Afrobeats, Identity & Industry

December 16, 2025

Whether you’re a homegrown Nigerian or a member of its diaspora, it’s impossible to deny that Afrobeats has become part of everyday life. Over the past decade, contemporary Nigerian music and music from West Africa at large, alongside the rise of Amapiano has rivalled Hip-Hop and Dancehall to become the de facto sound of black nightlife spaces.

Beyond the dancefloors where its influence is most palpable, Afrobeats has also become a force on the global stage. A fact reflected in the chart successes of Rema, Wizkid, CKay, Tems, Ayra Starr and Burna Boy. It’s now become commonplace for artists from Nigeria to be featured collaborators on projects by the biggest names in western music. The sun-drenched melodies of these hitmakers may be ubiquitous now, but it wasn’t always like this.

Text and additional photography by Sope Soetan
Photography by LSP Photography, courtesy of Spotify

When D’Banj’s ‘Oliver Twist’ debuted in the top 10 of the UK Singles Chart back in 2011, it felt quietly historic at the time. Less than a decade prior to that milestone, attaining access to Nigerian music prior was far from straightforward prior to streaming. For example, I can hardly recall how ‘African Queen’ by 2Baba (then known as 2Face Idibia) came into my life—perhaps I downloaded it from Limewire—but I remember how remote it felt. Like something from another world.

When Spotify invited me to Lagos for their ‘Afrobeats: Culture in Motion’ excursion—a week-long programme of events, activations and performances across Victoria Island and Lekki—it felt like an opportunity to witness the genre’s evolution up close. Designed to capture the genre’s impact over the past five years, the itinerary promised a rare behind-the-scenes look at the artists, institutions and traditions that have shaped Nigerian music both past and present.

Guided by the Akan principle of Sankofa—the belief that one must understand the past to move forward, it was fitting that the trip began with a visit to the home belonging to the man who started it all: the ‘Godfather of Afrobeat’, Fela Aníkúlápó Kútì. After his death in 1997, the residence was preserved and re-opened to the public in 2012 as ‘The Kalakuta Museum’.

Adorned across one room were print outs of iconic album artworks like ‘Zombie’, ‘Yellow Fever’ and ‘Ikoyi Blindness’. All evocative of the music itself; arresting, confrontational, expressive and colourful. Another room was lined with newspaper clippings detailing his famously turbulent relationship with the Nigerian government, as well as his own political manifesto. The most compelling element of the museum was the collection of personal family portraits, spanning his own childhood through to his children and the successive generations that followed. Nobly, the very room where he would sleep was off limits to the public. A reminder that despite how much Fela has become deified in memory and tribute, there’s still a sacredness being honoured.

Leaving the interior behind, we ascended to the building’s rooftop for an ‘in conversation’ with Fela’s grandson Madé Kuti led by Spotify Africa’s Head of Communications and PR, Miche Atagana. Fatefully, if not ironic, this was unfolding on the 65th anniversary of Nigeria’s independence from Britain. Offering a tongue-in-cheek remark about the country’s ongoing sociopolitical shortcomings, Madé hinted that there was little cause for celebration. What ensued as he spoke were chilling reflections on the stark difference in the cultural pride Nigeria now has for Fela compared to when he was alive. “There was a shift from him being represented so negatively in the media to suddenly being an icon that everyone should measure up to, whether it be musically or philosophically. I remember when it was uncool to be a child or grandchild of Fela”, Madé remarked. Illustrating that the foundations Fela laid for generations of succeeding Nigerian musicians, were borne from fraught and complicated circumstances.

The remainder of the first day aptly ‘Afrobeats History’ culminated with a too-brief visit to the Museum of Yoruba Culture. Its vast collection of artefacts, installations and texts situated the raw soil that the genre came from within a broader context—spanning Oriki tradition, Eyo masquerade culture and Gelede festivals, through to the rise of juju and fuji.

The second day’s program christened ‘Welcome To The 2020s’ transported us back to the present day. On hand to assist in deciphering the many factors influencing the genre’s current momentum was a panel comprised of Andre Vibez, Melly and Braye.

