January 2024

Between 2017 and 2019, the Nigerian music landscape witnessed the rise of Alté’s second revolution, spearheaded by artists like Cruel Santino and Odunsi (the Engine). The Alté prodigies were proclaimed as the next Afro-superstars but have failed to fully materialize that promise, an admission that leaves a sour taste in the mouths of many of its fans. Today, it is not uncommon to hear that Alté has “fallen off”, even among people who were avid listeners only 5 years ago. But, did a decline in quality cause Alté to lose touch with its audience? Or were its supporters, in collective delusion, guilty of overestimating how much the Nigerian audience was willing to change - perhaps the answer lies somewhere in between? 

The Alté phenomenon, initiated by DRB Lasgidi, was formed as a rebellion against the prevailing culture of Nigerian music in the late 2000s. As a kid in 2010, most of what you heard on TV and Radio were club anthems with heavy Afrobeat instrumentals that only ever allowed itself to flirt with Hip Hop. Whenever you caught something like DRB Lasgidi’s electric synth jam “Mrs Officer” in 2013 or even Burna’s melodious and talkative style on “Like to party” the year before that, it sounded like something from a different planet. Experimental “Alté” sounds like that would continue to remain relatively out of reach until the dawn of SoundCloud in 2015. SoundCloud's rise propelled Alté artists like Cruel Santino and Odunsi into significant stardom, captivating a digital-native audience seeking a departure from the traditional club-banger diet of “Ginger”, “Shayo” and “Balling” they’d been force-fed for years. The duo as well as artists like Lady Donli, Tay Iwar, Prettyboy D-O, Nonso Amadi, Yinka Bernie, and AYLØ were capturing the imagination of its Gen Z audience, thanks to their sentimental musings set in the chill and airy seaside of Lagos suburbia. 

The validity of Alté as a music genre remains quite polarizing and almost dubious. This mismatch of musicians (like many acts around the world boxed into the “alternative” category) simply represented a radical artistic community whose members were radical in completely different ways. They were only similar in their shared retro-aesthetics and freedom to use Afro-pop as just another ingredient in their cocktail of frequently genre-less records.  

Regardless, by 2019, Alté was already a thriving subculture. Santi and Odunsi had dropped their albums "Mandy and the Jungle'' and "Rare" to general critical acclaim. Nollywood-inspired gothic horror would propel the former’s self-directed music videos to the forefront of Twitter conversations. “Nigerian music is finally evolving” many said. Odunsi, whose album featured Afro-pop heavyweights like Davido and Runtown, would deliver a fresh, nostalgic and funky style of pop that would see him get nominated for Soundcity’s MVP award for Best New Artist. Tay Iwar’s angelic “Gemini” album was finding new ears and Tems was on her way to the top of the world with “Try Me”. Alté had gained recognition, but its refusal to conform to mainstream expectations led to increased and expected criticism. Members of the subculture were accused of being pretentious and obliviously privileged. Still, this was a period of unprecedented increase in fame that created fervent optimism.

Meanwhile, a new wave of Afro-fusion artists were finding mainstream success by incorporating Alté roots into their music. Acts like Joeboy, Fireboy, Bnxn, Rema, Arya Starr, Blaqbonez, CKay, and Omah Lay with their afro-fusion sounds and lover-boy/lover-girl personas co-opted just the right amount of “Alté'' to give the Nigerian audience the edge and depth it had been crying out for in its music. Without, of course, betraying what the audience had never stopped needing - expansive club bangers. There was still no reason to doubt that Alté could puncture into the mainstream though, afterall, first generation Alté acts like BOJ and Ajebutter continued to flirt with mainstream success. Artists like Wizkid and Davido would go on to publicly acknowledge that Alté was the next big thing. MI Abaga too had found new relevance with his 2018 Album - “Rendezvous” - stacked with heavy Alté influences and features. Love or hate them, everyone agreed the Alté prodigies had massive influences on the growing youth audience and the entire “Nigerian” mainstream sound was beginning to change in their direction.

