a glistening trap beat furnished with Wizkid’s mellow vocals plays in the background, the pair and two other men—presumably studio personnel—bob their heads vigorously. It’s with this monochrome clip that American rapper Gunna revealed Wizkid’s presence on his forthcoming album. The excitement on social media had hardly diminished when Gunna announced, through a tracklist, that Asake and Burna Boy would also feature on the album. The announcement that three of Afrobeats’ most prolific stars would be together on one album was expectedly to set off a litany of rhapsodic conversations. But for Wizkid and Asake especially, it represents the continuation of something breathtakingly special.
In the early months of the year, Wizkid and Asake seemed to be flailing. The feverish reception of Wizkid’s Morayo, which he released late in November last year, had started to die down. He was increasingly disappearing from charts and drifting to the periphery of pop culture conversations—save for the occasional conversation about his embattled situation. In May, he canceled his Morayo tour—presumably owing to low ticket sales—adding tinder to what was already a volatile situation.
Asake’s woes began at the start of the year, with the announcement of his separation from YBNL. Not only did he part ways with YBNL, but he also dispensed with the entire management team. Tunde Phoenix, a former associate disaffected with Asake’s abrupt decision to part ways, began a media campaign, enlisting anyone willing to listen—publications, social media users, bloggers—in conversations where he surfaced sordid allegations about the Omo Ope crooner. Allegations of misogyny, homophobia, business malfeasance, the list goes on. Not too long from then, Asake, in service of what he dubbed his “military era,” unveiled a new aesthetic. He covered his body in a formation of tattoos and began wearing distressed) clothing —abrupt aesthetic choices that sent the public into a panic. That Asake’s first single this year, Why Love, got off to a wobbly commercial start, contrasting his previous unassailable form, added to the concerns about him. Some even began to offer elegiac statements, in anticipation of his decline.
Today, the situation couldn’t be more different. Wizkid recently recorded a new career high of 14 million monthly listeners on Spotify. He also currently occupies the top two spots on Apple Music and Spotify’s Top Songs Charts in Nigeria. Asake’s Badman Gangster, a surprise release, is currently one of the best-performing songs in Nigeria—It’s currently at no.1 on Turntable’s singles chart. Beyond quantifiable metrics, their rebound to form can be glimpsed in the forceful intensity with which they have shaped public conversation in the past few months—a situation that has only reached a new crest with their respective features on Gunna’s album. The reason for this shift? The incredible feature they’ve both delivered in the months since they were excoriated.
On the 25th of April, Ayra Starr’s Gimme Dat featuring Wizkid was released. Since then, Wizkid has been featured on six other songs: Olamide’s Kai and Billionaires Club, Tyla’s Dynamite, DJ Tunez’s One Condition, which also features Fola, David Guetta’s Lighter, and Gunna’s Forever be Mine. It’s not just the frisson from these high-profile collaborations that have vaulted Wizkid to the center of public conversation, but the fact that these songs have performed well commercially. His delivery on the songs has also mostly echoed the flexibility and precision of his breathtaking feature run in 2012. Asake has been similarly prolific, featuring on tracks like Young Jonn’s Che Che, Olamide’s 99, which also features Young Jonn and Seyi Vibez, J Hus’ Gold, and Gunna’s Satisfaction.
One salient but often glossed over insight about Wizkid and Asake’s incredible feature run this year is how it showcases the potency of collaboration in fuelling career growth. As I put in the final bits of research for this article, I stumbled upon a tweet that summarily captures my thoughts on the matter. “Releasing an album every other year with zero artistic growth is not what being an artist is about, and I will die on this hill,” it reads. The tweet generated so much fiery debate that its author had to restrict the tweet. Before it was restricted, the tweet had garnered some 2.8 million views. In an article I wrote last year, which I have now referenced several times, I argue for the unsustainability of churning out albums every year.
Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with releasing an album every year. The problem, however, is that for most artists, the velocity of the album release cycle transforms the process from a creative effort at telegraphing artistic growth or communicating some newfound insights to something rote, an item to be checked off a list. If albums, as that tweet suggests, in their ideal form, should communicate some growth, then it makes sense for artists to space out their projects sufficiently, to allow themselves to pause so that their ideas can gestate. “Idk how people keep making albums cause I have nothing left to say,” Lady Donli, who has to her name three albums and a smattering of EPs, says in a recent tweet. It calls for a pause, reflection.
The main reason these artists feel compelled to release projects frequently is the fear of irrelevance. If they take a break, the world could move past them, and when they return, there might be no place for them. And this is largely a failure of Nigerian Music’s A-list class to properly master the mechanics of celebrity. If you were to compare Nigerian A-list artists with their counterparts on the global stage, what you’ll find is that artists like Ed Sheeran, Justin Bieber, Adele, Kendrick Lamar, Rihanna, Beyoncé—the list goes on—don’t feel the need to compulsively wrestle irrelevance with frequent releases. The reason for this is that they have found other ways, other than frequent album releases, to parlay their celebrity into continued relevance. If Asake and Wizkid’s feature runs shows anything, it’s that collaboration is a viable alternative to releasing an album every other year. The pair seems to be accelerating towards new projects. In the interim, however, they have dominated pop culture conversations, turning around their respective beleaguered situations at the start of the year, not by releasing contrived projects to drum up but by deploying an age-old strategy: collaborations.
