The music industry is full of horror stories, but nothing prepares you for when the nightmare comes from the very people who once shook your hand as brothers.
At the heart of this story is Papi Gunzo, an artist and collaborator whose attempt to help spirals into a costly battle.
What began as an act of friendship and creativity and was supposed to be a rescue mission for a talented friend, an artist trapped in a suffocating management deal, quickly unravelled into a cautionary tale of control, betrayal, and the hidden traps that lie within the music industry’s machinery.
This is Papi Gunzo’s story as told to Marv.
I had an artist-friend, someone I worked closely with. She was signed to a big-name management company, the type that handled the top Afrobeats stars. But her career was suffocating. She recorded countless songs, some with me, some with others, yet none ever came out. She cried, begged, fought, pleaded, but nothing. Her label locked her music in a vault, and she was breaking down before our eyes.
Nothing worked. She came to cry to me and some of our other friends. It worried me and other friends she informed about it. So, instead of watching our friend waste away under a management deal, I came up with a plan. We’d release a joint project under my name, with me providing the production. On paper, the royalties and credit would be hers. My distributor would handle the release, and this way, her music could finally see daylight.
It was a great plan. We were all happy about it and got to work.
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We made magic together — songs, a three-track EP we were incredibly proud of. We got it ready for release and informed her manager of our plans. He was happy to be part of the process. He even signed off on the splitsheet when I sent it, and a few months before the release of the EP, he gave us money to push the project, pledging full support. Everything seemed clear.
My distributor, after asking if I could vouch for my friend and assure them there wouldn’t be any issue, released the EP. I came through for my friend. I delivered on my word.
When the EP dropped, though, she wasn’t promoting it. I was concerned and reached out to her to ask why she was holding back. Our conversation ended with her agreeing to make content. And she did. She sent me the content. They were good. I was happy for her. But then I didn’t see them online.
She said her management took the posts down and stopped her from promoting the EP. She said she reposted the content again, but they pulled it down, saying she needed permission. Still, I told myself it wasn’t really my project and I moved on.
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One morning, a year later, I woke up to a nightmare.
An email from my distributor’s lawyer said I was in breach of contract. Someone had flagged the songs on the EP for copyright infringement, and if I couldn’t counter it within 48 hours, my distribution deal and all the other conversations I had on the table would vanish.
I was furious, confused. I knew I hadn’t stolen anyone’s work. So, I dug. And what I uncovered stung the most: the person who flagged the EP and filed the takedown was none other than my friend’s manager: the same man who had given us money, arranged studio sessions, signed the splitsheet, and smiled in my face as a brother.
It’s messed up, and it really got to me because we have a personal relationship. He was supposed to be a brother to me. We didn’t have any beef or problems. In fact, just a week earlier, before the copyright infringement issue, he had invited me to his house, and we had even hung out together.
When I confronted her manager, his excuse was that he had “missed” the splitsheet. Out of anger, I stripped away all respect and asked him straight: “What the fuck is going on, man? You’ve invited me cheerfully to your house before. Why couldn’t you use the same energy and just tell me face-to-face that the project wouldn’t work?”
He said he was following orders. Then he apologised and had the audacity to give me a condition that if I wanted to keep those three songs (the EP), I should forfeit my production fees and only be paid for some seven other unreleased songs I had made with her. This would cost me about ₦2m, just to salvage three tracks that hadn’t even earned me £1. Imagine that!
I refused. Then, I swung into action and sent a request to my distributor, in all caps: “TAKE THAT SHIT DOWN.” I wanted the EP permanently taken down. After that, I gave the manager a condition too, that if within three months, they fail to clear the other seven songs she made with me, the management company would lose the rights forever.
My friend, on the other hand, was just as shocked. She couldn’t help me or pacify anyone on my behalf. She just kept crying and apologising to me. I had to calm her down and console her because it was her manager moving weirdly, not her.
Eventually, I received my payment from the management company. But since that incident, the relationship with my distributor hasn’t been the same. Direct access and strength of promotion haven’t been the same. Before I could call or ask for a meeting on demand. I mail in the morning, and I get a reply a couple of hours later or at most, the next morning. Everything went well until after the issue. The first time I noticed, I sent an email, and for two weeks, there was no response. Later, I got hit with a “Oh, sorry, I didn’t see it. It’s so bad, all the songs that I have released since that incident haven’t got any support from them. Whenever I reach out to ask what’s going on, they’d say they missed my emails, they were on leave or holiday.
I still have access to my backend and can release music under them whenever I want, but there won’t be any form of support from them. There’s no point releasing with my distributor anymore if they won’t offer any support and access.
I might as well pay DistroKid and keep the 30% that would have gone to them. I have repeatedly tried to explain my story and show that I can be trustworthy and be a reliable business partner, but they aren’t hearing me out. The Head of Distribution just stopped replying altogether. I’m moving on.
All this, because I tried to help a friend stuck in a bad management deal. Looking back, I regret ever putting that project out.
I could have been sued for copyright infringement. But the documented splitsheet and the paper trail I kept were my saving grace. It protected me from losing everything. But the damage was done.
Right now, all I’m focused on is getting bags, finding creative ways to release my music. I have some serious Afrobeats and Hip-Hop bangers lined up — I’m open to a platform that’s ready to distribute them properly.
