Dismissing Shoday’s sound as ‘music for lash techs’ isn’t a critique of quality, it is an exercise in classism.
For years, the bridge between content creation and serious artistry was a gap that only few artists could dare cross. In the traditional Nigerian music industry, the incorporation of content creation into music was often viewed with a side-eye; a necessary evil at best, and a gimmick at worst. To be “serious,” an artist had to be properly diluted in the industry, ensuring their digital presence was best positioned as one of the antics of a marketing strategy rather than the soul of the art itself. There was a rigid hierarchy: the “real” artists lived in the studio and on the stage, while “influencers” lived on our screens.
Then came the paradigm shift. We witnessed the rise of a generation now often labeled, sometimes disparagingly, as “TikTok artists.” These are the ones who have contentedly learned to harness the power of social algorithms and incorporate content creation as the bedrock of their music marketing. They didn’t only use the app; they also became the app’s pulse. One of such artists, standing at the eye of this cultural storm, is Shoday.
Born Shodade Solomon Segun, Shoday’s rise was nothing short of meteoric. The catalyst was TikTok, the digital town square that gave way to “Caution,” a record that went viral in late 2022 and refused to leave the airwaves. However, the vitality of this song wasn’t just a fluke of the algorithm. It was Shoday’s intentional harnessing of TikTok content creation that set him on a pedestal for success. This has led to an eventual span of over two years of consistent presence in the Nigerian music industry. Along the way, he has earned the respect of the heavyweights, collaborating with some of Africa’s finest, including Kizz Daniel and Davido. Yet, despite the numbers and the co-signs, a question lingers in the air: Does he truly belong in the mainstream?
In recent times, a specific strain of criticism has targeted Shoday. There have been claims that whilst his music is undeniably enjoyable, it is reminiscent of sounds better appreciated by “lash techs” and “small business owners.” This critique is often wrapped in the understanding that his sound is a reflection of his background from Agege; a subtle way of explaining away his style as “low-brow” because of where he comes from.
But we must pause and ask: what is inherently wrong with making music that is a reflection of one’s roots? Why is a certain caliber of people appreciating his music used as a weapon against his artistry? There is a palpable irony in an industry that celebrates “street pop” when it fits a certain aesthetic of ruggedness, but turns its nose up when that same street energy is channeled into something melodious and accessible to the everyday woman working in a salon or running an Instagram shop.
Whilst TikTok remains his dominant platform for marketing, we have to look deeper. Does Shoday not deserve mainstream attention—not just because of the virality of his music, but because he has indeed put in the work? Over the past year, he has shown a level of grit and evolution that suggests he isn’t just riding a wave; he is building his own ocean. To deny him a spot in the mainstream culture of the industry is to deny the reality of what the Nigerian audience actually looks like today.
Shoday’s music is at the absolute forefront of what we might call “New Wave Street Pop.” It is a sound that is even more melodious, globally accessible, and emotionally satisfying than the iterations that came before it. His sound is a masterful blend of street-oriented lyrics and Afro-fusion elements that feel familiar to just about everyone who has ever walked the streets of Lagos or scrolled through a “Get Ready With Me” video.
It is little wonder his music resonates so strongly with female listeners. In the Nigerian music landscape, women are often the primary drivers of longevity. The “small business owner” acclaim, often used as a slight, is actually proof of a more strategic approach to marketing. These women use his music to market their businesses, tapping into Shoday’s massive following to create a symbiotic relationship between the music and the marketplace. If his music moves the people who move the economy, how can we say he doesn’t deserve the spotlight?
However, a whole new discourse is currently being had on X (formerly Twitter) about the music Shoday makes, which before now hasn’t been quite the issue it is today. To kickstart the new year, the artist released “Paparazzi,” featuring new-wave artist like himself, Fola. Almost immediately, conversations filled the music space about the supposed “tiring depth” of Shoday’s music. Critics argued that his formula was becoming predictable, questioning if there was anything beneath the surface of his TikTok-ready hooks.
