Why Ghanaian music struggles to get paid and played

ONCE upon a playlist in Ghana, a gifted musician—let’s call him Kwame Keys—uploads his latest track to YouTube. It’s fire.

We’re talking celestial beats that could resurrect ancestors mid-slumber, and lyrics so precise they dissect heartbreak like a scalpel-wielding cardiologist with a PhD in emotional damage. 

Kwame’s friends call it a banger. His barber calls it a classic. Even his strict Pentecostal aunt nods her head before silently rebuking the “worldly rhythm.”

But despite all this sonic sorcery, the numbers tell a less enchanted story. A few hundred views, mostly from his WhatsApp contacts. A handful of shares, and a solitary comment: “🔥🔥🔥 bro you go blow soon.” That last one’s from his cousin in Takoradi.

So, what gives?

Why does a song that could easily headline a festival stall out at the gates of YouTube purgatory? Simple: in Ghana, talent isn’t rare—it’s practically a natural resource. But distribution and monetisation? Now that’s where the power goes off.

In today’s ever-digital, algorithm-governed jungle of music, where discoverability depends on SEO, metadata, and whether the TikTok algorithm happens to be in a good mood, Ghana’s creatives often find themselves shouting into the void. They’ve got hits, hustles, and hope—but no reliable system to carry their sound beyond their own circles.

Uploading a song in Ghana feels a bit like releasing a bird into the wild and hoping it migrates to the Billboard Hot 100. There’s no GPS, no air traffic control—just vibes and prayer.

So, what’s holding our modern-day griots back?

 Let’s address the three elephants in the studio:

1.         Underperforming local streaming platforms that can’t quite dance to the global beat,

2.         An outdated physical distribution model that still treats CDs like they're sacred relics.

3.         A gaping hole in digital literacy wide enough to swallow an entire mixtape.

Each of these gaps forms part of a frustrating feedback loop—where music is made, but not monetised; heard, but not harnessed. And while the world nods to Afrobeats and dances to Amapiano, many Ghanaian artists are still stuck at the upload screen, wondering when their time will come.

But here’s the twist: it’s not just about music. It’s about infrastructure. Access. Knowledge. The kind of ecosystem where talent doesn’t just survive—but thrives.

And until we fix that? Well, Kwame Keys and his banger will remain right where they are: lost in the shuffle, another genius buried beneath the algorithm.

 1. The curious case of local streaming platforms

Local music streaming platforms in Ghana are a bit like the traffic lights in Accra: they’re there, but many people don’t trust them to work properly.

These platforms often lack the UX polish and promotional muscle to rival global competitors. Artistes uploading to these platforms face limited audiences and even more limited revenue.

And the biggest irony? Many of these platforms don’t even pay out in cedis, or worse—don’t pay out at all. Artistes are left with stats that look good on a press kit but zero in the momo wallet.

 2. Physical Distribution – Still Spinning, Barely

Believe it or not, CDs and pen drives still change hands on trotro routes and at local events. Physical sales, though not dead, are aging poorly.

Piracy remains a ghost in the speakers, haunting every attempt at physical monetisation. Albums are burned, shared on WhatsApp faster than gospel memes, and sold in corner shops without a single pesewa finding its way back to the artiste.

Record stores? Almost extinct. Distribution networks? Fragmented. The few who try to move physical products in a structured way often find themselves stuck in traffic—literally and figuratively.

 3. Digital literacy – The missing key

You can’t monetise a stream if you don’t know how to upload a song properly, tag your metadata, or pitch to playlists. Many artistes, especially those outside major cities, struggle with the basic skills needed to survive in today’s music economy.

This gap extends beyond the artistes to their audiences. If fans don’t understand streaming or can’t afford the data, they won’t stream. They’ll Bluetooth. They’ll download from shady sites. And the artiste? Back to square one.

Workshops, tutorials, and real investment in tech education could change this—but for now, it’s still easier to find a sound engineer than a social media manager who knows how to build a music funnel.

 So What’s the Solution?

•           Boost Local Platforms: Local streaming services need funding, technical support, and strategic partnerships to compete on the global stage. Artists should be offered real incentives—not just "exposure."

•           Modernise Physical Sales: Merge digital and physical sales by integrating QR codes, mobile payments, and online orders into album launches and events.

•           Build Tech Fluency: From beatmakers to bloggers, the entire ecosystem needs digital upskilling. NGOs, private firms, and the government must invest in creative tech education.

•           Encourage Fair Policy: There’s a regulatory gap when it comes to royalties, copyright, and digital rights. Ghana’s laws must evolve to protect its creative economy.

 Final Chorus

Ghana’s music is rich, diverse, and ready for the world. But it can't live on vibes alone. Infrastructure, innovation, and education must harmonise if our artistes are to truly thrive. Until then, too many songs will remain unheard, unmonetised, and unappreciated—echoes of brilliance stifled by systemic silence.

So, to the policymakers, tech wizards, and cultural investors out there: this isn’t just noise. It’s a call to tune in.