Yariasu feels weighed down by an overextended formula and, more troublingly, marred by puzzling sonic choices that dull the impact of Nyashinski’s craft.
By Frank Njugi
In the story of Kenyan music, the 2000s were a volatile yet fertile period. The nation’s urban sound was still sketching out its grammar, shifting from the imported echoes of American Hip-Hop and R&B towards something more lived-in, distinctly Kenyan. Out of that ferment emerged Genge and Kapuka, sibling styles that went on to define the decade. If Genge belonged to Jua Cali and Nonini, then Kapuka’s most magnetic ambassadors were the group Kleptomaniax.
The trio of Roba (Robert Manyasa), Collo (Collins Majale), and Nyashinski (Nyamari Ongegu) embodied a new swagger in Nairobi’s soundscape, popularising Kapuka not just as a beat, but as a lifestyle and a shorthand for a generation stepping into its own urban modernity.
Their debut album, M4E (Maniax Forever), arrived in 2005, a pop manifesto dressed in Nairobi slang and youthful bravado. That same year, they became the first Kenyan act to earn an MTV Europe Music Award nomination for Best African Act, an acknowledgment that the sound of Nairobi nightclubs could stand alongside Lagos and Johannesburg. (The award went to Nigeria’s 2Face Idibia, but the nomination itself was a milestone: Kenya was firmly on the continental map.)
By the time their second album, NITT (Now Is The Time), landed in 2009, the energy had shifted. Audiences were restless; global pop was reshaping itself, and so was Nairobi. Soon after, the group dissolved, each member pursuing individual paths. For years, it seemed like a closed chapter—until 2016, when Nyashinski re-emerged as a solo act, his comeback becoming one of the most successful and culturally resonant in recent Kenyan music.
Nyashinski’s return announced itself with “Now You Know”, a track pulsing with bravado, a declaration that time away had dulled neither his craft nor his charisma. Soon after came “Malaika”, tender where its predecessor was triumphant, suggesting an artist unafraid to slip into romance without losing stature. Together, the two singles mapped out the poles of his solo persona: swagger and sentiment. Over the nine years since that comeback, his catalogue has largely orbited these twin gravities, his music moving fluidly between the boast and the ballad.
That formula reached its fullest expression on his 2020 debut solo album, Lucky You, where Nyashinski’s sharpened lyrical instincts and songwriting range came fully to the fore. The record moved with deliberate duality: lighter, buoyant cuts sat alongside grittier street anthems, sustaining that now-familiar balance between the boast and the ballad.
But formulas, no matter how effective, eventually risk exhaustion. Audience fatigue creeps in, and what once felt fresh begins to echo itself. Nyashinski’s 2024 EP, Gold Old Days, hinted at the first cracks (if the grumblings on social media were any measure), and To Whom It May Concern, released later that year, did little to silence them.
His latest full-length, Yariasu, confirms both the promise and the problem: Nyashinski remains one of Kenya’s finest lyricists and songwriters, yet Yariasu feels weighed down by an overextended formula and, more troublingly, marred by puzzling sonic choices that blunt the impact of his craft.
The boast and the ballad announce themselves from the very first track. Yariasu opens with “Legendary”, a slow-moving ballad built on a restrained, almost meditative sonic palette. Its surface suggests tenderness, but the lyrics pivot quickly to bravado, a declaration of legacy, of stature. In other words, the boast is cloaked in the garments of the ballad.
From the outset, “Legendary” feels like foreshadowing, a prelude to Yariasu’s recurring tug-of-war. Tracks such as “Dubai” and “Wine” extend the motif: boasts dressed as ballads, where declarations of stature masquerade as love songs. Elsewhere, “Elegance”, “Fresh”, and “Celebrate Life” deliver the boast without disguise, leaning into chest-thumping confidence over beats that should feel triumphant but instead buckle under the weight of repetition.
“Elegance” and “Celebrate Life” ride on African traditional beat choices that ought to inject vitality, but instead feel ornamental. Across the project, production choices are glossy but predictable—polished yet strangely hollow—and they expose the limits of Nyashinski’s formula: he is recycling grandeur rather than reinventing it.
“Don’t Play With My Money” finds Nyashinski at his most one-dimensional, a propulsive beat carrying lyrics that barely stretch beyond the title itself. “P.I.C (Partner in Crime)” chases the same energy, a mid-tempo groove softened into a ballad but weighed down by the same recycled lyrical breath heard on “Dubai” and “Wine”. “Good Message” treads similar ground, though its brighter, more layered production and steadier rhythm at least grant it a measure of sonic charm that the others lack.
Yariasu’s strongest moments arrive when Nyashinski leans into his rapping. “Tai Chi”, positioned as the lead single, stands out sharply: its production is crisp and muscular, easily miles ahead of the rest. Here, the boast reigns supreme, but for onc,e the sonic architecture matches the swagger, giving his lyricism a stage worthy of its force.
Similarly, “M.I.A (Missing in Action)” excels in much the same way, its tighter production and hook-driven urgency hinting at what Yariasu might have been had Nyashinski trusted more in his rap instincts than the recycled formula.
On “Grateful” and the closer “Becoming”, flashes of versatility appear—echoes of the humility that once anchored Nyashinski’s solo gems like “Mungu Pekee”. These are moments where the bravado softens, and the artist seems willing to trade swagger for grounded reflection. Yet even here, the resonance is uneven: “Becoming” gestures towards sincerity, while “Grateful” buckles under a formulaic beat that dulls what might have been Yariasu’s most human offering.
Repetition in art isn’t a crime; in fact, it is often the essence of identity. Every great artist carries a formula, a way of bending the world until it speaks in their voice. We think of it less as recycling and more as a signature. Nyashinski’s boast-and-ballad dialect is, in that sense, his fingerprint. But when the formula begins to harden—when it calcifies into habit rather than invention—the signature becomes a stamp, and the listener begins to feel processed rather than provoked.
Still, judged by the body of work across the past decade, Nyashinski remains one of the most prolific artists Kenya has produced. Even when the formula shows its seams, the sheer consistency of his output affirms a career that has already shaped, and will likely continue to shape, the grammar of Kenyan pop.
And yet, if Nyashinski insists on calling himself “Legendary”, as he does on Yariasu’s opening track, then the burden is his to prove it anew. Legends are not made by formula; they are forged in the risk of shedding skin, of stepping into the unfamiliar and daring the audience to follow. The boast has carried him this far, the ballad has softened his edges, but reinvention may be what decides whether his name endures beyond the playlists of a generation.
Lyricism – 1.0
Tracklisting – 1.0
Sound Engineering – 0.6
Vocalisation – 1.3
Listening Experience – 0.8
Rating – 4.7/10
Frank Njugi, an award-winning Kenyan Writer, Culture journalist and Critic, has written on the East African and African culture scene for platforms such as Debunk Media, Republic Journal, Sinema Focus, Culture Africa, Drummr Africa, The Elephant, Wakilisha Africa, The Moveee, Africa in Dialogue, Afrocritik and others.