The Fallacy of Streaming Farms vs Nigeria’s Music Greatness

Last week, the internet was awash by stories of bogus streaming made possible by so-called “streaming farms” where bots were deployed to generate high streaming numbers for artistes. It was the first time that many fans learnt of that phrase and what those platforms do. My suspicion, though, after many years of working in and around entertainment media, is that it’s a widely known (and used) phenomenon across the industry. Streaming farms essentially help artistes and their companies game the system: high streaming numbers typically mean a higher revenue stream from digital services such as YouTube, Spotify and the rest. It also helps artistes negotiate higher or better deals from the DSPs and show promoters. It’s not surprising, then, that several artistes happily tout their streaming numbers, as evident on things like Apple Music’s top lists when they chart high. This writer doesn’t believe it is a sustainable model, as I wrote in this column last week. Even for the highest-ranking artistes on the continent like Burna Boy, who has billions of streams, that alone is not the reason that they lead the new guard on the continent: yes, high streams are nice, but they’re not a substitute for all of the other components that make up a successful career.

Unsurprisingly, the issue of the prevalence of streaming farms will generate reactions in and out of the industry. Fan groups that often antagonize each other will accuse other parties of doing that which their own fave might also be guilty of. But those are fan groups, and we’ve come to understand and accept that it’s pointless to expect any semblance of objectivity in matters of favourites and rivals. Another group that has had a field day commenting on this issue are non-Nigerian music fans who claim that using bogus streams via streaming farms is why Nigerian artistes are the biggest on the continent. Now that’s a serious claim and, at the same time, bordering on ridiculous.

Over the last decade and a half, the Nigerian music industry has exploded in ways other peers from other African countries can only dream of. And because it’s happening in real-time through social media and internet connectivity, fans can see first-hand the rise and dominance of these artistes. There are clips of Blaqbonez and Asake as university students grinding and trying to get started. People remember all the years that Ckay was working hard to get heard. Their success – and that of others – is as organic as they come. However, this generation’s success and consequent dominance are made possible by the work of preceding generations. When 2face’s African Queen was used as a soundtrack for a Hollywood romcom, there were no streaming farms to be used. When Dbanj and Don Jazzy were making overtures to Kanye West to export Nigerian music, nobody spoke about “fake streaming numbers”. When Davido was defying his father and absconding from college in the US to make music in Nigeria, or when Burna Boy was hustling to buy one small Toyota Corolla – the music was captivating that it slowly was percolating across the world. As a child, Wizkid spent years with OJB – the iconic producer that was one of the architects of this modern Nigerian sound. And the list goes on and on and on: Yemi Alade, Tiwa Savage, Seyi Shay, Patoranking – the list is endless. To ascribe the success of everyone to the hoax of a few is simply incorrect.

Again, as I wrote in the previous column, where I used Burna Boy’s stagecraft as an example, it’s hard to fault Nigerian artistes who put their all into live performances. I remember clearly when Burna Boy started and had a couple of incidents: in 2012, he fell off the stage while performing at the Headies. Less than a year later, he incorrectly channelled Fela – by performing at Felabration 2013 in his underpants. Both occasions should have been embarrassing, but the man himself didn’t give in: these many years later, he’s arguably the best performer on the continent. It’s the same for all of his peers. Even relative newcomers like Tems and Rema care about their performances and give audiences their dollar’s worth every time.

The truth is there is something unique about the average Nigerian. A certain swag is inimitable, a quality that is almost impossible to clone. The word is je na sais quou. The Nigerian spirit is inconquerable; today, it is most evident in our music. The music has travelled across the world, and it simply can’t be because a few of them pay streaming fans to fake a few hundred thousand streams.

Here’s one thing, though, that Nigerians don’t do: hating. Nigerians and Nigerian artistes are generally not haters. If we admire something, we show it, we congratulate the creators, and if we choose to, we adapt it. From the days of Fela’s love-in with Ghana to Kennis Music and Tic Tac on to R2Bees with Wande Coal and Wizkid, Nigerian artistes typically show love and do not attempt to downplay the successes of other countries. I think that’s where the rest of Africa needs to be. If they try to learn a thing or two from what Nigeria’s music industry and its people have done over the last fifteen years, they might discover a path to their greatness.

Lastly, stay up to date with all you need to know about African music at S.O.A. right here.

The Fallacy of Streaming Farms vs Nigeria’s Music Greatness