Why are Nigerian women making music in a music industry that still seems to listen to men more?
Every week, the TurnTable Charts give us a snapshot of what Nigeria is listening to. And every week, there is a familiar pattern: scroll through the upper reaches of the charts and female artists are noticeably fewer.
This is particularly interesting because Nigeria is not short of women who can make a hit. We have Tems. Ayra Starr. Tiwa Savage. Yemi Alade. Teni. Niniola. Simi. Qing Madi. Fave. Darkoo. There is no shortage of women with the talent, star power and discographies to compete. So why does the chart still feel so male?
The easy answer is that there are simply more male artists. And that is true. But it is also a little too convenient. Because the gender gap in Nigerian music isn’t just about how many men and women are making music. It is about who gets the opportunity to make it, what kind of music gets rewarded, who is willing to listen to whom, and the very different standards we apply to male and female artists.
It Starts Before the Charts
Before an artist can compete for a No. 1, they have to get into the game. Historically, the Nigerian music industry has been built around spaces that have not always been particularly accessible to women: late-night studio sessions, constant travel, informal industry networking and social circles where men have traditionally held most of the power.
The result is a pipeline problem. If fewer women are being signed, funded, promoted, managed and given access to the industry’s most influential networks, then naturally fewer women will end up competing for the biggest positions on the charts.
Streaming has made releasing music easier. But releasing music is not the same thing as breaking through. Anyone can upload a song. Not everyone gets the playlist placement, marketing budget, collaborations, radio push, industry relationships or financial backing required to turn that song into a hit.
And the pipeline matters because chart success does not happen in isolation. By the time we are arguing about whether a song deserves to be No. 1, hundreds of decisions have already been made about who gets the chance to compete.
Then There Is the Genre Problem
There is another uncomfortable part of the conversation: what Nigerians consider commercially exciting. Look at the genres that tend to dominate Nigerian popular culture. Afropop. Street-Pop. Rap. High-energy records made for clubs, parties, TikTok trends and everything in between. Men have historically dominated many of these spaces. Female artists, meanwhile, have often found themselves associated with R&B, soul, alternative music and other genres that can be more introspective and less immediately designed for the dance floor.
That doesn’t mean women can’t make bangers. Obviously they can. It means the market does not necessarily reward every kind of music equally. Take Tems’ Born in the Wild. Internationally, the album reinforced just how enormous her global appeal has become. But its reception at home did not necessarily translate into the kind of chart dominance that her international profile might make you expect.
And then there is Ayra Starr. Her afrobeats/ high-tempo songs on her newly released album, Starr Girl —”Tornado”, “Dangerous” and “Ms. Paper”—have generally had more obvious mainstream appeal than some of her more traditionally R&B-leaning songs like “Letter to God”.
That distinction matters. Because if the Nigerian market disproportionately rewards one particular sound, artists who operate outside that sound are already playing a more difficult game.
But Maybe the Real Question Is: Who Is Listening?
This is where the conversation gets uncomfortable. There is a persistent online conversation about Nigerian men and their music consumption: do men actually listen to women? Not occasionally. Not because their girlfriend put the song on. Not because the woman has a massive international hit. Do they actively seek out female artists?
There is an argument that women tend to be more willing to listen across gender lines. A woman can listen to a male artist singing about heartbreak, sex, ambition, insecurity or desire and simply think, Yeah, I get it.
But some men seem less willing to extend the same courtesy to women. A woman singing about her experience can be dismissed as “girl music.” A song about female desire is “for women.” A song about heartbreak from a woman’s perspective is somehow less universal. And there is something interesting about that.
Men have historically been allowed to occupy the position of the universal protagonist. Their stories are simply stories. Their heartbreak is heartbreak. Their ambition is ambition. Their sexuality is sexuality. Women, meanwhile, are often treated as speaking specifically to women. That creates a strange cultural imbalance where women are expected to understand men’s experiences, while men can opt out of understanding women’s. And music is one of the clearest places where this shows up.
