You would be forgiven for thinking we are in February after going through the songs we have highlighted today. The meme has been about recession indicators recently, but quickly ask your preferred chat bot if the release of love songs is any way related to recession. The brash no nonsense Femi One of all people is surprisingly in her lover girl era and recruits the reigning queen of love songs Njerae as well as Brandy Maina for Sema, a track inspired by her newfound lover, the actor Brahim Ouma. Teslah vocalizes on a Vic West beat how doesn’t mind being called any day, anytime as time as she is not single any more. Breeder LW recruits Tipsy Gee and invites Afropop duo Watendawili into the land of Abarntone where they declare love for the Wasupa of the city. After nearly quitting music because of a rafty video director who is at large with his money, Denzel Kong feeds his hungry fans with a playful genre defying Ni Ngori produced by Lemario.
Wasupa by Breeder LW, Tipsy Gee, and Watendawili
Wasupa doesn’t walk into the party—it struts in with sunglasses on, head high, and an undeniable Nairobi swagger. Set against a nostalgic Abarntone beat marked by chopped-up samples, 2000s-style drum kits, and a polish that’s uniquely 2025. At its heart, it’s an ode to beauty and geography—an anthem for Nairobi’s pretty girls and the neighborhoods that raise them. “Wasupa kila area code, Kilimani hadi Inner-core,” the chorus proclaims proudly, calling the roll on a city of love interests. That cheeky chant, “wapanasu wapanasu wapanasu,” is more than just ear candy—it taps into a deeper Kenyan tradition of playful linguistic invention, echoing poetic licenses found in classical Swahili poetry that allows for interchanging of syllables to achieve rhyming as well as the addition of extra syllables to achieve the sixteen syllable quota required of each line. This tradition has been picked up by the modern-day sheng manipulations of gengetone pioneers like Mbogi Genje who promote versions like shembeteng and shembetezzo.
Breeder LW opens his verse with all the flair you’d expect from an UnKut Hiphop Awards winner. Swaggering through bars with punch and cheek, he raps, “Sina hizo za Diddy naskuwamga msupa-terrian / Rangi imeshika Njoki amekaa kama Caucasian,” tossing shade and flexing range all in one breath. Tipsy Gee, an Abarntone darling, delivers a verse dripping in local romance and risqué humour. He paints a city-wide map of his lovers, quipping, “huku, kule na huko naona ma madam karibu nipige nduru,” and cheekily warns, “Buda niko rampage, kama una wako chunga nisi zoom.” That line does double duty, referencing both his libidinous character and tipping his hat to Breeder’s recent track Rampage, a track that is highly cosiderd among hiphop heads and critics buut its viewership has not quite oicked up as is expected from Breeder. Then come Watendawili—the Afropop tourists who somehow feel perfectly at home. Ywaya Tajiri and Israel Onyach bring their signature wit and poetic clarity to the final verse. “Wasupa ni wengi, I can’t remember,” they jest, before plunging into even cheekier territory with, “Usidharau kitu ndogo kabla ujue utamu wa mihogo.” Their delivery balances rakish humour with lyrical dexterity, closing their verse with a charm offensive only they could pull off.
Culturally, “Wasupa” isn’t just another hit—it’s a mirror. It captures Nairobi’s many dialects, its flirtation rituals, and the shifting shapes of urban sound. The fusion of Gengetone-rooted slang, Swahili poetic traditions, and pan-Nairobi shoutouts marks it as a sonic passport for the city’s youth. Watendawili’s inclusion—despite their Afropop origins—highlights the fluidity of Kenya’s genre lines, while Breeder and Tipsy Gee continue to assert Abarntone’s grip on the local airwaves.
Sema by Femi One, Brandy Maina, and Njerae
If Wasupa is the soundtrack for city-wide flirtation, Sema is its intimate counterpoint—a slow-burning confession of love in the spotlight. In this soulful ballad, three of Kenya’s most distinctive female voices come together to remind us that softness, too, can be powerful. The track opens with Brandy Maina, who sets the tone with an almost childlike vulnerability: “Is it true that you like me, what you do you entice me?” Her voice glides over So Fresh’s acoustic-rich instrumental, which leans into natural guitars and subtle 808s. The arrangement creates a cozy atmosphere where affection can thrive without performance. Brandy wastes no time shedding fear, declaring, “Boy you can cool my dilemma, I don’t even mind chenye watu watasema”—a line that establishes Sema‘s core theme that love, even under public scrutiny, deserves to be enjoyed unapologetically.
Njerae steps in next, and as expected from Kenya’s reigning queen of love songs, her verse is heartfelt and melodic. She sings with wide-eyed gratitude, “Juu mimi siamini ulinichagua mimi kunipenda, njoo nitakupenda,” expressing disbelief at being chosen and a readiness to reciprocate. Her verse is filled with cinematic references, a nod the to the pubi romance of Femi One and actor Brahim Ouma—“Naaaa sio siri tukiwa wawili wanapenda, tutwapa sinema”—positioning love as both genuine emotion and social spectacle. But it’s Femi One’s verse that truly anchors Sema in the now. Known for her brash bars and gritty confidence, Femi One softens her delivery here, but not her punch. She uses medical imagery to de
scribe healing through love: “Dawa umenipea mbona sasa mimi niteme, napona trauma.” This isn’t weakness—it’s strength wrapped in warmth. With the line “Sitawai kutense vile tweeps wana comment,” she dismisses online commentary with grace, pledging instead to be present in love. As electric guitar riffs stagger in to mimic a hip-hop beat, she vows, “Wacha wakuje watuone tukisgn kwa kasisi,” turning a private relationship into a defiant public blessing.
