New Music on the Radar June 21 (Buruklyn Boyz, Jovial & Otile Brown, Toxic Lyrilali and Gwaash)

Welcome to the June 20 edition of New Music on the Radar, where we track the pulse of Kenya’s evolving soundscape. This week’s roundup offers a diverse sonic buffet — from the sharpened symbolism of Buruklyn Boyz’s Machete, to the heartfelt vows exchanged in Jovial and Otile Brown’s wedding anthem I Got You. Toxic Lyrikali rides a Jamaican riddim into Nairobi’s lived reality on Backbencher, while Gwaash teams up with Iano Ranking and MASTAR VK for a raw gengetone club scorcher in Ukipatana. It’s a collection that cuts across genres and moods, threading together swagger, sentiment, struggle, and celebration

Machete – Buruklyn Boyz

If there’s one thing Buruklyn Boyz have mastered over the years, it’s reinvention without compromise. Machete doesn’t just announce a return — it declares a shift. This isn’t the combative, street-mob aesthetic of their East Mpaka Londondebut. Instead, the duo lean into a subtler kind of violence, weaponizing the metaphorical machete to explore the sharpness of image, of success, and of self-awareness. “Drip inakata shing shing kama machete,” croons Mr. Right on the hook, his deeper register lending a weight to the title line. The machete here is symbolic — not of street brawls, but of stylistic precision, of brand clarity, of success that slices through doubt like a sharpened blade.

Ajay opens with the poise of a man who has lived through noise and chosen silence. No longer embroiled in the drill rivalries that defined their early rise — particularly with the likes of GTA — he raps with practiced cool: “Na siku hizi sibongi mob nawacha dooh yangu itete / Me sibishani nao nawacha dooh yangu icheke. “His bars are surgical, emphasizing how financial wins are now his only rebuttal. Referencing his Set It feature with Dyana Cods, he spits “Ukidai nikuwekee verse itabidi ulipe madollare,” asserting his rate card in a market where collabs are now currency. Mr. Right’s second verse is more visceral — he transports us into a raucous studio-party hybrid, rapping “expensive smoke leo huskii tunmezesha “and “hiyo doba inamezesha ma-neighbours wanatetesha.” There’s bravado, but it’s seasoned — less about domination, more about celebration.

The production, helmed originally by UK-based Wednesday Beats and finalized by Clue Ashaivisha Track, rides the wave of soft drill. The instrumental is a careful balance of contrasts: a synthesized keyboard sample running parallel to softened 808s that skip, rather than pound. Where early Buruklyn tracks came out swinging, Machete saunters in with intent. Its pacing is deliberate — slowed BPMs, lower-pitched bass, and doubled melodies that smoothen the listening experience. The result is a textured beat that doesn’t threaten but compels. Visually, too, the duo depart from their earlier confrontational videos. Gone are the neighborhood huddles and uniformed bandanas. Shot by Adibogo and edited by Tn Zethy, the video’s windmill setting signals evolution. They’ve outgrown GTA beefs and territorial color-coding. They’re not proving themselves anymore ,they’re building legacy.

The cultural impact of Machete lies precisely in its restraint. Buruklyn Boyz are now elder statesmen of Kenyan drill. They no longer need to shout to be heard. Their earlier anthems, steeped in Drill bravado, created a movement, but Machete affirms that they are no longer a movement in motion — they are the blueprint. By choosing subtlety, they open new doors for the genre, carving out space for drill to mature. In stepping back, they’ve pulled the entire scene forward.

