Why Nigeria’s music industry cannot afford another copyright failure

Nigeria’s music industry is enjoying unprecedented global visibility. Afrobeats stars are filling arenas, Nigerian labels are signing cross-border deals, and streaming has plugged local creativity into global markets. Beneath this success lies a familiar fault line (weak institutions, contested mandates, and chronic opacity in royalty administration). The current dispute over Nigeria’s private copying levy is not just a legal quarrel; it is a test of whether Africa’s biggest music market can finally build a credible rights ecosystem or repeat a long history of missed opportunity.

At the centre of the controversy is the Nigerian Copyright Commission (NCC) and its proposed disbursement of private copying levy proceeds. Introduced under the Copyright Act 2022, the levy is meant to compensate rights holders for unavoidable private copying in a country where piracy and informal consumption remain widespread. Levies on devices, from smartphones to hard drives, are common across Europe and parts of Asia, generating billions yearly for creators. For Nigeria, where recorded music revenues are still modest relative to consumption, the levy could be transformative. Instead, it risks becoming another cautionary tale.

Industry estimates suggest that, once fully implemented, Nigeria’s private copying levy could generate billions of naira yearly. For an industry where many artists still struggle to earn a predictable income, such funds could stabilise careers, deepen catalogue investment, and attract long-term capital. But this promise depends entirely on trust – trust in who collects, who distributes, and how beneficiaries are determined.

The Record Label Proprietors Initiative, Record Label Proprietors Initiative (ReLPI), representing major players such as Mavin Records and Chocolate City, argues that the NCC’s plan to route funds solely through the Musical Copyright Society Nigeria (MCSN) ignores both the law and industry structure. Their objection is not merely procedural but goes to the heart of copyright economics, as different rights exist, and they belong to different owners.

Sound recordings (masters) are owned by labels and producers, as musical works are owned by composers and publishers. Treating levy proceeds as a single ‘music industry pot’ and handing them to one collective body blurs this distinction and risks misallocating funds. In a sector already plagued by royalty disputes, that is an invitation to litigation, investor caution, and reputational damage.

The intervention of the International Federation of the Phonographic Industry (IFPI) underscores the seriousness of the issue. Nigeria’s music industry is no longer insular. Global labels and investors are watching closely, particularly as Afrobeats artists like Burna Boy, Wizkid, and Davido drive international revenues tied to Nigerian catalogues.

If levy funds are disbursed without clear mandates, transparent data, and verifiable audits, the signal to global partners is troubling, which may mean Nigeria’s rights infrastructure remains unpredictable. In capital-intensive creative industries, uncertainty is poison. Investors price risk aggressively, or simply stay away.

Beyond major labels, the implications for independent creators are equally stark. Many Nigerian artists are self-published, unsigned, or represented by smaller entities. If levy distribution hinges on contested collective structures, independents risk being structurally excluded, not because the law denies them rights, but because the system lacks inclusive representation.

This is how inequality hardens in creative economies, not through lack of talent, but through weak institutions that reward proximity to power rather than ownership of rights. A levy designed as blanket compensation for private use must not become a selective benefit for a narrow group.

The levy dispute echoes Nigeria’s long-running struggles with collective management organisations, leadership tussles, court cases, suspended licences, and credibility gaps. Each episode chips away at confidence, reinforcing the perception that rights enforcement in Nigeria is arbitrary. That perception has real economic costs. According to industry data, Nigeria’s recorded music revenues still lag far behind consumption volumes, largely because monetisation systems are inefficient.

Handled poorly, the levy could deepen this credibility deficit, and if handled well, it could mark a turning point.

We suggest that the major way forward is that the NCC must pause disbursement until mandates are clear. Section 89(3) of the Copyright Act allows flexibility for payments to approved CMOs or other representatives of right owners. That flexibility should be exercised transparently, not administratively.

Also, rights segmentation must be explicit. Shares for musical works and sound recordings should be clearly defined, published, and agreed upon with stakeholders. Without this, disputes are inevitable.

Likewise, transparency is non-negotiable, as the NCC should publish the levy framework, collection data, distribution formula, and audit mechanisms. In an era of data dashboards, opacity is a choice, not a constraint.

Similarly, Nigeria should use this moment to reform collective management more broadly, that is, strengthening governance standards, enforcing disclosure, and protecting opt-out rights. A credible levy system could become a foundation for broader royalty reform across broadcasting, digital platforms, and public performance.

Nigeria’s music industry has already won global attention. What it lacks is a domestic infrastructure that matches its ambition. The private copying levy could either unlock billions and restore confidence or confirm old fears that, even at moments of success, governance failures still cost the industry dearly.