“Shrap over the rest”: The rise of a Kenyan genre for the youth, by the youth
“Shrap ni injili”
As a global phenomenon, rap music’s most popular sonic trends reaches beyond its origin point, inspiring inventive twists from artists thousands of miles away. In recent years, rap music in Kenya has made this form of creativity compelling, through its exploration, and eventual localisation of Trap and Drill. In comparison to Kenyan Drill, which only started finding its identity recently, the Kenyan iteration of Trap–colloquially referred to as Sharp–is an identifiable, vibrant and vital part of its rap scene.
According to pioneering artists like Musau Mumo, Jovie Jovv, Nziira and Boutross Munene, Shrap is Swahili and Trap fused with the main goal of representing the Kenyan lifestyle. These artists want to depict the wins and losses of an average Kenyan and from this, they coined Shraplife. Shrap yielded a culture filled with fashion, flamboyance, bravado, and nonchalance, backed by a sound that is equal parts sinister, exuberant, blunt and hard-hitting. It has been a driving force, especially in the urban peninsula of Nairobi City where the population is mainly young people.
In the sub-genre’s earlier days, Kenya’s mainstream was more tilted towards popular regional acts like Diamond Platnumz and farther international artists. It was not until 2017 that Shrap gained attention with the release of the visceral “Kiasi” by Jovie Jovv. The certified banger rampaged through the mainstream with Trap music’s characteristic 808s kick and the fuzzy voice delivery from the Shrap pioneer. To further amplify the single, Jovie Jovv, with the help of Fred Matunga, directed a searing video depicting a quintessential life on the streets that involved drugs. As “Kiasi” stamped the Shrap image in the scene, Jovie earned the gilded title of Shrap OG.
Even with this prime example, the content of a Shrap song isn’t limited to just trapping. Many artists in the scene also touch on the bleak standard of living in the hood, making detailed and sometimes affecting observations of life in the streets. For instance, “Tofauti/Different” by Boutross primarily touches on mental health, even circling in on suicide. These days, Boutross is seen as the image representing Shrap. A lanky fellow with a prolific output, he disregarded the old rap star metrics of greatness, like the use of heavy wordplay and sturdy flows, and instead perfected his art in storytelling.
Boutross started rapping at the age of 12, with his musical career kicking off later in 2013. With popular for hit songs such as “Yea Yea Yea” and “Story Ilianza,” he is Shrap’s most successful story yet. He managed to find his voice in his knack for emphasis and his aptitude for infectious vocal versatility, becoming an integral cog in Shrap morphing into a gargantuan beast and bypassing industry gatekeepers. In Nairobi, Shrappers and keen fans often say “Shrap is the gospel,” after Boutross’ legendary line, “Shrap ni injili.”
In 2019, Boutross became the first Kenyan artist to feature on the EmPawa100 initiative, receiving a $3000 grant to shoot the flashy music video for “Wrong,” a booming, Shrap slapper that would become a national hit and gain heavy airplay despite its gritty lyricism. Doubling up as a producer, Boutross has become a significant name in the music industry as a creatively restless artist. More than anyone, he has used the frictions of modern Hip-Hop to his advantage. All at one, he is a rapper and a singer, a raw emotional purger, a street-centric braggart and a hopeless romantic.
Boutross is idiosyncratic and identifiable enough that he’s become the go-to man for bold collaborations, teaming up with Nviiri the Storyteller on “Sin Thea,” and showing that Shrap has even bigger crossover potential. From finding his voice on 2018’s ‘Billy Jean’ EP to the scene-defining ‘6IXVIEWSII8K’ mixtape, which earned him the 2019 UnKut Hennessy HipHop Awards Best Male Artist, Boutross’ growth has not only cemented his music prowess, it has also mirrored the wondrous evolution of Shrap over the years.
