What Is Really Going On With May D
When May D first broke into the Nigerian music scene in the early 2010s, it felt like a star was being minted. Born Akinmayokun Awodumila, he rode a wave of hits that made him one of Afropop’s freshest voices. Tracks like Soundtrack and his collaboration with P-Square on Chop My Money gave him visibility across Africa and beyond.
With his smooth delivery and knack for catchy hooks, many tipped him to grow into the same global spotlight that soon caught Wizkid and Davido.
For a while, it seemed that prediction was right. He performed on big stages, toured widely, and built a reputation as an artist who could balance street appeal with radio polish. But that upward trajectory did not last. As Afrobeats exploded internationally, May D’s presence dimmed. While his peers climbed into stadiums and global festivals, his name began to appear less frequently on charts and lineups.
The reasons, as he tells them, were a mix of misfortune and mismanagement. Speaking on podcasts and in interviews, May D has recalled how negative remarks from industry colleagues created doubts about his marketability.
He has claimed investors pulled back at crucial moments, leaving him without the support needed to sustain momentum. “At my peak, I was bigger than Wizkid and Davido,” he once reflected, a statement that drew both sympathy and skepticism but underscored how quickly the ground shifted beneath him.
This month, those shifts were thrown back into the spotlight. May D’s performance at the Hushpuppi Cup, a community football tournament in Oworonshoki, Lagos, sparked viral debate after videos surfaced online. Supporters applauded him for embracing grassroots gigs and staying connected to fans who first lifted him up. Others, however, saw the setting, a small street stage, modest crowd, as a painful contrast to the superstar heights he once touched.
The conversation about that performance carried a sting of nostalgia. For many, it raised questions about how Nigerian music treats its once-prominent figures, and how fragile fame can be in a scene that produces new stars almost every season. Was this evidence of a career in decline, or simply an artist finding new ways to stay relevant?
May D himself appears unfazed. He often speaks about faith, prayer, and the need to accept what is not meant to be his. “I ask God to take anything that isn’t mine away from me,” he has said, framing his setbacks less as failures and more as a kind of spiritual pruning. It is a perspective that makes him harder to pin down: neither bitter, nor overly triumphant, just steady.
Yet, the questions remain. Can May D stage a comeback through new music, fresh management, or even nostalgia tours that capitalize on his early hits? Or is his story shifting into one of resilience outside the commercial limelight, an example of how artists navigate relevance in an industry that rarely slows down?
For now, May D is still performing, still recording, still present. Whether that presence grows again into influence or remains a quieter footnote in Afrobeats history may depend as much on the industry as on him. But one thing is certain: his journey continues to spark conversation, and that in itself keeps his name alive in Nigeria’s restless music culture.