I Got You – Jovial & Otile Brown

Jovial and Otile Brown don’t just sing of love, they enact it — assuming the personas of lovers in the midst of exchanging vows, their voices tethered by affection, commitment, and the joy of togetherness. The track opens with each of them renouncing other suitors with gentle finality. Otile croons, “Kuna paka wengi mjini ila mama sio wewe / uamuzi bora niliofanya ni mi kuwa na wewe” and Jovial, replying in kind, sings “Kuna madanga wengi mjini Ila baba sio wewe / kama sio wewe mie bora niwe mwenyewe”. It’s a mutual letting-go of the world — and a holding-on to each other.The lovers’ dialogue is stylized in the tradition of ngonjera — that call-and-response poetry structure drawn from Swahili classical verse and often deployed in Bongo Flava. But instead of a conflict of wills or dramatic confrontation, the exchange is tender, affirming, and warm. The chorus, simple yet potent, is repeated like a kibwagizo: “I got you baby”, ending with Jovial’s resonant assurance in a deep alto, “wala usiwaze ni mi nawe hadi tamati.” The second verse adds depth — Jovial promises not just love but companionship through adversity: “shida zangu zako na zako zangu / mzigo nipee niutweke tunapokezana.” Her invocation of divine blessing gives the song an almost liturgical gravity. Together, they harmonize in the closing line: “I’d rather be with you in this cold world,” bringing the ceremony to a close, before returning to a bridge that recalls the vows of the first verse.

The production by veteran Bongo sound-smith Vicky Pon Dis is restrained and elegant — a slow-paced R&B instrumental that carries a touch of celebratory warmth. Electric guitars shimmer through the track, laid over a synthesized keyboard that gently mirrors the melodic flow. A second guitar loop with a slightly elevated pitch peeks through near the ends of phrases, weaving with a digital flute mimic. The rhythmic structure is built around softly deployed trap 808s — fast but hushed — while spacious and heavy drum thuds give the track a ceremonial pace, as if timed to match the steps of a couple walking down an aisle.

I Got You extends beyond the musical — it’s a reaffirmation of Jovial and Otile Brown’s collaborative chemistry, a bond that has weathered the transitions of individual careers and grown only more textured with time. Their history is long and well-loved: from Mi Amor to Jeraha, theirs has been a love story not just told in lyrics, but lived in harmonies. In this latest offering, the stakes feel higher and the sentiment more sacred. It’s not just a duet — it’s a declaration. And for a Kenyan audience attuned to both the emotional swell of Bongo and the intricacies of local storytelling, I Got You offers both sentiment and ceremony. It crowns their partnership with a vow of continuity, allowing listeners to believe, if only for a moment, that love really is a mutual promise worth making.

Backbencher – Toxic Lyrikali

Backbencher is the kind of track that proves how a clever rapper can carry street wisdom into the dancehall, flipping metaphors like poker cards. On the surface, it plays like a toast to late bloomers — a salute to those who may have trailed behind in school but found their stride in the world. But for Toxic Lyrikali, it’s not just a boast; it’s biography. “Chuo tuliwai E, sai nawazoza na S-class”, he raps with pride, spinning academic underachievement into a symbol of his musical ascent. What once made him a classroom backbencher now makes him a backseat boss, cruising in a German machine, not just for flash, but as proof of where the grind can get you.

There’s a strong thread of loyalty running through the song — the kind of code that governs many Nairobi hoods. “(Phone) number ni jamo sijawai badilisha” is not just a lyric, it’s a manifesto of staying grounded. He’s still moving with his day-ones, still avoiding strangers: “Convoy gari inaongoza ni defender / strangers zii, strictly inakuwanga members.” The charm of Toxic’s lyricism lies in the everyday specificity of it all — the unforced storytelling. He brags about his hustle without blurring into clichés, rapping, “Chase cash bila short cut / but road ikiwa na jam natumia wrong turn, very sure hatuwezi crush.” There’s hustle, there’s humour, and there’s unbothered cool. His second verse is leaner, more direct — weaponizing metaphors of violence as symbolic warnings to industry competitors. He closes out with a chant-like bridge, repeating “Backbencher ndani ya S-class” until it burns into memory.