From a niche subculture to an internationally recognized phenomenon in just a few years. Alte was changing the face of music, fashion, film and photography across the nation. Yet there was very little word from several of its flag bearers during this period. The years following "Rare" would see Odunsi embark on several hiatuses punctuated by scandalous social media posts and highly experimental grungy music. Santi also embarked on a self-imposed exile in preparation for perhaps the most ambitious music project ever undertaken since Prince's “Purple Rain”. An ambition that, four years in, still feels largely incomplete (Dear Santi, is there a fictional aquatic world in the room with us right now?). Today it seems quite clear that  “if Afrobeats were going to be saved, it was not by these Alté guys”. What happened? They had broken one rule too many.

First off, there are no long breaks for Nigerian artists ever (especially young artists). Once you fall out of the loop of non-stop single releases the audience simply forgets about you. Second, the persistent lack of collaboration with the mainstream was seen by many as a personal affront and a sin of pride that was totally uncalled for considering the imperfect nature of the music being made. Finally, the increasingly radical nature of Alté fashion triggered by influences like London-based designer MOWALOLA, would cause the overwhelming conservative Nigerian audience to stop paying any serious attention to the scene. 

How could they, with committed stubbornness, ignore the recipes for commercial success they had significantly co-authored? “Clearly, they didn’t need to make music to survive since they were from wealthy backgrounds,” Many cried. “That’s why they can do this nonsense.” But to maintain this view is to misunderstand how this community of artists has chosen to define themselves.

We must remember that when alternative movements crossover into the mainstream, they relinquish their “Alternative” status. At the risk of losing some of their original fans, alternative acts are usually more than happy to embrace the millions urging them on from the mainstream. Necessary sacrifices for success. But that is not the Alté way. The Alté way is to double down on its differences. Odunsi had ditched his cozy, bearded-lover-boy persona for a hedonistic Black Skinhead raver, Lady Donli was now a Pan-African Rockstar and no longer the Alt-pop indie girl from the north while Santi upon delivering his promise of sonic adventure with “Subaru Boys: Final Heaven” had ditched his nostalgic Nollywood gothic brilliance for futuristic video game jargon in its accompanying music videos. They had begun to adopt sounds that alienated many original supporters without making any movement towards mainstream acceptance, in fact turning in the opposite direction. And so the moment acts like Blaqbonez, CKay and Tems, who at certain points in their careers may have been branded Alté, tasted a hint of mainstream success their Alté label dissolved into thin air.  Mainstream audiences and Alté acts had reached a point of mutual rejection. The latter seems to rely on more diaspora and foreign audiences for its success over the banger-crazed Nigerian mainstream audience. 

The story of Alté seems to resemble the story of rebels whose only fight is for the freedom to remain rebels. Regardless of whether their demands are met or not, they will invent new demands to keep them on the course of struggle. The Alté culture sought to remain a playground for artists whose core mission was, for better or worse, innovation above all. Taking influences everywhere from Nigerian Fuji music to the UK’s hyper-pop sounds, to Anime & video game-inspired trap, Alté music today seeks to create a global sound at the risk of appearing like a sound that is simply lost. It is a route that seems to succeed more than it fails but when it fails, more and more reluctant fans pull away as the promise of Alté superstars fades. The artists seem to prefer existing in the same type of rabbit holes through which they found their influences in the early days of the internet. 

Whether you view today’s Alté music as a necessary invention or dismiss it as experimental nonsense, its impact on the Nigerian music scene is undeniable. Alte's rebellion against the status quo has paved the way for unique expressions and the general lessening of norms required for Afrobeat artists. It has changed its nostalgic identity that was viewed many times as forced and problematic before finally being accepted to its current fictional & futuristic push that may yet come to fruition. One of Odunsi’s Afro rave/Alté trenches/Champagne fuji jams might just catch fire on TikTok just like Brazy’s viral “Attends” showed that it can. Or perhaps Santi’s recent collaboration with local acts like Poco Lee and S-smart may present a path to firm reconnection with their Nigerian audience. Regardless they deserve enormous credit for refusing to pander to fickle audience tastes in order to operate at a point where there is only freedom to invent.

However, Alté acts must remember the responsibility that comes with all this freedom. In the words of the great Russian filmmaker, Andrei Tarkovsky “an artist is never free but is constantly in debt to the audience to help it reveal truths about itself.” Perhaps this Afro-rave - which has already shown some promising signs - is just what our TikTok-obsessed generation ordered. Perhaps, these self-absorbed attempts to be different will result in nothing. But one thing is for certain, Alté - bloodied nose and all, has preserved its right to be home to inventors and only inventors.

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