Andre Vibez brought the perspective of a super-producer at the heart of Afrobeats’ international crossover success. Credited with helming tracks for Ayra Starr, Ladipoe and Mr Eazi, he’s best known for producing Rema’s ‘Calm Down’. The commercial juggernaut which currently sits as the most streamed Afrobeats song of all time. Braye, by contrast, approached the conversation from the vantage point of a genre-blurring singer-songwriter whose output encompasses afrobeat, soul, reggae and Zamrock. Offering a transatlantic counterpoint was Melly. Hailing from Salvador, Brazil, her music weaves MPB and samba into a hybrid form drawing from Afrobeats and R&B.

Melly’s inclusion on the panel added a nuanced dimension to the conversation. Noting how a lot of Nigeria’s pre-colonial spiritual practices have remained more visible in Brazil than in many parts of Nigeria today, her borrowing from Afrobeats is less a sonic experiment but more an act of reclamation. “I honour my history but I’m also honouring things I don’t entirely know because they didn’t teach us. I just know its within me”, she noted.

The assembling of such disparate artists was a reflection of just how expansive the landscape has become. Their discussion ultimately intimated that “Afrobeats” has grown into a term too broad to contain everything happening within it. Summing up the tension, Andre Vibez said, “Before the rise of “afrobeats”, music in Nigeria was so diverse. The moment it became “afrobeats”, it boxed and caged us into a certain kind of style and image. And if you weren’t doing that style, it wasn’t going to work for you”.

Indeed, as Afrobeats has risen in omnipresence, there’s been the proliferation of a homogenised sound that has come to define its mainstream characterisation. Leaving artists like Braye who exist on the sidelines bereft of the support and push afforded to those less interested in innovating newer sensibilities. Musicians of that ilk are often branded as “alte” – coined for artists like Amaarae, Lady Donli, Odunsi (The Engine) and Cruel Santino whose output is non-linear and more experimental. Recognising that the use of the term “Afrobeats” may have worn out its welcome, Andre Vibez remarked “I think we should leave Afrobeat as Afrobeat, and name what’s happening now as something else”.

While the genre’s artists, creators and musicians continue to debate and re-frame whether “Afrobeats” is a term that serves them or limits them, the fashion world has chosen to adopt its multiplicity as a muse. In response to this plurality, Spotify produced a fashion show in collaboration with streetwear brand Severe Nature, charting how each studio-born divergence has given way to a distinct aesthetic. Each with their own set of sartorial hallmarks and characteristics. With sections inspired by alte, highlife, street-hop and “the big 3” - meant to signify artists at the epitome of the genre, the runway showcased 19 looks created by Severe Nature alongside emerging brands Móye Africa, I.N Official, KADIJU, and Pièce Et Patch.

The runway show made it abundantly clear that “Afrobeats” isn’t solely a sound or genre anymore. It’s a cultural ecosystem that has parlayed into wider curiosity about Nigerian culture and creativity at large. Commenting on this phenomenon, Severe Nature’s co-founder and creative director Christopher Afolabi said: “There was a time when nobody cared about what was happening in Africa. Now everybody's looking at African brands. Brands in Nigeria get to have more of a presence and build an audience. We now have brands showing in Copenhagen, London and all over the world”.

This celebration and acknowledgement of Afrobeats as a multi-dimensional force travelled seamlessly into the final day of the excursion titled ‘Legacy & Labels’. Watching the mesmerising Eyo masquerade performance that morning, I couldn’t help but recognise how this proto-form of performance would become a building block for the rhythmically boisterous sound of contemporary Afrobeats. The previous day Andre Vibez contended that “There’s one thing that’s constant in African music and it’s the percussion. Before we started incorporating other instruments, African music was mostly percussion-based”.

Similarly, there was a level of pageantry beheld in the musicians and dancers. All awash in flowing white regalia, beaded jewellery, patterned sashes and custom-designed face coverings analogous to the style of 90s icon Lagbaja. An artist whose sartorial blueprint was laden in the collection Severe Nature curated. “We put a mask on one of the guys for a look in our collection and it was similar to something Lagbaja would wear, who himself was pulling from the attire one would wear in a masquerade”, Afolabi explained.

Whereas the two previous days had a razor-sharp focus on two distinct periods of time, this final day brought the past and present together in a manner that on paper felt like a hard juxtaposition, but actually highlighted the decades of cultural heritage that thread everything together. This mode of continuity and lineage culminated when we arrived at Mavin Records. Founded by music executive Don Jazzy in 2012, the label is not only at the apex of Afrobeats today but arguably the most influential label to ever emerge from Africa.

