For decades, much of the African music industry operated informally. Deals were sealed with handshakes. Agreements were built on trust, friendship, family ties, or “mutual understanding.” In many communities, a spoken word carries cultural weight. The assumption was simple: if we agree today, we will honor it tomorrow. However, as African music transformed from a local hustle into a billion-dollar global enterprise, that system began to fracture.
Numerous African artists, producers, and composers have publicly spoken about being cheated out of songs they helped create. Veteran Nigerian musician Blackface has repeatedly claimed he was not properly credited or compensated for his role in writing “African Queen,” the breakout hit that launched 2Baba (formerly 2Face Idibia) into continental superstardom.
In South Africa, acclaimed producer DJ Maphorisa has openly discussed the exploitation many young producers face when they give away beats or production credits without formal agreements. Similarly, Nomcebo Zikode revealed she did not receive an equitable compensation for her contribution on “Jerusalema”, despite the song’s international impact alongside producer Master KG.
In Nigeria’s fast-moving Afrobeats scene, stories of artists signing restrictive label deals early in their careers have become common. Singer Runtown was embroiled in a highly publicized dispute with his former label that temporarily halted his ability to release music. What often begins as an opportunity for exposure can quickly become a legal battle over control, ownership, and creative freedom.
These cases are not isolated. They reflect a structural issue that traces back to an era when the African music business was less formalized. Many artists, especially in the 1990s and early 2000s, prioritized access to studios and airplay over legal paperwork. Producers would create beats in informal settings. Songwriters would contribute lyrics in collaborative sessions without discussing splits. Managers would fund projects without clearly defining recoupment terms. In the absence of legally binding contracts, ownership often defaulted to whoever controlled distribution or financing.
The consequences of those informal practices are magnified in today’s streaming economy. A song uploaded to platforms like Spotify or Apple Music can generate revenue for decades. It can be licensed for films, advertisements, and global campaigns. It can go viral on TikTok and suddenly reach audiences far beyond Africa. When a song becomes a global asset, the absence of a clear contract transforms from a minor oversight into a major financial crisis.
Without legally binding contracts in place at the point of creation, contributors risk losing control of Master ownership, Publishing splits, Royalty percentages, Duration of rights, Territorial control and Creative approval.
Verbal agreements, while culturally meaningful, often fail in legal settings. Courts require evidence. Distributors require documentation. Collection societies require registered splits. When disagreements arise, “we agreed in the studio” is rarely enough to secure royalties. In some cases, artists discover years later that they signed contracts transferring ownership of their masters indefinitely, often in exchange for short-term financial relief.
The shift toward legally binding contracts is therefore not about importing Western legal culture into Africa, it is about protecting African creativity from exploitation in a global marketplace. A well-drafted contract clarifies who owns the master recording, how publishing is split, what percentage each contributor receives, how long rights last, and how disputes will be resolved. It transforms trust from a fragile personal understanding into an enforceable professional agreement. More importantly, contracts create sustainability.
The new generation of African artists are increasingly aware of this reality and the era of relying solely on verbal agreements in African music is fading, and it must. As the industry matures, legal literacy is becoming as essential as vocal training or production skill. Entertainment lawyers, publishing administrators, and rights management education are no longer optional luxuries, they are necessities.
Africa’s musical renaissance deserves a foundation strong enough to sustain it. The stories of artists who felt cheated are not merely cautionary tales, they are lessons. They remind the industry that creativity thrives best when protected. In a space where songs can travel the world overnight, a handshake is no longer enough. Only legally binding contracts can ensure that the people who create Africa’s global soundtrack truly share in its success.
Remember, Handshakes Are for Celebration, Not Contracts.
