For every musician performing on a global stage, there’s a team of managers and handlers who have been with her from day one, tasked with protecting the vision, securing the bag, and steering the music.
However, in an industry where trust is currency and betrayal is always one phone call away, the relationship between artist and management isn’t always as smooth as it looks.
For some musicians, the moment of truth comes when contracts don’t add up, shows fall through, or support disappears when needed most.
In this piece, 10 Nigerian musicians open up about the moment they knew their management didn’t have their back.
“There was a period where he held my music for over two and a half years. That was when I became frustrated, and I couldn’t take it anymore.” — Papi Gunzo, artist and music producer.
I had been doing music for a while, but when I changed my sound and started gaining traction, my manager started acting strangely.
He would tell me not to release the songs. I would have to fight for the songs, but I always ended up releasing them on my own.
But I made a particular song that people loved everywhere I performed. Excuses started coming in when it was time to push and make videos. Lack of communication began to crack into our business. He didn’t communicate. He marketed my music without telling me anything. He wouldn’t share his plans for us and my music, even when he pushed my music to people to listen to. He would randomly tell me to send my music to someone, and I shouldn’t worry, money was coming.
Then there was a period where he held my music for over two and a half years. That was when I became frustrated and couldn’t take it anymore. I lost trust in our business together, and I went to release that track on my own. The moment he found I had released the song, he angrily called me, insulted me and said that I didn’t know that he had been shopping the song around and was due for a ₦1.5 million gain from a deal he cut from it. He said that I fucked up the business for him. So, what about me, the maker of the music?
My confusion and anger intensified at the same time. My eyes opened, and I realised that my music had been putting some money in his pockets, and I was just there, wondering what the hell was going on. So, I said fuck it and freed myself from the situation.
Looking back, our working relationship could have been better because he was a good guy. If he comes around again, we might work together, but I will never work in that kind of situation again.
“A lawyer is supposed to provide clarity. He gave me confusion.” — SosaTTW, rapper and music producer.
It started with a post on X. I was posting my wins; the kind of posts that come from my music finally gaining visibility and traction. My streams were going up in hundreds. People were listening. I had momentum. Then one day in late 2023, a comment from one of my posts came in. It was from a lawyer who had seen my posts, listened to my music, and said he believed in what I was doing.
He told me he wanted to work with me. He said that if I would blow up—and he believed I would—I needed to clear my records first. Otherwise, copyright issues would come back to bite me later.
It made sense. I trusted his expertise. He gave me a number and a fee and said it was to take care of my records that needed to be cleared. He promised to draft contracts to get it done right. And he did. After the payment went through, he sent emails to producers and musicians I have worked with. But after that, no updates from him. No steps or guidance that he said he’d give. I felt like I wasn’t just kept in the dark; the light had never been turned on.
Some months passed. No word from him yet. When I finally asked him nine months after payment, he made a second effort. He did the same things when he got paid the first time. But what stood out to me the second time was how he spoke to me. His tone was rude, cold, dismissive and almost like I was bothering him for asking questions about work he claimed he was supposed to do. That’s not how he sounded when he first approached me—he was respectful, professional, and enthusiastic. He spoke like he believed in my vision.
That’s when I realised: the money I thought I was paying to clear my records had just gone toward contract drafting. But that’s not what I was told. That’s not what I agreed to. I wasn’t mad that he got paid for his time. I was mad that he got paid under pretences and then talked down to me like I was a burden. A lawyer is supposed to provide clarity. He gave me confusion.
A lawyer is supposed to protect you. He protected his own interests. It taught me something that just because someone believes in your dream doesn’t mean they’re invested in your success. Sometimes they just see you as a paycheck with potential.
It pained me, but I moved past it. I’m confident that my story doesn’t end there. I’m still rising, pushing, and posting my wins. More importantly, now, I never confuse professional interest with personal belief.
“My supposed manager called me to say that I should have agreed to work with the artist without his permission.” — GRNDMSTR, rapper and music producer.
In 2023, I worked with someone who wanted to be my manager. He had another artist he was working with, and I supplied them with beats for music. But they never used the beats. He even asked me for a beat for Patoranking, which I sent to them. But nothing came out of it.
