In a recent power scuffle, South African singer-songwriter Samthing Soweto took to Twitter (now X) to square up with music producer DJ Maphorisa about the release of Amalanga Awafani. While the single by Kabza De Small features vocals by Soweto, initially only Mas Musiq, Lawd Weezy, and DJ Maphorisa were credited as featured artists. Samthing Soweto’s name later appeared on the record following furor from fans. In a statement made on Instagram Live, DJ Maphorisa responded, saying that when the Samthing Soweto stalled the single’s release, after it had already been delayed, due to a negotiation for the track’s master copy, Maphorisa proceeded with the drop through Mas Musiq’s record label, instead of his own, to sidestep further sabotage. Of course, momentum is important in a genre with boundless potential, but should it come at the cost of courtesy?

The omission was undoubtedly self-serving, despite the producer’s attempt to legitimize it. A featured vocalist, who has paid to own the masters no less, has the prerogative to broker their terms for a project’s release. The fact that these two seasoned entrepreneurs couldn’t reach an amicable resolution in their many sit-downs raises the question: How generative is selfish behavior in an industry that thrives on collaboration? For clarity on what factors could influence a vocalist’s apprehension about a release date, I checked in with Jackie Queens, the founder of the record label Bae Electronica, who said, “A lot can happen in the time a song is recorded and released. The vocalist might have reconsidered their participation, may not be satisfied with the creative direction of the final version, or could face scheduling conflicts with other projects. These emphasize the importance of open communication and obtaining agreement from all parties before proceeding with any release.”

It’s noteworthy that in his statement, DJ Maphorisa belittles the experiences that have shaped Samthing Soweto’s artistry, in particular his time spent in juvenile prison in his youth, suggesting that his part in the conflict is probably due to a criminal pathology. He advises Samthing Soweto to be more humble and rattles off a list of amapiano vocalists he thinks have taken his sound and surpassed his success because they’re easier to work with. But here is the thing: Samthing Soweto’s particular vocal style stems from iGwijo, a traditional musical dialogue characterized by soul-stirring harmonies sung by consolers in a call-and-response structure. It’s well-documented that the self-taught singer picked the assuasive sound up during his stint behind bars, then furnished it with the subtle jazzy timbre he introduced audiences to in his tenure with the Soil and later the Fridge. Amalanga Awafani is originally iGwijo. 

DJ Maphorisa also recounted his contributions to South African popular culture, commenting on his hand in Uncle Waffles’s breakout video as a producer of “Adiwele,” one of the tracks that were part of Waffles’s performance. Let it be known, however, that the virality of that clip was chiefly contingent on Uncle Waffles’s embodiment. That’s why even though the hit has been featured in many more videos, there is still only one Uncle Waffles. Her performance—how she moved her body, how she swayed the crowd, and the chanting—epitomized the electrifying essence of South African groove culture. The track was lucky to be included. 

This isn’t to downplay how DJ Maphorisa has transformed the South African dance music scene. In our conversation, Jackie Queens contextualizes his legacy, saying, “Maphorisa has had a significant impact on the industry, he’s expanded pathways for artists and reshaped how South African music reaches global audiences. His influence has built bridges and created opportunities, his endorsement carries considerable weight, and I think his approach to collaboration offers some valuable lessons.” But like me, she questions the traditional gatekeeper values he exhibits at times. 

The captivating nature of South African groove culture and genres like amapiano is rooted in the elements borrowed from sacred healing practices. For instance, the call-and-response flow of creative expression— the dialogue between vocalists and the emphatic exchange between dancers and chanters on the dance floor—is reminiscent of imixhentso and intlombe that I’ve attended in Transkei, where a drum beat or vocal chanting (ukombela), a whistle made out of reed (ingcongolo), and clapping carry the rhythm that guides the dancing (umxhentso). Depending on the occasion, these are performed to intensify spiritual connection or establish social cohesion and equilibrium. How they show up as enigmatic embellishments of creativity facilitates an intimate connection between artists and local audiences who care to conserve that elegance.  

DJ Maphorisa’s acumen places him at a pivotal site in the South African music industry, where he can be the conduit that accelerates the commercial viability of these cultural products. This is evidenced by the role he’s played in Afro-pop, Afro house, gqom, and now amapiano. But it’s perplexing that a hitmaker who has made bank from tracks like “Abuyile Amakhosi” featuring King Tha and Busiswa lacks the depth of field to fully perceive an artist’s talent when it conflicts with his interests. It is narrow-minded to assume, as DJ Maphorisa does in his statement, that Samthing Soweto’s ancestral guidance worked to lead him only to the studio and not to the incidents that inspired him to find his voice.  

While South Africa has produced many international icons over the ages, the global phenomenon of amapiano is the first time a cohort of artists is revered internationally as they are locally. That is because, in its fabric, the genre eludes the frameworks set up by traditional gatekeepers. Amapiano initially made waves nationally as a genre that was promoted on WhatsApp. A track would be recorded in a home studio and then promptly shared on the app; it would be hot on the party scene with moves to match by the weekend, securing the performers’ bookings. The music’s virality on platforms like Twitter, TikTok, and Instagram Live still follows a similar flow but with a worldwide reach. Bypassing corporate control that homogenizes artists allows creatives to flourish while retaining the authenticity that makes them beloved by South Africans.      

However, Jackie Queens notes that this new dawn is not without its struggle: “New forms of gatekeeping have emerged through playlist curators, algorithms, and social media platforms,” she says. “The power dynamics have been redistributed … historical industry gatekeepers may not have the same absolute control as before, but they maintain a significant influence through resources, networks, and industry knowledge.”

Amapiano has brought an air of sophistication to how we interact with culture and artistry in the diaspora. Musicians from diverse backgrounds making hits by borrowing from heritage and personal histories enhance the curiosity we have about the stories that make us unique. Even the VMAs now know the difference between amapiano and afrobeats.  It would be a shame if the new prevailing form of gatekeeping perpetuated the self-aggrandizing attitudes that churned out uncultured cookie-cutter clutter and catered to the hegemony.