The boom of Shrap culture goes beyond the glorification of good times and has a lot to do with the democratisation of new technologies. Shrap music with its three-note synths and overdose of Auto-Tune, spread from just Swahili to vernacular languages. Kenya’s Wuod Baba identifies as a Shrap artist spreading the Dholuo Trap. His discography shows that music is more than just a language but an emotion that brings people together through melodies. While new names continue to crop up in the scene, Kay Gren is a much smaller name that hovers around Shrap’s pioneer days. His unique rapping timbre is perhaps what set him apart when he first debuted on the scene. Known for his feature in the mega-smash hit “Kibare Kwa Face,” his current absence keeps his fans on the verge of their seats waiting for his comeback.
For Shrap, lack of airplay did not stop the eventual breakout with key players taking a DIY approach that’s clearly paying off. Musau Mumo teamed up with Boutross to form ADF, a label that consists of Shrap artists Boutross and Dope-I-Mean. While the music is clealry essential, the power players behind the label act as the driving force to the success of Shrap. The label offers services such as studio time, which is still an issue for most artists on the come up.
Musau also kickstarted Shrapnite, a showcase event for rising Shrap artists in and around Nairobi. There’s been about a half-a-dozen successful editions of Shrapnite since 2018 that have geared the recognition and growth of the genre, providing a platform to a medley of rappers, including NATIVE uNder alum Groovy Jo. One of the few female rap artists associated with Shrap, her flow, lyrical precision, and refusal to self-censor defines her growing catalogue. She is frank and outspoken about her sexuality and her desire while still commanding respect as a lyrical savant and dynamic rap artist.
As Shrap keeps evolving and with the sound becoming indelible to Kenyan youth culture, DJ’s have also played a great role in its continued proliferation. Dj Mawinch is a propelling force to the sound. Making numerous Shrap mixes, Mawinch has been pivotal in spreading the sound to his peers. Apart from that, he designs custom clothing pieces dubbed “Renots Apparel,” which is often seen in Shrap videos. For Mawinch, his role in Shrap is playing unheard creatives as he has become an icon in the industry. To varying degrees, other key DJ’s like DJ Abubaxter, DJ Hanuman, Magnum the DJ and GI Selects have also been monumental in the shaping of Shrap.
Becoming an even bigger regional deal within East Africa’s thriving music scene, Shrap Nite has collaborated with the Nyege Nyege festival, a 4-day international music festival known for its unique East African feel and outlook, to create a sprawling line-up for a 2020 showcase that included Ohms Law Montana and Denzel Kong. This is validation for the fact that Shrap music resonates with the urban youth as their voice, through the inventiveness and authentic expression of its purveyors.
Shrap openly embraces capitalism with its lyrics about success, fame, luxury and money, and its neoliberal pragmatism with a do-it-yourself basis provides testimony that you do not need a big record company to make it big. It is a way of saying “we don’t accept the rules of the game anymore, now we’re going to play it our way.” Shrap has positively added to the music community in Kenya as it is propagating musical democracy among its new and nascent acts.
Shrap is not merely a music genre but a way of living, dressing, talking, and self-expression for an entire generation. From social media networks to dance floors and has put up its functioning codes and systems. You might or might not love Shrap but like any music genre, the diamonds are beneath the surface.
FOR THE GIRLS: HOW WOMEN’S PLACE IN KENYAN MUSIC CONTINUES TO EVOLVE
NATIVE PREMIERE: Rigo Kamp Runs Ahead Of The Pack With The Visuals For “Marathon”
Rigo Kamp’s Marathon video is an intimate Afro-juju revival that pays homage to Sir Shina Peters and stamps...
Last Friday, Rigo Kamp, a NATIVE uNder alum and one of the architects of an equal parts nostalgic and refreshing sound released his self-titled debut EP, delivering a propulsive fusion of Alte, R&B, Funk, and Soul-infused rhythms.
Featuring previously released singles “Morning Sun” and “Summer”, the six-track eponymous EP executively produced by Odunsi The Engine sees Rigo lean heavily into his element as a sonic alchemist, jumping from silky falsettos to gritty grooves without losing an ounce of cohesion, and ultimately stamping the Abuja-born, Lagos-based singer-songwriter as a mad scientist of sound.
