BNXN just sampled Amadou & Mariam. But African artists have been sampling the continent’s archive for years. So why does this one feel different?
Let’s get something straight before we go any further: African artists sampling African music is not new. Burna Boy has sampled Fela Kuti so many times a Medium article exists just to count them. Tems won a Grammy off a Seyi Sodimu sample. Ayra Starr interpolated Wande Coal on “Jazzy’s Song.” Asake built “Active” around Adewale Ayuba’s fuji vocals. Flavour, Adekunle Gold, Tiwa Savage, Pheelz — the list of Nigerian artists who have dipped into the country’s own classics is long, and growing. So when Sample Chief flagged that BNXN’s latest single “Back Outside,” produced by Sarz and released April 2026, carries an interpolation of Amadou & Mariam’s “Ko Neye Mounka Allah La,” the Malian desert blues classic, the question isn’t “is this the first time Afrobeats has sampled Africa?” It isn’t. The question is why this particular interpolation feels like it crossed a line that most others haven’t.
If you map the sampling choices of the biggest Afrobeats artists over the past decade, a clear pattern emerges. The overwhelming majority of samples fall into two categories: Nigerian classics (Fela, Wande Coal, Seyi Sodimu, Styl-Plus, the Lijadu Sisters, Yinka Ayefele) and Western records (James Brown, Sade, Amerie, Mary J. Blige, Brick & Lace). The Nigerian-to-Nigerian pipeline is now firmly established. Burna Boy sampled Fela’s “Sorrow, Tears & Blood” for “Ye” (2018), “Shakara” for “My Money, My Baby” (2019), and “Lady” for “Boom Boom Boom.” Falz sampled “Coffin for Head of State” for “Amen” on his 2019 album Moral Instruction. Ghanaian rapper Sarkodie sampled Fela’s “Lady” for “Dumsor” in 2015. Tems’ “Love Me Jeje” (2024), sampling Seyi Sodimu’s 1997 classic, won the Grammy for Best African Music Performance. Ayra Starr interpolated Wande Coal and D’banj’s “You Bad” on “Jazzy’s Song,” and sampled the Lijadu Sisters’ “Orere Elegibo” on “Sare.” Fireboy DML interpolated Musiliu Haruna Ishola’s 2000 song “Ise Oluwa Ko Seni Toye” on “Iseoluwa.” ID Cabasa reassembled Styl-Plus’s “Olufunmi” with Fireboy, Joeboy, and ODUMODUBLVCK. Pheelz sampled both Rasheed Ayinde and Jazzman Olofin on “Majo.” And Rema’s 2025 single “Baby (Is It A Crime)” sampled Sade Adu, British-Nigerian, but still pointing the arrow back home.
This is all welcome. As music journalist Joey Akan told African Arguments, Nigerian artists “weren’t able to step off from sampling foreign musicians or other African artists” partly because earlier generations of Nigerian music were “tied up in Europe, and America. Tied up with people who came here in the seventies and did deals with content.” Time has passed. Records have aged into Nigerian-owned territory. The clearing of domestic samples is now commercially viable. And the results have been extraordinary, an entire generation reconnecting with its own sonic heritage.
But here’s the gap. Look at that list again. Almost every sample is Nigerian-to-Nigerian. When Afrobeats reaches outside Nigeria, it’s typically to the West: American R&B, British soul, Jamaican dancehall. The rare exception is Burna Boy’s interpolation of Magic System’s “1er Gaou” on “On The Low” (2018) and his use of Angélique Kidjo’s “We We” on “Anybody,” both from the African Giant album, both involving Francophone West African artists (Ivorian and Beninese, respectively). That album was explicitly Pan-African in its ambition. Sample Chief even broke down the full list. But those crossings remain rare in the broader landscape.
The Anglophone-Francophone divide in West African music is real and largely unspoken. Lagos and Abidjan are separated by less than 700 kilometres, but they might as well be in different hemispheres musically. Bamako is even further from the Lagos ear. The Sahel (Mali, Niger, Burkina Faso) has one of the richest musical traditions anywhere on the planet: Mande griot heritage, Bambara rhythms, Tuareg guitar, desert blues. It has produced globally celebrated artists in Amadou & Mariam, Ali Farka Touré, Tinariwen, Salif Keita, and Oumou Sangaré. And yet, until Sarz decided to build a beat around an Amadou & Mariam record and hand it to BNXN, the Sahelian archive had been essentially untouched by Afrobeats producers.
Lagos and Abidjan are separated by less than 700 kilometres, but they might as well be in different hemispheres musically.
For Moveee readers who don’t know the source material: Amadou Bagayoko and Mariam Doumbia were a Malian husband-and-wife duo who met at the Bamako Institute for the Young Blind in 1976. Both were blind: she from measles as a young child, he from a congenital cataract as a teenager. They married in 1980 and formed a musical partnership that would last over four decades. Their music sat at the intersection of rock, blues, and Bambara tradition. Where Mariam drew from Mali’s ancient jeli tradition, Amadou found inspiration in Jimi Hendrix, Pink Floyd, and Eric Clapton. From the late 1990s, they produced music that mixed traditional Malian sound with rock guitars, Syrian violins, Cuban trumpets, Egyptian ney, Indian tablas, and Dogon percussion, a synthesis described as Afro-Funk that predated most of what gets called genre-blending today.