Looking at the walls decorated with a plethora of gold and platinum plaques from across the world to photos of Prince and Louis Armstrong; symbols of the creative ethos Mavin aspires to uphold, there was an unrelenting sense that while the label’s success didn’t arise in a vacuum, it’s undeniably a by-product of their own ingenuity. Most notably by way of their celebrated ‘Mavin Academy’ – the incubator program nurturing talent for a number of years before they’re introduced to the world. Rema and Ayra Starr—now pillars of the genre—are graduates of this scheme, as are promising novel acts like Elestee (fka Lifesize Teddy), Magixx and Biryani.

When I was first approached by Spotify to take part in their ‘Afrobeats: Culture In Motion’ excursion, I was admittedly a little mystified. Perhaps because I felt that the genre has been “here” for a while, I didn’t think there was anything ground-breaking to glean from the genre’s development in recent years. However, over the course of my trip, which returned me back to my ancestral home for the first time in nearly a decade, I soon realised that I can take for granted how much the infrastructures and institutional frameworks surrounding it are still emerging in increments.

There are undoubtedly more eyes, ears (and money) on African music than ever before but a lot of this has only really occurred in the last 10 years. The genre itself isn’t necessarily “new” but its current phase where more than ever it has the capacity to be a self-sustaining major player in the global music landscape is new. Importantly, the story isn’t just unfolding in West Africa. For years, diaspora artists like Juls, Ezra Collective, KOKOROKO, Aya Nakamura, J Hus and Wale have been adding to the vocabulary of Afrobeat and Afrobeats parallel to the strides happening at home. Which makes its potential all the more formidable. The genre stands on decades of cultural innovation yet refuses to remain static and is constantly in a state of becoming. The culture is indeed in motion, and whatever awaits its next chapter is still taking shape.

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Secret Teahouse Serves High-Frequencies on Brutalist Penthouse

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Inside the Terre Velasca’s 25th floor hides the CROMO’s Secret Teahouse. The reflective tent, designed by Bogdan Martoiu, is based on the Vietnamese Rong House, a ceremonial space for cultural gatherings. Inside the temporary teahouse, a tea tasting session guides the guest experience of CROMO’s Cyborg Beauty, a Moroccan Mint Tea. Outside, a mini matcha bar served the event’s exclusive Double Tea - a mix of jasmine, matcha, and Oatly. The pop-up event is Milan’s first of many, leading up to the permanent opening later this year. The space was supported through the private membership club Madison House, also home to Terre Velasca in late 2026. Together, the immersive and thoughtful concept reshapes how tea can be integrated into contemporary markets, design, and culture.

CROMO values the ritual and intention behind tea, recognizing it as the ultimate wellness elixir. Tea attributes the radical notion of slowing down in lieu of the modern hustle culture, regulating a previously tense nervous system. The collection of nine high frequency teas are designed to heighten the physical and mental state. Ethically sourced from China, Japan, Kenya and made with low-impact methods, tea takes its purest form here, uniting craft and character across continents. The nomadic teahouse and all who were involved celebrate the present moment by elevating ancient tools for cultivating connection with the self, each other, and nature.

Photos Courtesy of Andrea Zendali

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Indigenous Storytelling Takes the Big Screen

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Season One is full of characters navigating loyalty, resilience, and power. At the center is a young Damion Thomas, a musician whose life is obstructed by personal loss, forcing him to face challenging realities while chasing dreams of his future. Other characters similarly battle with internal and external conflicts, including Anna Hernandez – who risks everything to protect her family, Tribal Chairman Clayton Johnson – whose leadership is tainted with hidden ties, and John Carlos – a Shadow Wolves leader balancing justice with personal allegiance. The cast builds a populace who reside within the collision of personal decisions and systemic forces. Every choice carries consequences, and every consequence carries karmic debt.

It’s a series full of blood, violence, drugs, but also bravery, heart, and spirit.

The half-hour pilot will premiere in none other than Phoenix, Arizona at the Celebrity Theatre on April 24, 2026. A fitting location, as the border state is infamous for drug activity, yet home to natives who challenge these stereotypes. In addition to the screening, a live Q&A and performances by Indigenous Enterprise, Nataani Mans, and Dead City Punx will enchant the night, redefining the premiere as a moment rooted in celebrating communities and preserving culture.