Moniba Oritse, an A&R and talent manager, says the issue is tied to both audience behaviour and the wider cultural ideas surrounding gender and masculinity. “Because we live in a misogynistic society where rigid ideas around masculinity are still deeply ingrained, I definitely think part of the problem is what women are making—not because women are making bad music, but because some of the things women write about don’t necessarily sit comfortably with male listeners. There’s a certain resistance to men identifying with certain female narratives, particularly when women challenge their masculinity, vulnerability or behaviour,”
Moniba continues, “but I also think it’s bigger than the music itself. Because men make up such a significant part of the listening audience, that audience bias can have a real impact on what gets streamed, shared and ultimately seen as commercially viable. And that inevitably affects how much investment and promotion female artists receive. So for me, it’s a combination of culture, audience behaviour and the way the industry responds to both.”
The Beyoncé Test
You can even see a version of this phenomenon outside Nigeria. Beyoncé is one of the most successful and influential performers in modern music. Her commercial achievements, performance ability and cultural impact are almost impossible to argue with. And yet, in some male-dominated corners of popular culture, her greatness remains weirdly negotiable.
There is always another debate. Another caveat. Another reason she is supposedly overrated. It is worth asking why.
When Women Become Too Loud
Then there is the other side of the problem: what happens when female artists stop being agreeable? Female artists are often expected to be talented, attractive, entertaining and—perhaps most importantly—likable. The moment they become outspoken about feminism, women’s rights, sexuality, boundaries or self-worth, the conversation can change dramatically.
We’ve seen this happen with Ayra Starr, whose advocacy around women’s empowerment has sometimes attracted backlash online. When old tweets resurfaced showing her being openly pro-woman, some men online called for withdrawing their support for the singer’s latest release. Suddenly, music is no longer the only thing being discussed. Would we react the same way if a male artist made an equally strong statement about masculinity, male solidarity or men’s rights? Maybe. But history suggests that men are generally given much more room to be difficult, arrogant, controversial or even morally questionable without their entire artistic legitimacy being put on trial.
That double standard becomes particularly uncomfortable when you consider how audiences respond to male artists accused of serious misconduct. Male artists facing allegations of assault or domestic violence can continue to command enormous streams, packed concerts and loyal fanbases.Yet a woman saying something unpopular about men can trigger calls to boycott her music. The threshold for abandoning a female artist can sometimes appear remarkably low.
Tems and Ayra Starr Are Not Proof That Everything Is Fine
There is a predictable response whenever conversations about gender inequality in Nigerian music come up: “But look at Tems.” Or: “Ayra Starr is huge.” Yes. That is fantastic. But the existence of successful women does not automatically mean the system is fair.
Tems and Ayra Starr are not evidence that the playing field is level. They are evidence that women can become enormously successful despite the obstacles. And what about everyone who doesn’t become Tems? The emerging female artist trying to finance her first project. The producer trying to get into rooms dominated by men. The songwriter whose contribution is overlooked.The artist whose music does not fit neatly into the sound currently dominating Nigerian playlists. The woman who has the talent but doesn’t have the network. The chart only shows us the final product. It doesn’t show us all the women who never got the opportunity to get there.
So, Do Nigerians Have a Female Artist Problem?
Maybe. But the bigger problem is that we have not really interrogated the reasons behind the numbers. The gender gap in Nigerian music cannot be solved simply by telling women to “make better music.” Women are already making great music. We need to look at the entire ecosystem. Who gets signed, funded, playlisted, promoted, invested in and listened to? Because charts are not neutral.
They are the result of millions of individual decisions: what we play, what we skip, what we share, what we recommend, what we dance to and whose stories we decide are worth hearing. So perhaps the next time you scroll through the TurnTable Charts and notice how few women are sitting at the top, don’t just ask where the women are. Ask yourself: When was the last time you deliberately pressed play on one?