They became globally known with their 2004 album Dimanche à Bamako, produced by Manu Chao. Their 2008 album Welcome to Mali, featuring collaborations with Damon Albarn and K’naan, was nominated for a Grammy. Their song “Sabali” hit number 15 on Pitchfork’s Top 100 Best Tracks of 2008 and became the most-played French single worldwide in 2009. They performed at Glastonbury, Coachella, and Lollapalooza. They played alongside David Gilmour, supported Coldplay, and were selected by Matt Groening for All Tomorrow’s Parties. They recorded an official song for the 2006 FIFA World Cup.
Amadou Bagayoko died in April 2025, aged 70. That his guitar now lives inside a 2026 Afrobeats single is not a trivial detail. It is a form of posthumous acknowledgement, flowers delivered through an interpolation rather than a eulogy.
Sarz is not a producer who works by accident. One of the most celebrated in Nigeria, he produced Asake’s “Active” (itself a major sample record in 2024, built around Adewale Ayuba’s vocals with Mike Dean co-producing). He understands what a sample does structurally inside a record. “Back Outside” combines BNXN’s Afro-fusion sensibility with Sarz’s refined production style, resulting in a mid-tempo, rhythm-driven record with indigenous choral elements running through it. The choice to anchor that architecture in an Amadou & Mariam interpolation was deliberate. It reaches for a texture, warm, unhurried, Sahelian, that cannot be replicated by a VST plugin or a Lagos session musician. That sound only exists in that archive.
The reason the Amadou & Mariam interpolation works isn’t sentimentality. It’s musicality. Amadou’s bluesy guitar playing and Mariam’s smooth vocals contain a particular emotional frequency, something rooted in Bambara rhythm, shaped by Cuban influence, filtered through Parisian exile, that sits beneath a contemporary Afrobeats production the way the best samples always do: you can’t always name it, but you feel it holding the whole thing up.
This is where the story gets bigger than one record. If Afrobeats sampling has graduated from “Always Fela” to “Nigerian classics from every era,” and from “Always American R&B” to “Sade and Brick & Lace too,” the next frontier is clearly the continental archive that sits between and beyond those reference points. Congolese rumba from the 1960s. Ethiopian jazz from the Haile Selassie era. Cameroonian Bikutsi. The Afro-Cuban hybrids from newly independent Mali and Guinea in the 1970s. The cassette explosion in Côte d’Ivoire in the 1980s, the same scene where Amadou & Mariam built their early following before Paris came calling.
Labels like Analog Africa have spent nearly twenty years excavating this material, master tapes and cassettes from across the continent, a heritage of funk, Afrobeat, psychedelic rock, and soul. As Analog Africa founder Samy Ben Redjeb has said: “African music is a goldmine for sampling. And I am not saying this to please you, it’s something I truly believe.” The discomforting reality is that for much of the last two decades, it was European labels doing this archaeological work, pressing rare groove compilations for Western ears. The artists and their descendants saw little. The producers who might have used those sounds in Lagos or Accra didn’t even know they existed.
That’s changing. The Burna Boy precedent on African Giant, which pulled from Magic System (Côte d’Ivoire), Angélique Kidjo (Benin), Fela (Nigeria), Stereoman, and Ududo Nnobi across a single album, was an early, deliberate statement. Fally Ipupa’s 2026 album XX featured Wizkid on “Jam,” blending Congolese soukous with Afrobeats in a way that felt like a genuine meeting of equals. Angélique Kidjo and Ayra Starr collaborated on “Aye Kan” in March 2026. Kizz Daniel’s “Police,” featuring Angélique Kidjo and Johnny Drille, even had Kidjo sampling her own 1994 classic “Agolo” in the chorus. The walls between African music industries are being tested from several directions at once.
Bamako is not further from Lagos than Detroit. It never was. The distance was cultural, linguistic, and commercial, not geographic.
The next Afrobeats producer to go deep into the continental archive, not a surface nod but a real excavation, will not just make a good record. They will shift the conversation about what the genre’s sonic palette is and where its influences are permitted to come from. As one commentator put it, sampling in Afrobeats at its best “goes beyond replicating old tunes; it involves a creative reinterpretation that breathes new life into traditional rhythms and melodies.”
Scholars have begun drawing parallels between music crate diggers and the custodians of the ancient Manuscripts of Timbuktu, both engaged in a form of cultural archaeology, excavating fragments of history that hold keys to the future. It is a grand comparison, but not unreasonable. Every time a Malian guitar line resurfaces inside a Lagos production, it rewrites, quietly, briefly, powerfully, the story of where African music comes from and where it is going.
BNXN and Sarz didn't invent African-on-African sampling. They didn't need to. What they did was cross a border that most Afrobeats producers haven't, from Anglophone Nigeria into Francophone Sahelian Mali, from lagoon to desert, from Wande Coal's Lagos to Amadou Bagayoko's Bamako. That crossing is the story. Not because it's the first, but because it signals what's possible when producers start treating the entire continent, its languages, its geographies, its buried archives, as the crate.
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