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A Taste of Chef Woldy Reyes' Residency at Susurros del Corazón

April 23, 2026

There’s an early memory Woldy Reyes returns to often; his dad cooking goat stew outside in their Los Angeles backyard, letting it simmer overnight, using every part of the animal. At the time, it felt out of place and far from the hamburgers-and-hot-dogs version of “American” cooking, but it’s the kind of experience that now quietly shapes everything he does.

Before launching his catering company Woldy Kusina or writing his cookbook ‘In the Kusina’, Reyes was working in fashion, moving through roles at magazines like Elle and Nylon. That background still shows up in his approach; considered, adaptable, and tuned into the environments he’s cooking in. His take on Filipino food leans lighter and more vegetable-forward, balancing tradition with a sensibility shaped by years of cooking for fashion clients and creative spaces.

His latest residency at Susurros del Corazón follows that same logic. The breathtaking setting, where jungle meets the Pacific, naturally pushes the menu toward seafood, while the calm energy of the place offers a welcomed contrast to New York kitchens. For Reyes, it’s less about reinventing his cooking than letting it shift slightly depending on where he is and who he’s cooking for.

By Dylan Andrews
Photos courtesy of Susurros del Corazón, Auberge Collection

At Susurros del Corazón, the setting does a lot of the work for you. Tucked between jungle-covered cliffs and a long stretch of beach, the resort leans into a slower, more open way of moving. It’s part surf retreat, part wellness escape, with an emphasis on good food and communal moments. Its ongoing Los Sabores de Susurros series brings in visiting chefs to cook alongside the in-house team, creating a kind of back-and-forth between different culinary perspectives.

During his weeklong residency, Woldy stepped into that rhythm naturally; taking over the beachside grill for open-fire dinners, hosting a more casual, shareable night at La Boquita, and leading a hands-on lumpia workshop that pulled guests a little closer into the process.

One morning, Woldy and I overlooked the sea at Casamilpa over breakfast to talk about his path from fashion to food, how his Filipino roots shape his cooking today, and what it means to step into a slower rhythm in Mexico.

Did you grow up in New York?

No, in California.

So your Spanish should be great.

You would think so, but I didn't take Spanish in school. My parents spoke some Spanish, but they’re Filipinos and obviously the Philippines was colonized by Spain, so there were influences of Spanish speaking. So it's a different language but there's some familiarity.

After I graduated, I worked in New York. I worked in fashion.

What were you doing in fashion?

So I worked at Elle. This was like a long time ago. And then I worked at Nylon.

How did you find cooking?

I've always had a love of cooking. Food was such an integral thing. I was raised primarily by my grandmother, she just was like a second mom to me and taught me a lot about Filipino cooking.

So it was mostly Filipino food when you started cooking?

Yeah, I think the most important memory I have of food is my dad. Every family gathering, he would make his signature goat soup. It’s a rich, tomato-based dish. He learned it in the Philippines and adapted it in LA. We’d go to a goat farm, pick out the goat, bring it home, and he’d cook it in the backyard over a wood fire.

It was a three-day process. The day before the gathering, he’d cook through the night. I don’t even know if he slept. I remember the smoke, the fire, the sizzling goat meat. He’d make one soup with the meat and another with the innards, using the entire animal.

After serving, he would save the head, and the next morning he’d eat it. That was the chef’s treat.'

How do you eat the head?

So there's pieces of meat in there. He would pick it off the bone and he would eat the tongue.

Nothing went to waste.

Nothing went to waste. And that to me, as a kid living in LA, being first generation, I thought that was embarrassing. Most traditional American cooking is grilling outside, but he's making a stew outside. You don't see it all the time on television and your idea of grilling is hamburgers and hot dogs, but we had to stew.

I didn't appreciate it at the time, but now I can appreciate it. And now, cooking food here or in New York, I'm also pushing what my parents were eating, but modernizing it.

So you're working at Elle in fashion. At what point did cooking become a professional pursuit?

So when I moved to New York, I lived in a very small studio apartment that didn't allow me to cook a lot. And I lived in that apartment for four or five years.