Just last November, Apple Music named Rigo Kamp as its Up Next artist, an acknowledgment that underscored his potential and confirmed what the tastemakers and underground scene already knew. Weeks later, he delivered an exhilarating live set for Spotify Fresh Finds in Lagos, proving he’s just as compelling live as he is in the studio.
On “Marathon”, the refreshing opener to the Rigo Kamp EP, Rigo borrows the bounce and swagger of Afro-Juju legend, Sir Shina Peters’ golden-era, fusing nostalgia with re-imagination to birth a vintage performance that feels like a private party for two, where it’s just Rigo, and you.
Get an exclusive first look at the video for Marathon here:
Listen to the Rigo Kamp EP:
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South African House Duo, Black Motion, Return With Rhythmic “Khululeka”
The SA house music pioneers are back with a deeply moving and rhythmic new release.
South African house music pioneers, Black Motion, are back with a deeply moving and rhythmic new release titled “Khululeka.” True to its meaning in isiZulu— “be free” or “find peace”—this track is an anthem of liberation, urging listeners to let go, embrace love, and heal through the power of music.
With their signature percussion-driven melodies and the soul-stirring vocal chants of King Monopoly, “Khululeka” transcends the dancefloor. It is a spiritual and emotional journey, carrying an energy that is both uplifting and transformative. Whether in personal reflection or in the collective movement of a crowd, the song invites listeners to surrender to its message and rediscover love—both within and around them.
Since their formation in 2010 in Soshanguve, Black Motion—made up of Murdah Bongz (born Robert Mahosana), and Thabo (born Roy Thabo Mabogwane)—has become a dominant force in global house music. Their debut single, “Banane Mavoko,” put them on the map, and their albums, including the gold-certified Fortune Teller and the platinum-selling Ya Badimo, have cemented their status as pioneers of the genre. Their collaborations with artists like Oskido and Black Coffee, along with accolades such as multiple South African Music Awards (SAMAs), have solidified their place at the forefront of African electronic music.
Over the years, Black Motion has partnered with brands like Ballantine’s, Sony Xperia, and Coke Studio, and they are looking to partner with more under their new label Intascore, expanding their influence beyond music. With a combined social media reach of over 2.2 million followers, their music resonates with audiences worldwide, uniting people through rhythm, culture, and movement.
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KEMENA FINDS BALANCE
Following the release of '888', Kemena reflects on artistic evolution, self-acceptance, and balancing...
A little over two weeks after the release of his first project of 2025, Kemena and I sat down to discuss the joys of creating art, the clarity that powers ‘888,’ and the freedom he found in surrendering to his path. Even though we were speaking virtually, his presence feels steady. He is speaking with the quiet confidence that defines his music–intentional yet fluid, deeply personal yet resonant. Over the years, his artistry has evolved, shaped by a desire for creative independence and the pressures of an industry that often demands compromise.
With ‘888,’ Kemena has reclaimed his space. The project neither chases the mainstream nor rejects it; instead, it exists on its terms, rooted in self-assurance. Across seven tracks, he weaves through stories with a sharp lyrical style and layered production, a testament to an artist fully in tune with his craft. In many ways, ‘888’ feels like an arrival—not to the commercial peak the industry might expect, but to something more valuable: a place of artistic certainty.
Standout tracks like “Rainy Day” and “Bola” remind you that Kemena is a storyteller in more ways than one. On “Rainy Day” he flexes his production prowess but the summery vibe of the song does not blunt the sentimentality of his lyricism. With “Bola,” Kemena taps into his element, deploying witty puns and his brilliant approach of social commentary and “I’m not mad, just hungry” is as relatable as it is envy-worthy—to be so intertwined with a lover that they can complete your lines.
