By Mohammed Jallow
The Gambian music industry today stands at a delicate but dangerous threshold, a space where talent should bloom like a national garden, yet where egos now overshadow purpose. It is an arena that ought to echo with harmony, but increasingly resounds with rivalry, suspicion, and silent hostility. Music, which was meant to be a bridge across generations, tribes, and social classes, is gradually transforming into a field of contest where pride replaces principle and ambition displaces solidarity.
What we are witnessing is not healthy competition but a culture of antagonism between artist and artist, between promoters and musicians, and between managers and the very talents they claim to represent. The industry has drifted from its noble calling of storytelling, healing, and nation building into a climate of envy, manipulation, and emotional warfare. In this environment, success is no longer measured by artistic excellence but by proximity to power and access to influence.
One of the most troubling realities is the abuse of authority by some promoters and managers who have positioned themselves as gatekeepers of opportunity. They determine who is heard and who is silenced, who is celebrated and who is condemned to obscurity. In a country as small and fragile as The Gambia, where platforms are limited and resources scarce, such control becomes cultural oppression. Dreams are delayed, talents are discouraged, and creativity is suffocated before it matures.
Some promoters have forgotten the meaning of promotion and replaced it with manipulation. Some managers have abandoned guidance and embraced exploitation. Contracts are signed in confusion, payments are delayed or denied, intellectual property is treated as personal property, and loyalty is demanded without respect. Young artists enter the industry with passion and leave with bitterness, disillusioned, financially broken, and emotionally wounded. This is no longer an industry of growth but a cycle of emotional extraction.
There is also the complex question of Senegalese influence. Cultural exchange is natural and regional integration is healthy. West Africa has always been a shared cultural ecosystem where rhythms and languages flow freely. However, when collaboration turns into domination, when Gambian artists become strangers on their own stages, when foreign acts receive priority over local voices, then cultural exchange mutates into cultural dependency. Respect for Senegalese legends like Youssou N’Dour should never translate into Gambian inferiority. The Gambian music industry must not become a shadow of Dakar. It must stand with its own spine, voice, and vision.
Equally painful is the memory of tribal sentiment that once poisoned parts of the music space. Artists were judged not by skill but by surname. Fan bases were divided along ethnic lines. Cultural pride degenerated into cultural prejudice. That chapter should have been buried forever, yet its spirit still whispers in alliances, promotions, and selective recognition. Tribalism in music is a betrayal of both art and nation. A melody does not recognice ethnicity. A rhythm does not carry a tribe. A microphone does not speak a language of division.
This is why artists like ST remain symbolically important. They represent a higher calling of music as social conscience. They sing not just for entertainment but for unity, peace, and collective healing. They remind us that Mandinka, Wolof, Fula, Jola, Serahuleh, Aku, Manjago, and all others share one cultural destiny. These artists are not merely performers but cultural diplomats, emotional architects, and guardians of national memory.
The Gambian music industry does not need more fame. It needs more ethics. It does not need more influencers. It needs more institutions. It does not need louder voices. It needs stronger structures. Without functional associations, transparent copyright systems, fair promoters’ unions, legal protections for artists, and independent platforms, the industry will remain chaotic, where mediocrity survives through connections and brilliance struggles through silence.
To the artists, rivalry should never become hatred. Competition should inspire growth, not sabotage. Collaboration should be a ladder, not a trap. The success of another artist is not your failure. It is evidence that success exists within reach.
To the promoters, you are custodians of cultural space, not owners of destiny. Your influence must empower, not intimidate. Fairness, transparency, and professionalism must replace favoritism and manipulation. The stage belongs to the people, not to your ego.
To the managers, your duty is protection, not possession. You are entrusted with dreams, not entitled to exploit them. Teach artists financial literacy, contractual awareness, and self respect. Do not turn guidance into control.
To the media, stop commercializing conflict. Stop manufacturing controversies for relevance. Stop amplifying insults over innovation. Criticism should refine art, not destroy artists.
To the state and cultural institutions, music is not mere entertainment. It is youth employment, national identity, cultural diplomacy, and psychological therapy. Invest in it. Regulate it. Protect it. Structure it.
And to the fans, admiration must not become blind worship. Support talent, not toxicity. Celebrate creativity, not chaos.
The Gambian music industry must decide its future. Whether it will be a market of egos or a movement of minds. Whether it will be a battlefield of jealousy or a brotherhood of creativity. Whether it will echo tribal echoes or sing a national anthem of unity.
Music remains one of the few spaces where The Gambia can speak honestly to itself without politics, without religion, without fear. To corrupt that space with hatred is to damage one of the last mirrors of our collective soul. When art fails to unite, it loses its highest moral purpose.
