4 hours ago
4
When a major African pop artist announces a world tour these days, you will see Paris, New York, Toronto and Amsterdam among the dates. You will see multiple nights at London’s O2 Arena – a venue that has become a regular hub for Nigerian pop supremacy. You will see grand, multimillion-dollar stage designs, towering LED screens and meticulously choreographed dancing as artists such as Burna Boy, Wizkid, Asake, Rema, Tyla and Tems have become global stars.
What you will rarely see, however, is a comprehensive, interconnected list of dates in Accra, Nairobi, Johannesburg, Kigali or Luanda: the cities that birthed these acts. It is a central paradox of the current African music surge: the continent’s biggest cultural exports are struggling to perform consistently for audiences across the continent.
This has created a significant cultural gap. Music has played a central role in changing how young Africans are seen globally, replacing outdated narratives with a more dynamic representation of African life. But when an artist writes a song about the gritty realities of Lagos and only performs it in Berlin, a significant aspect of that connection is diminished. It’s left an entire generation of African youth consuming their own culture through their phones.
Over the last five years, pop music has been significantly reshaped by west and south Africa. The continent’s pop icons are no longer marginalised by western audiences and media as “world music” acts: they are the centre of the global pop mainstream. The genres Afrobeats, amapiano, alté and their localised offshoots have generated billions of streams. Yet attempting to route a cohesive, profitable, multi-country arena tour across the African continent remains extremely challenging. Take Rema’s massive 2022 Rave & Roses world tour: while it featured extensive runs across North America and Europe, the African leg consisted of just three stops, in Zambia, Kenya and South Africa.
“One of the biggest misconceptions is that artists are choosing not to perform at home,” says Adesegun Adeosun Jr, AKA British-Nigerian promoter King Smade. “In reality, most artists want to connect with their audiences across the continent. The challenge is not demand but execution.”
As the founder of Smade Entertainment and co-founder of Afro Nation – now the world’s largest Afrobeats festival franchise – Adeosun has produced more than 1,000 events. Among them was the 2018 Afro Republik concert in London, which made Wizkid the first African headliner to sell out the 20,000-capacity O2 Arena – a watershed moment that proved African stars could command top-tier western touring real estate.
That infrastructure is lacking on the continent. The absence of an African touring circuit is a story of the legacy of colonial borders, the steep cost of intra-African travel, a shortage of standardised venues and ticketing systems, and a fractured live events economy. “Touring requires consistency across multiple cities, and if even a few stops cannot meet the technical or financial requirements, it affects the viability of the entire tour,” Adeosun says.
On a tour of Europe, an artist boards a sleeper bus and wakes up in the next city. In Africa, the road networks between major cultural hubs are frequently nonexistent or carry severe security risks. A high-profile convoy carrying equipment worth millions of dollars is highly vulnerable to banditry and extortion across poorly policed, porous borders. The only option is to fly, and Africa is among the most expensive regions to fly within. Intra-African air fares are, on average, 40% to 60% higher than European routes of comparable lengths. This is driven by protectionist taxes and high fuel costs, which are 21% to 30% more expensive in Africa than the global average. The lack of an open skies agreement is also an issue, as a fully implemented pan-African policy would deregulate airspace and remove the restrictive bilateral treaties that limit flight routes between nations.
The African aviation network sticks to a template largely designed during the colonial era to extract resources to Europe rather than connect African nations. It is often cheaper and faster to fly from Lagos to London than from Lagos to certain neighbouring west African capitals. So when a promoter budgets for, say, a 50-person crew – band, backup vocalists, dancers, technical staff, security – to travel across five cities, these air fares alone can significantly reduce or eliminate profit margins. Then there’s the cost of visas. Unlike the European Union, the African union has yet to realise a borderless reality.
Say an artist does manage to secure the funding and visas to take their crew on tour: then they are confronted with a shortage of suitable venues. Yes, Africa has towering football stadiums built for the Africa Cup of Nations, but there is the problem of the “missing middle”: the continent suffers from a severe deficit of purpose-built indoor arenas – the 10,000- to 20,000-capacity venues that serve as the backbone of global touring. While an Afcon-level stadium could serviceably host an artist, local purchasing power makes selling 50,000 to 80,000 tickets at a profitable margin incredibly difficult. Underselling these venues – by placing a 10,000-person crowd in a 50,000-capacity bowl – kills a concert’s atmosphere. Global superstars could cover the costs, sure, but they can’t conjure up the magic out of nowhere.
This means that promoters seeking to stage big shows must transform open-air spaces such as fields or hotel car parks into concert venues, building infrastructure from scratch and renting everything from stages and barricades to generators. In many African cities, top-tier audio amplification and lighting rigs simply do not exist for rent.
Then there’s the question of whether it’s even worth it for the artists. Top-tier Afrobeats stars now command international booking fees often exceeding $500,000 (about £395,000) per show. For a local promoter dealing with a depreciating domestic currency, covering this guarantee is frequently impossible.
Artists are also hamstrung by differences in streaming revenue. Platforms such as Spotify and Apple Music adjust their subscription tiers to match local economies – Spotify Premium in Nigeria costs about $1 a month, for instance, compared to $12.99 in the US – meaning the revenue pool generated per stream is vastly smaller. 1m streams from the UK or US brings in $3,000 to $4,000, but 1m streams from Nigeria may earn an artist $300 to $400, so the usual post-tour bump in streams won’t make much of a financial impact there.
Nevertheless, the global success of Afrobeats has made the sector more structurally and economically viable, making investment in African music infrastructure more likely. But it also brings a new tension: who will own it? For decades, western giants such as Live Nation and AEG ignored the continent. Now Live Nation has begun an aggressive push in the region, recently developing the 10,000-plus capacity Johannesburg venue the Goldrush Dome to serve as a hub for pan-African talent.
While foreign investment brings capital and connects the African circuit to the global grid, it raises concerns among local industry stakeholders. If global conglomerates build the arenas and route the tours, the African music industry risks becoming dependent on external infrastructure and investment that could easily disappear if the market’s global appeal slips. “Building a sustainable ecosystem requires collaboration between artists, promoters, governments and private investors,” says Adeosun.
But again: even if acts decide that touring Africa is worth their while, the heightened cost of staging these shows is inevitably passed on to the fans, and African music lovers are being priced out of their own culture. In December 2025, ticket prices for headline shows in Lagos by artists such as Asake and Davido hit 250,000 to 300,000 naira (roughly £135 to £160). For many locals, this represents more than a month’s salary. “Honestly, when I see the ticket links, I don’t even click any more,” says Nnamani Grace Odi, a media and music business executive based in Lagos. These days, says Odi: “I experience most concerts via Instagram Live or someone’s blurry Snapchat footage.”
Afrobeats now fills arenas across Europe and North America with audiences who know every word, while remaining distinctly African in sound and identity. Yet for many fans on the continent, seeing those same artists live is still out of reach – priced too high, located too far away or simply not happening at all. “You’ll be watching people in London singing every word,” says Odi, “and you’re just there thinking: wait, this is our music though?”