The cultural weight of Sema is not lost on its listeners. The track is the standout from Femi One’s Uno Momento EP, and its announcement sparked a wave of excitement—partly because of the all-star female lineup, and partly because of its thematic shift. Fans were intrigued by Femi One’s pivot from high-energy rap to a gentler, romantic register, proving that vulnerability isn’t a detour for artists like her; it’s evolution.
Ni Ngori by Denzel Kong
If Ni Ngori is anything to go by, Denzel Kong is not just back—he’s booming. After months in the shadows and a public fall-out with video director King Khassidy, the Kitu Nono hitmaker returns with a track that’s both a middle finger to the silence and a celebration of his ability to move a crowd. Produced by Lemario, Ni Ngori is a genre-defying sonic fusion that refuses to sit neatly in any box. Instead, it pulses, sways, and swaggers across lofi, garage rap, and dancehall terrain—cooked up for fans who’ve long been waiting to feast.
The instrumental starts on a high-pitched synthetic guitar chord, one that might seem abrasive on its own, but which becomes addictive once looped with a bouncy synth. Lemario’s brilliance lies in his restraint: the 808s are fast but not too heavy, echoing dancehall’s rhythm without overwhelming the mix. A live bass guitar anchors everything, softening the sharpness and giving the beat a chewy, tactile feel. It’s the perfect base for Denzel Kong’s return—his deep, resonant voice sitting snugly against the groove like it never left.
While Ni Ngori masquerades as a simple dancefloor anthem, it carries emotional weight for longtime fans. The refrain “Dem sikujua ni ka naughty” is playful on the surface, but it’s the song’s structure—choppy, nonlinear, reliant on hooks rather than verses—that speaks volumes. It mirrors the chaotic headspace of an artist who almost gave up, now reclaiming his spotlight not through grand pronouncements but through vibes. And the vibes are potent.
In the post-choral hook, Kong repeats: “Slowly, jibambe jibambe ni ngori,” a hypnotic loop that builds tension and then cracks it open for the next wave of energy. His lyrics are cheeky—“She’s naughty and she’s thirsty, she’s always calling me daddy”—but his delivery is what elevates the track. The cadence is buoyant, intentionally keeping things flirtatious and unserious, all while riding the pocket of Lemario’s off-kilter beat.
Crucially, the song’s modular structure—more like stitched hooks than traditional verses—gives Ni Ngori a raw spontaneity. It’s not polished, it’s real. And that rawness is why it works. It sounds like a song made by an artist who had something to say, but decided instead to dance through the pain. Fans who remember the near-collapse of Kong’s career find catharsis in this looseness. After all, the man who nearly walked away is now back on the beat, cheeky as ever, and more in control than he’s ever sounded.
Call Me by Vic West & Teslah
In Call Me, renowned Kenyan producer Vic West joins forces with rising vocal powerhouse Teslah to deliver a captivating love song that pulses with the electricity of newfound romance. Best known for his genre-defying work on chart-toppers like Kuna Kuna, Vic West once again proves his mastery in creating immersive soundscapes. Here, he crafts an intimate, danceable beat that lets Teslah’s emotionally charged vocals take center stage. Built on a foundation of mild Amapiano rhythms fused with soft trap 808s, the production is subtle yet infectious. A looped keyboard melody echoes in the background, offering both rhythm and atmosphere.
Teslah assumes the persona of a woman utterly captivated by love’s promise. She sings with playful honesty and a vulnerability that feels instantly relatable. “You can call me on Thursday, call me on Friday, you can call me your girl,” she croons in the chorus—a declaration of openness and emotional readiness. Her verses deepen the narrative, revealing an obsession with her lover that she wears without shame. From confessing her desire to end the search for love—“I’m a single babe na staki kusaka anymore”—to proclaiming loyalty and a preference for her new love, and no one else. While Vic West stays behind the boards, his presence is deeply felt. His decision to avoid vocal contributions lets the instrumentation and Teslah’s performance breathe, adding to the song’s emotional weight. The interplay of Swahili/Sheng and English in the lyrics gives Call Me a multicultural richness, expanding its potential for cross-border appeal while grounding it in Kenyan urban culture.
The release also signals the continued rise of two of Kenya’s most compelling artists. Vic West’s recent signing to Universal Music Group East Africa underscores his growing global ambitions, while Teslah’s consistent stream of viral-ready, socially resonant hits makes her one to watch. Together, they embody the energy of a new generation of Kenyan musicians—bold, versatile, and unafraid to fuse global sounds with local stories.Call Me isn’t just a love song—it’s a reflection of where Kenyan pop is heading: intimate yet danceable, genre-fluid yet rooted, and always ready to connect emotionally with its listeners. It’s the kind of track destined to dominate radio playlists, fuel TikTok dance trends, and solidify the Vic West–Teslah alliance as one of the most exciting musical partnerships in East Africa today.
Written by Otieno Arudo
I come from a country that believes not in the rule of law but an understood construct of, it’s our turn to eat. Everybody knows it and those that are lucky do it. It’s our turn simply means that depending on the government in power, there is going to be a lot of money and opportunities available to those allied to the government in power. So for those that happen […]