What sets this track apart is the unexpected fusion of Kenyan street rap and Jamaican riddim culture. The beat rides on the Fast & Furious Riddim, one of Countree Hype’s latest concoctions, known for its bouncy, punchy dancehall backbone and clean melodic layering. Countree Hype, famed for crafting riddims that can hold dozens of vocal interpretations, provides a high-energy but versatile canvas that allows Toxic Lyrikali’s gritty voice and confident cadence to land with ease. The quick-step 808s keep the pace agile, while deep bass kicks hold it grounded, offering just enough space for a Nairobi story to ride the Kingston wave without losing its identity. That this song shares a riddim with Jamaican giants like Intence and Jahvillani only makes Toxic’s versioning a bold move.

Culturally, Backbencher is a quiet revolution. It shows how the global logic of riddim culture ,with its roots in 1960s dub and modern incarnations in dancehall ,can still accommodate hyper-local narratives. Toxic Lyrikali proves that a Kayole story can ride a Jamaican riddim and not feel out of place. His use of backbenching as a double entendre, his loyalty anthems to the hood, and his unpolished delivery all resonate with urban Kenyan youth looking for reflection without polish. It’s a song that doesn’t just talk the talk — it swerves in the wrong lane, in an S-Class, and dares you to catch up.

Ukipatana – Gwaash featuring MASTAR VK & Iano Ranking

There’s no pretense in Ukipatana — it’s a straight-up, no-frills street banger that arrives dripping with the sweat of downtown Nairobi nightlife. Gwaash, ever the connoisseur of Kenya’s gengetone ethos, teams up with Iano Ranking and MASTAR VK to deliver a track that is both celebration and confession. The chorus makes its mission clear from the start: “Ukipatana na mimi, labda zimeshuka ama zinaenda kushika.” It’s a nod to the high of the moment — that chemically-induced edge that often defines many urban party nights. Whether the substances are “shuka” (coming down) or “kushika” (about to kick in), the vibe is already lit.

Iano Ranking sets things in motion with a playful pre-hook, casting himself as the party’s designated troublemaker: “Pretty gal si tupige kamenje / gangsta calling so usinizimie tenje.” His tone is smooth, sly — drawing the listener into the mood before Gwaash fully takes over. In the first verse, Gwaash turns his gaze to a lady in a mini skirt, balancing desire with casual intoxication. “Sijui nikuset ama leo umejipini / Niko maji kwenye bukla / Kwenye jug na makugla,” he raps, evoking the blurred lines between flirtation and inebriation. Iano returns in the second verse with clever braggadocio. His composure, he claims, is always intact: “Ukipatana na mi mi haziwezi kamshow.” There’s humour too, especially when he flips a classic gengetone punchline with, “Peng akona kipara ndio nasuka mimi,” playing on the double entendre of nasuka — both a flirtatious advance and the act of braiding hair.

The production reflects the best of modern gengetone’s adaptability. Beat Kidd, Jojay Bless, and CAPO TO DI TOP merge traditional dancehall rhythmic structures with light, rapid 808s that lend the track a lively kick. The keyboard’s synthesized melody loops atop a high-pitched flute, while electric guitars and soft piano lines enter during the verses, ensuring the lyrics are not lost in the noise. MASTAR VK’s inclusion on chorus duties — though he doesn’t contribute a full verse — adds credibility and familiarity. His name alone brings street weight, likely a strategic move to bridge commercial appeal and street loyalty.

Ukipatana is more than a club song — it’s a dispatch from Nairobi’s youth underground. Gwaash’s declaration, “Leo siko uptown, niko downtown,” is both geographical and symbolic. It places the song within the often overlooked but vibrantly expressive spaces of the city — places where music is not just entertainment but survival, resistance, and therapy. As gengetone makes a resurgence after the pandemic-era boom, Ukipatana stands as proof that its raw, unpolished honesty still matters. By leaning into its signature grit — unfiltered lyrics, street references, hyperlocal slang — the song continues the genre’s mission: to speak from Nairobi’s unvarnished soul.

Stoopidboy – Kawarm