I just wanted to gain experience working with people who have been doing this for quite some time, but it was in vain. Later, he said he wanted us to have a proper and professional working relationship. He sent a contract, which I sent to a friend who works in the music industry, to review it and possibly connect me to a lawyer to check it properly. My friend linked me to a mutual friend who’s an entertainment lawyer. My friends’ feedback was that I shouldn’t sign it. They called it a slave contract.
After that, something funny happened while I worked with him in the studio one day. One of the artists he worked with was in that session and collected my phone number. The guy wanted to work with me. The following day, my supposed manager called me to ask why I agreed to work with the artist without his permission. I had to remind him he was there when the guy and I spoke and exchanged contacts. Right there, it became clear that he just wanted to have control over me and my work and to me, that isn’t who really had my best interest at heart. I know I can’t work alone, and I need others to grow. But only those who have my best interest at heart, please.
“Management went behind my back to talk to the investor to request more funds on my behalf.” — Bizzonthetrack, singer-songwriter.
I had management and an investor in 2020. We were all friends and line brothers. The music and deal with the investor went smoothly until I stopped hearing from my management like I used to. My approach to music and our agreement was constantly putting music out. I used to release songs every month. But it wasn’t the case anymore. I had to wait for the management to get a song picked and cleared for release. Or wait for their confirmation to get a concept for a project approved and funded.
While that was happening, the management was already going behind me to talk to the investor to request more funds on my behalf. The investor didn’t see a problem with it because he thought we were all together since it was my management. But it gets even more shady; they pitched another artist to the investor who was also receiving funds. Their attention completely shifted to their new artist, and I was left in the background, wondering what was happening.
It reached a point in that business when I became frustrated and left everything, from the management to the investors. Now, I run everything independently, striving for greatness on my own.
“He won’t even respond to our messages, let alone send us a report on how the song is doing.” — Produca Wa, a music producer.
An artist and I worked together and had a situation with our distributor. It’s a mess. We’re still in the thick of it, but it all started when the record blew up. When the streams were doing big numbers, this distro guy quickly responded and took his cuts without hesitation or second thought.
But now that the buzz has died down and the money isn’t flowing in like it used to, he’s ghosted us. We’ve been trying to contact him for many months, but he won’t even respond to our messages, let alone send us a report on how the song is doing. It’s like these people are only around to feed off your success. The second things slow down, they’re gone, leaving you to fend for yourself instead of sticking around to make the partnership work. It’s frustrating, to say the least.
“It took constant back and forth and borderline begging to get a semblance of a royalty report.” — Samvsthekids, musician.
I had an experience with a distribution company in 2024. I don’t want to name names, but they are well known for ingratiating themselves with artists only to mess them up on the backend.
When this happened to me, I had requested my revenue report from the distro because I didn’t trust the royalty payments I was getting. It took constant back-and-forth and borderline begging to get a semblance of a royalty report.
That was when I knew that the distro never had my back. We reached out but were only able to speak to one representative, who gave me ambiguous and dismissive responses until they eventually sent the royalty reports. But even despite that, no royalties or money came out of it. I terminated my contract.
“We have worked with each other for many years. But he did nothing.” — Ebiye*, musician.
I had a manager that I worked with for many years. But that was just a title he carried around. He did none of what his role demands—he set up no meetings or got us connected to push the music forward. Everything that my music has achieved, every person I have met, and every opportunity and connection I have made are all from my personal networking and interaction. All the interviews that I have done, the places I have performed, the publications and media platforms I pitched my music to—all me.
When he finally did something, it was during the period I wanted to roll out my first EP in 2020. He brought a music distribution company on board, but they messed up my EP when we got to work. My tracklist was disorganised, which in turn messed up the narrative, concept and vision for the EP. I just don’t put random songs together. I’m always intentional about my music and project, and like to tell a story. But that failed; thanks to the distro.
Even my agreement with them that I’d put up the EP on my Audiomack profile failed. After I uploaded it to Audiomack and the EP started gathering substantial streams, they flagged it down and put up my project from their own end. That was messed up. So, I stopped allowing the manager to distribute my music. I took over that responsibility completely.
