'Local Rappers': A Game-Changing Anthem in Nigerian Hip-Hop
The seismic impact and cultural resonance of 'Local Rappers' marked a pivotal moment in the Nigerian rap scene, propelling indigenous rappers to the forefront...
Listen to the song to dig this piece:
Late January 2015, I was walking down the busy streets of Computer Village at Ikeja, Lagos, when I heard 'Local Rappers' booming from the speakers of a nearby roadside boutique. I stopped by a friend's phone store opposite the boutique to listen to the music. After carefully listening to the music, I told my friend that the song would annoy some rappers and hip-hop purists, but it would change the Naija rap game forever.
A few days later, the song resulted in a furore, it created diverse opinions and divisions between Naija hip-hop heads and critics. Some critics praised the artists for mixing their indigenous languages—Yoruba and Igbo—with the Nigerian Pidgin English and the English language to create such a hit. Some critics called the song a diss against 'English rappers', especially Modenine, a major proponent of punchlines, lyricism, and wordplay in the Naija rap scene. Some 'English Rappers' felt insulted but kept their cool, perhaps to avoid disputes with the 'Local Rappers'. But some hotheaded 'English Rappers' rushed into the studios to record rebuttals, which add credence to the message of the song, and elevate the importance of Reminisce and his featured artists. (Is there anything like 'English Rappers'? A rapper is a rapper, regardless of the language he/she raps in! But for clarity, I will use the tags 'Local Rappers' and 'English Rapper' in this piece.)
Before 'Local Rappers', rappers like eLDee, Lord of Ajasa, Zaaki Azzay, Nigga Raw, and groups like Trybe's Men, Remedies, Platashun Boyz, KUSH, and a few others have been blending other languages with Naija hip-hop. In Rule 8 of 'Naija Hip-hop 101 intro', from the album Ruggedman, rapper Ruggedman instructs Naija rappers to "Add your mother tongue to represent where you (are) from.” And on the self-praised song ‘Ruggedy Baba' featuring singer 9ice, Ruggedman says "Is it singing or rapping like Oyinbo instead of doing what your people can feel?" But the late rapper Da Grin elevated rapping in indigenous language with his critical and commercially acclaimed sophomore album, CEO (Chief Executive Omota).
The very title, ‘Local Rappers’, was a deliberate reclaiming of a term often used pejoratively to describe artists who chose to rap in their native languages and draw inspiration from their local environments. Due to the déclassé of rappers who rap in other languages besides the English language by some Naija hip-hop heads and media outlets, Reminisce and his colleagues declared their presence and impacts on Naija hip-hop culture with no-hold-bars lyrics. The song wasn't created to cancel rapping in English but to show that rapping in other languages isn't lowbrow or empty-headed. These rappers turned this notion on its head, wearing their linguistic and cultural identities as badges of honour. They saw value in their roots, recognizing that their stories, woven into the fabric of their languages, resonated deeply with their audience.
The seismic impact and cultural resonance of 'Local Rappers' marked a pivotal moment in the Nigerian rap scene, propelling indigenous rappers to the forefront, reshaping the contours of the genre, and extending the reach of rap music in the country.
The song's lyrics are a masterclass in chest-beating bravado, an innate stunt in hip-hop. From the hook to their verses, Reminisce, Olamide, and Phyno assert their dominance in the Naija rap game with unapologetic confidence. Each verse is a lyrical tour de force, showcasing the trio's mastery of wordplay, metaphors, and rhyme schemes. They deftly navigate between English, the Nigerian pidgin English, and their native languages, seamlessly weaving them together to create a narrative that is both authentic and globally accessible.
Reminisce
"Oh, Lord, bami dari ji won, kon fi enu tan fi pe me local pe mi number one (Oh, Lord, please forgive them, let them use the mouths they used to call me local, call me number one)," Reminisce begins on the hook, before bragging about the huge money in his bank account and the gorgeous ladies on his table.
After the lustrous hook, he hops on the chorus to declare that "Street ti takeover, tuckin' in ko j'awo mo, street ti takeover, wordplay o j'awo mo (The street has taken over, corporate wear isn't fetching money as it used to, the street has taken over, wordplay isn't fetching money as it used to)." In his verse, Reminisce brags and highlights a perspective on how the brilliance and charisma of Local rappers turn the table and relegate English rappers to the background.
After his chest-beating rendition of the hook, in the second verse, Olamide, who has been alluding to his supremacy over the 'English rappers' on songs like 'Baddest Guy Ever Liveth', enters with vitriol. He raps about his greatness and position in the industry and decries that of English rappers. "Moti takeover throne yi awon eyan te fi sho da? (I have taken over the throne, where are your guards)?" To wrap things up, he adds: "Eku ro lo na jo, Oba nbo (clear off the road, the King is coming), My wackest track is the only track on your album."
Olamide
Phyno, one of the leading rappers from the Eastern part of the country, blends the Igbo language, the English language, and the Nigerian pidgin to deliver his messages. Though I don't understand the Igbo language, by parsing his verse, one can deduce his statement. "Jesu, this can't be me," he proclaims on the hook. "I dey run town but I ain't got Dilly." In his verse, he talks about going global with his style of rapping, dropping hits back to back, running the street like he is the new Tupac, rising from the ground, and rising to the top of the chart.
(Though these rappers claimed that punchlines and wordplay aren't as lucrative as before, still they garnished the song with clever punchlines and wordplay. Double-standard?)
Phyno
Beyond the individual prowess of these artists, the synergy between Reminisce, Olamide, and Phyno is electrifying. Their chemistry on the track is evident, each rapper complementing the others seamlessly. Their verses interlock like pieces of a puzzle, creating a cohesive narrative that propels the track forward with an irresistible momentum.
The braggadocio in 'Local Rappers' is not confined to local acclaim. It's a declaration of intent—a statement that these artists aim not only to rule the streets of Nigeria but to transcend borders and make a mark on the global hip-hop landscape. This ambition is palpable in their delivery, each verse exuding an unwavering confidence that demands attention and respect.
Besides the lyrical gymnastics and grandiosity of the song, another standout feature is the pulsating beat produced by Tyrone Grandeur, a masterpiece in production that fuses elements of traditional Nigerian music with contemporary hip-hop. The percussion, driven by infectious rhythms and the resonant thump of drums, creates a backdrop that is simultaneously evocative of the streets and the roots from which these artists emerged. This fusion of the local and the global is emblematic of the track's broader ethos.
Though 'Local Rappers' seems acerbic, it served as a cultural touchstone, resonating deeply with Nigerian youth who saw themselves reflected in the unapologetic celebration of their heritage. It sparked a renaissance in indigenous rap, inspiring a new generation of artists to embrace their roots and tell their stories in their own voices.
Since its release, Local Rappers has become a timeless anthem, a hard-hitting threshold to the enduring power of evolutions in music. It stands as true proof of the transformative power of rap, not just as a medium for self-expression, but cultural celebration, and global impact.
With this song, Reminisce, Olamide, and Phyno not only switched Naija hip-hop up to the matrix of ideology; they elevated it to new heights, leaving an indelible mark on the Naija rap scene and beyond.
Though oxen were gored and friends became enemies, the impact of 'Local Rappers' remains intact. The battle, as I saw it back then—and still do now—wasn't about the superiority of language or styles. But the desire to expand Naija rap, just as trap extends the American rap scene. Whether rap is taking over the street or shutting down arenas, what's important to me is that rap is winning by extending its tentacles to feed everyone, regardless of class or creed.
Note: I'm currently in between jobs. Please, I would appreciate writing gigs or a full-time position as a writer or editor at a culture or tech publishing outfit.