A song can travel the world and generate income in multiple countries, yet the artistes who recorded it may never see a share of that money.
By Deborah Oyedijo
For many producers in Africa, the moment a song is released and starts gaining traction is seen as the point where the real rewards should begin. Streams increase, radio stations pick it up, DJs play it in clubs, and the record travels beyond its original audience. Yet, despite this visible success, a large portion of the income tied to that recording never reaches the artistes who helped create it. The reason, in many cases, is simple: they are not aware that a separate category of royalties exists for the sound recording itself.
Understanding this begins with a basic but often overlooked principle. Every song carries two distinct rights. The first is the musical composition, which covers the lyrics and melody created by songwriters. The second is the sound recording, commonly referred to as the master, which captures the performed version of that composition. Most conversations in the Nigerian music space focus on the first. Neighbouring rights exist in the second.
This distinction matters because each right generates its own income. When a song like “Last Last” by Burna Boy is performed publicly or broadcast, the composition generates performance royalties for the songwriters. At the same time, the sound recording generates a separate payment for the featured artiste and the producer responsible for the master. These are neighbouring rights. They do not replace publishing income, and they are not a variation of it. They are a parallel stream tied specifically to the use of the recording.
Neighbouring rights are triggered in three main situations. The first is broadcast, which includes radio and television airplay. The second is public performance, covering music played in places such as hotels, restaurants, clubs, malls, and even on airlines. The third is certain forms of digital use, particularly non-interactive streaming such as internet radio and satellite services. Each time a recording is used in these ways, it generates income for the people behind that recording, separate from the songwriters’ share.
At this point, it becomes important to address who actually holds these rights. The featured artiste is one of the primary beneficiaries, but they are not the only one. Producers, as contributors to the creation of the sound recording, are recognised under most neighbouring rights systems as rights holders. This means that a producer is entitled to a share of the income generated when that recording is broadcast or performed publicly.
In practice, however, very few Nigerian producers position themselves to receive this income. Many are not registered with any collecting body that administers neighbouring rights. Even where they are, their credits are often not properly documented, and split agreements are either informal or non-existent. Where a split agreement exists, it must be formally and clearly documented for any collecting system to recognise and allocate income correctly. Without that documentation, the system has no reliable way to identify who should be paid.
This gap between entitlement and actual payment is where the problem becomes most visible. Producers such as Phantom, P.Priime, or Spax have credits on records that have travelled globally, appearing on international radio and in public spaces across different territories. Under a fully functioning system, each of these uses would generate neighbouring rights income for both the featured artiste and the producer. Instead, much of that income is either left unclaimed or never reaches them at all.
The issue becomes even clearer when viewed through real-world cases. In 2018, Nigerian reggae artiste Winning Jah came across a publicly available database of unclaimed royalties held by SoundExchange in the United States. These royalties were tied to digital performances of sound recordings, the US equivalent of neighbouring rights for certain platforms. The list included names such as 2Baba, Wande Coal, Majek Fashek, Victor Uwaifo, Lagbaja, and Brymo. These were not minor figures, and the royalties had already been collected on their behalf from US digital plays. The issue was that they had not registered to receive them. As a result, the money remained in the system, waiting for claims that were never made.
This example reflects a broader structural issue. The global music industry has systems in place to collect neighbouring rights income, but those systems depend on accurate data and proper registration. Where an artiste or producer is not registered, or where their recordings are not properly documented, the money cannot be matched to them. It remains in what is often described as a pool of unclaimed royalties.
To understand how this happens, it helps to look at how collection is supposed to work. In countries with established systems, organisations such as Phonographic Performance Limited in the United Kingdom collect neighbouring rights royalties from broadcasters and public venues. These organisations then distribute the income to rights holders directly or through reciprocal agreements with collecting societies in other countries.
In Nigeria, organisations such as the Musical Copyright Society of Nigeria operate within this space. Albeit with the system still developing, registration levels are low, documentation is inconsistent, and enforcement remains uneven. This creates a situation where Nigerian music is generating value globally, but the structures required to capture and return that value are not fully utilised.
The international dimension of this problem is particularly significant. When a Nigerian song is played on a station such as BBC Radio 1Xtra, a neighbouring rights payment is generated in the United Kingdom. For that payment to reach the artiste and producer in Nigeria, there must be a clear chain of identification and a working relationship between the collecting bodies in both territories. If either side of that chain is incomplete, the money does not move.
A practical example can be seen in the global success of “Essence” by Wizkid. The song received extensive airplay across the United Kingdom, the United States, and Europe. On the publishing side, royalties tied to the composition are generally tracked and distributed through established systems. On the recording side, however, the flow of neighbouring rights income is less consistent, particularly where the relevant parties are not fully registered or properly documented within the system.
What this ultimately shows is that the issue is not the absence of money, but the absence of a connection between that money and the people entitled to it. The infrastructure exists, but it requires participation. Without registration, accurate metadata, and properly documented agreements, even the most successful recordings can generate income that never reaches their creators.
There are practical steps that can begin to address this gap. Artistes and producers can register with neighbouring rights organisations either locally or directly with international bodies that accept foreign members. They can ensure that their recordings carry accurate metadata, including correct credits and ISRC codes. They can formalise split agreements so that contributions are clearly recognised within the system. And where necessary, they can seek professional guidance before entering into agreements that may affect their entitlement to these rights.
The importance of these steps becomes clearer when placed against the scale of the opportunity. Nigerian music is no longer confined to local markets. It travels across borders, appears on global playlists, and is played in spaces far removed from where it was created. Each of these uses has economic value attached to it. Neighbouring rights are one of the mechanisms through which that value is returned.
For the producer whose beat is heard across continents but who has never received a neighbouring rights payment, the issue is not a lack of success. It is a lack of access to the system that converts that success into income. As the industry continues to expand, closing that gap will depend not only on stronger institutions but on a clearer understanding among artistes and producers of what they are entitled to and how to claim it.
Deborah Oyedijo is a music business writer and entertainment lawyer-in-training with a focus on the African music industry. When she is not writing about music rights and culture, she is watching K-dramas or absorbing yet another documentary. Connect with her on IG and X: ayooyedijo