I’m not trying to paint him as bad. He’s a good guy, but sucks as a manager. There was never a time that people talked to me or reached out to say, “Hey, your manager wants us to do this.” Or say, “We are here because of your manager.” Nothing like that. So, if my manager has no interest in putting our work in mind, there’s no point doing anything together.
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“I stopped going back to them to ask for my royalty reports. It’s a futile request.” — VRSD, musician.
In 2022, I worked with a Nigerian distribution company that was supposed to be a solution to giving local artists a cheaper alternative to working with foreign distribution companies. I signed a 30/70 division and two-year contract with them. But they aren’t the most transparent. I have worked with them on one song, which is my biggest so far, and there isn’t much to show for it on the backends. I didn’t even get access to it until I added my lawyer to the conversation. We checked the backend, but the streaming platforms on the list they sent me were not up to five; meanwhile, the song is available on all DSPs.
To date, there has been no word, no solution, nothing. It has been aired, and I have not seen any royalties from it. And honestly, I stopped returning to them to ask for my royalty reports. It’s a futile request.
“What he wanted isn’t who I am. I will never diss anyone because of internet clout.” — Mxna, rapper and music producer.
We were at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka, together. I was in Law, and he was in Architecture. However, he has an elder brother who studied Law and worked in the music industry. The brother owned a management company with another friend. So naturally, I felt the need to work with them because I needed to tap into the music scene in the city.
I got booked for a show in 2024, but the details and logistics were wonky. The event planner billed me to perform at 11 p.m. and added that if I didn’t show up at that time, there would be no performance for me, and they wouldn’t be held liable.
So, I asked my manager to clarify and confirm if the organisers meant they would be free of liability only if I got there late to perform or if faults came from their end. But he didn’t. So, we went in blindly. I got to the event at 8 p.m. to do my soundcheck, then headed to the hotel. When it was 11 p.m., no one called me to get on stage. I went around asking the organisers when I would perform. My manager, on the other hand, did nothing. He was just there, being walked over.
I waited from that time until 5 a.m. the following day. Nothing happened. My manager didn’t fight for me, and he didn’t flinch to make any effort. That was strike one.
Sometime after, in December, when I was in the village, the same event organiser who wasted our time and walked over my manager called me to diss another artist who had dissed Siraheem, the Okoya kid, to gain internet buzz and virality. The guy didn’t even apologise for wasting our time at the show.
I told him no and left it at that. I slept later that day and woke up later in the evening to my manager’s call. He was agitated, shouting on the phone, asking why I passed over a viral moment and let another artist run with the idea before me. What he wanted isn’t who I am. I will never diss anyone because of internet clout. Beef isn’t a growth strategy. I made that clear to him.
Then he started calling me emotional. That pained me, and I began to say less to him. That was strike two. But it was a lot on my chest. So, I called him and let it. I told him what he did and how I felt. We ironed it out.
The third and last strike was when I needed a new distributor. He was supposed to look into it, but he kept dancing around the conversation whenever I asked for updates. I became frustrated and told him the artist-manager relationship wasn’t working and we should split. All he said was, “Okay.” That statement revealed he never really cared and wasn’t concerned about what we were building.
“I had to resort to publicly calling them out on social media.” — Droxx, musician.
After deciding to release my music in 2021, I went to a distribution company based in Lagos because it seemed well-suited to support local musicians. The company took a 30% cut of his royalties but promised to focus on young, independent artists. Initially, the partnership was successful, with the distributor helping secure significant playlist placements for my first two singles.
However, the relationship quickly soured as the distributor’s support faded. I found it increasingly difficult to get my music released in a timely and accurate manner. I also faced a lack of transparency, as the company ignored my requests to view its streaming data and revenue. The distributor instead provided incomplete and inaccurate reports and refused to release my music catalogue until my earnings reached over $100. The distributor mishandled paperwork, messed up my data and provided nonsensical earnings reports. I decided to cut ties, but not without demanding my royalties.
The distributor went silent for six months after I asked them to close my catalogue and pay my outstanding royalties. I had to resort to publicly calling them out on social media. That prompted them to respond to me. However, the payment I received was less than what was owed.