But then I moved to Brooklyn. I got a bigger apartment, there's a full kitchen, and I started cooking again and thinking, Oh, I want to pursue this professionally. But I was still working full-time at this point, working for a fashion designer. So I was cooking for a designer, and then I'm also working full-time in visual merchandising, PR, a bunch of different things for this other designer. At the same time, I was assisting a stylist. All simultaneously. So it was all creative, but working different parts of my brain. When you're in New York, you're doing a bunch of different things trying to make a living.

But I wanted to start a catering company, and the reason why I wanted to go that route was to build a customer base, and then eventually open a restaurant. So that was the initial goal. So in 2016 I decided to quit working for the designer and build my catering company. And luckily, when you intern at magazines, you build friendships and connections. I would tell my friends, "I'm starting a catering company." And they were like, "Oh, could you do our press preview? Could you do these smaller events where they needed catering?"

One of my first clients was Christian Louboutin, and then I did an event for Celine. When you are in fashion, there's always catering. And so that was my first clientele I focused on because that's who I knew and the relationships that I had. And now, 10 years later, it's starting to diversify.

Do you think cooking for the fashion industry changed the way you were cooking? Did you feel like you had to adapt to people in the fashion industry more?

In the very beginning.

They were obviously watchful of what they ate, and so I understood their eating habits. So it was a way to be creative and figure out how to make something delicious based off of all these restrictions that they have. And also, when I was assisting a stylist and we would be in studios, we would see the catered food. So I was always observing what types of food are being presented and what they are not eating. When you're on set, you want something nourishing and fresh and not something heavy.

So a lot of your cooking was adapting to other people?

I think when I started cooking a lot more, obviously making it my full-time job, I got more comfortable in myself in terms of embracing my queerness, embracing my Filipino identity. And then I started to explore the food that I grew up eating, and then trying to fuse it in slowly, I didn't want to scare off anybody. So it was just a sprinkle here or a sprinkle there, and then started to evolve from there. So it's taken some time to get to that place where I'm there to educate because normal traditional brand dinners are pretty much safe.

Very safe. They don't want to piss anyone off, don't want to have anyone complaining.

So I'm hoping that when people do reach out to me and work with me, they know that I'm not doing an Alfredo and that I'm doing something completely different. And if they're not open to what I'm making, then…

It's not the client for you. How long is this residency?

It's only a week, but then I'm going to Columbia for another one evening dinner.

Have there been things here that have taught you anything?

They taught me to be chill. Chill and also the sense of camaraderie. The people that work here, everyone, they're embracing each other. And I feel like that's similar to what I do when I work with other people, is that I give them a hug.

I can imagine the kitchen culture is so different to New York.

Oh, very different. Obviously, primarily it's different because I don't speak the language.

But even as people, I mean, Mexicans are so warm and I think New York is…

I do have to say, when I work on things in New York, when I work with other chefs, there are some chefs who just take the initiative and then they don't consult me. And then it's not how I wanted it. And so why did you take the initiative?

Is that almost an ego thing?

Probably. Here, they ask me, "Oh, can you show me?” before they proceed to make sure that is exactly how I want it. And then it becomes more collaborative.

But there's also amazing things about New York.

I could imagine sous chefs there or just people in the kitchen there being so keen to get themselves ahead that they lose the collaborativeness and teamwork.

I feel like you learn people's personality in the kitchen and how they maneuver. Again, New York is competitive. Everybody is trying to do something, make something happen. And sometimes when you are in a place where there is the Head Chef, you just kind of have to be submissive because you have to follow directions and if you're not following directions, then you're just going to go sideways.

And I feel like you don't last long in a kitchen.

You don't last in a kitchen.

I've gotten back into cooking in the last year and a half, and it's so much nicer. It feels like such a nice ritual at the end of the day.

It is a nice ritual. I think that's part of why I don't do it.

I mean, when it's your job and you're doing it for work, it's a different thing.

It's interesting because often people say, "I really love cooking. I want to transition into doing full-time." Well, there's a difference. You're passionate about home cooking, but then when you turn it into your career, you either are going to love it or you're going to hate it.

I'm still doing it. I think I enjoy it and there are a lot more positive things that I enjoy. I obviously don't cook as much for myself.

What's your strategy when accepting jobs? Are you going to say yes no matter what and figure it out?

I'll just figure it out. I think that's always a challenge. I enjoy that part of it. It's like, I can cook anywhere.

Yeah. It must feel like everything's possible at this point. I mean, people have been cooking way before we had electricity and stuff.

Everything is possible.

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