Does he not deserve the attention he’s getting? Hasn’t he worked for that attention? We must ask why his music should not be as widespread as it is simply because it doesn’t conform to the unspoken “rulebooks” of what Afropop is supposed to sound like. Perhaps the resistance stems from the fact that Shoday’s music appeals more to those who are in touch with their emotions than those who would rather mask theirs with music that touches base only with core street lingua and the rugged nuances of traditional Afrobeats.
If you’re an avid user of TikTok, it is certain that you must have come across many of Shoday’s promotional videos. He often employs the presence of the beautiful Batife, known to be his lady. This is what can be described as intentional storytelling, surpassing music promotion. A large part of his discography sounds like he had her in mind while in the studio. From “Screaming Beauty” to “Queen N More” and even the viral “Caution,” there is a thread of romantic devotion that is rare in the “street” genre.
In an industry that often celebrates hyper-masculinity and detachment, Shoday’s willingness to be “the lover boy from the trenches” is a breath of fresh air. It is extremely important for artists to identify what works for them and, as predictable as it may seem to some, to stick to it. This is how a loyal following is built. Shoday has tapped into the endearment that TikTok users have for his relationship with Batife, using that emotional hook to invite people into his musical world. He has safely crossed the bridge of merging content creation with artistry, building collaborations that now extend even beyond the borders of Nigeria.
Yet again, we return to the question of recognition. If he makes music that appeals to the “LASU lash techs” and “trench baddies,” why is that a disqualifier? It is actually quite refreshing and telling to see that international artists view him differently. South African artists clearly think of Shoday as a worthy contemporary, as evidenced by his inclusion on one of the biggest collaborations of 2025, “Nakupenda.” Joining the likes of Davido and Zlatan on such a massive track isn’t a result of “TikTok luck”, it’s a result of a sound that translates across borders.
Shoday’s music is refreshingly unique because it creates a unique selling point for both males and females. It evokes emotions and acts as a focal point of attraction. Take “Gaddem” with Rybeena, another fellow “TikTok artist” who is slowly becoming as mainstream as Shoday. The song is a perfect example of music that encompasses how a lady wants to feel, or how a man can sum up his feelings without having to struggle to find the words. It is functional music; it serves a purpose in the lives of the listeners.
The labeling of Shoday’s work as “kind of music” for a specific “low” class of people is extremely classist and derogatory. It undermines years of effort and the raw talent required to make a hit song that stays in the public consciousness for years. When one sneers and asks, “How people dey enjoy this Shoday music?”, it is a clear indication of an elitist bias. It suggests that his music isn’t in conformity with an arbitrary “norm” and that it takes a different, “refined” level of understanding to appreciate “real” music.
In actuality, the opposite is true. Shoday’s music is relevant precisely because it refuses to be elitist. He isn’t trying to impress the critics who sit in ivory towers; he is making music for the people who are living, loving, and working in the real world. Many artists are unwilling to build a career on the “horse’s back” of content creation as Shoday has, fearing they will lose their “prestige.” Shoday embraced it, and in doing so, he has proven his dexterity. Whether he is dropping a solo hit or featuring on a high-energy track like “Hey Jago” with Poco Lee, he shows that he can hold his own in any arena.
YOU SHOULD READ: Seven Things The Nigerian Music Industry Needs To Abandon In 2025.
Ultimately, Shoday’s music isn’t a “kind of music,” nor is it music for a certain sect of consumers. It is music for those who are in touch with their emotionality and aren’t afraid to reach into it. The reason it finds a better home with the feminine gender is perhaps that women are often more honest about their emotional needs than men, who are conditioned to seek only the “hard” sounds of the street.
Shoday has earned his seat at the mainstream table. He has used the tools of his generation— TikTok, content, and vulnerability, to bypass the traditional gatekeepers. If that makes him the king of the “lash techs,” then perhaps the ‘critics’ are the ones missing out on the beauty of his sound.
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