Totaling seven tracks with a runtime of 16 minutes, ‘888’ is brief but expansive, a collection of ruminative thoughts, nimble melodies, and declarations of self-assurance. There is no hesitance in Kemena’s voice when he speaks about the album, no lingering doubt about whether he made the right choices, which is the same confidence he’s communicating in “You don’t need me”. ‘888’ is the product of someone who knows who they are and, more importantly, knows that they do not have to prove it to anyone. From the powerful declaration of “I Will Never” to the easy groove of “Evelyn’s Vibration,” the album takes you on a journey. It is a return to himself, a rekindling of the mindset he had before industry expectations clouded his creative instincts. It is also reminiscent of ‘Bond,’ the project that first put him on the radar of music lovers.
“I made ‘Bond’ as a student,” he reflected during our conversation. “I wasn’t trying to be anything. I just wanted to make music. And then all of a sudden, people started calling me—people I never expected. That was how I got into songwriting for other artists. But somewhere along the line, I forgot what it felt like to make music just because I wanted to.” When I asked him how he found his way back, his answer was certain: “I stopped overthinking. I just made what felt right.”
Our conversation, lightly edited, follows.
‘888’ just dropped. How are you feeling?
I feel cool. It’s been nice. I feel like a celebrity, to be honest. I’ve done a couple of interviews already, and I feel like I’m saying the same thing over and over again. But that’s a good thing, right?
‘888’ feels different from ‘Guitars and Malaria.’ Did you approach this project differently?
‘888’ feels like me making music the way I want to again. With ‘Guitars and Malaria,’ there were a lot of industry conversations and people saying, “Work with this guy, collaborate with that person, do this to make the music more commercial.” I don’t regret making that album, but looking back, I think I was trying to fit into something instead of just being myself. I wouldn’t say I lost myself completely but, I lost the balance between the business and my authenticity. I started to feel like my music wasn’t valid unless it was getting industry attention. And for a while, I was chasing that. I was doing what I thought I should be doing, instead of what I wanted to do. I had to learn that I’m probably a project artist. I needed to stop feeling like my music wasn’t enough just because it wasn’t ‘blowing up.’
I started thinking about why people liked ‘Bond’ and, back then, I wasn’t overthinking it. I was a student just making music because I loved it. I wasn’t trying to force anything. But then, suddenly, things started happening—I started getting calls from people I never expected. That’s actually how I got into songwriting for other artists. People in the industry heard ‘Bond,’ reached out, and asked me to write for them. And before I knew it, I was deep in that world. But in the process, I started to forget what it felt like to just make music for me.
Was there a specific moment that made you realize you needed to return to that authenticity?
Yeah. At some point, I just stopped overthinking. I realized [that] I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. I didn’t have to chase industry validation. I could just make what felt right. That’s where ‘888’ came from.
One of the things that stands out about your music is how it feels both deeply personal and universally relatable. Do your lyrics come from lived experiences?
Not exactly. I think the way my music is put together—the energy, the emotions—is influenced by what I’m going through at the time. But the actual content? Almost none of it comes from my personal life. I don’t write songs like, “Oh, this happened to me, let me put it in a song.” Instead, I take a feeling, a perspective, or something I’ve observed and build a fictional story around it. I also like humor. I like to be witty, to play with words in a way that feels natural but unexpected. That’s always been part of my music.
That makes sense. Your lyrics often have a layered meaning like they say one thing on the surface, but there’s a deeper story underneath.
Exactly. I like to phrase things in ways that make people stop and think. I want someone to hear a line and go, “I’ve thought about this before, but I never knew how to put it into words.” Or sometimes, I just want the music to feel good. It doesn’t always have to make sense, it just has to resonate.
Would you say that’s why artists like Omah Lay and Jon Bellion resonate with you? Because they do something similar with their songwriting?
Yes! Jon Bellion especially. His music is almost like sermons sometimes. He says things in a way that makes you pause and reflect. Like in “Conversations with My Wife,” when he sings, “What if all the things I’ve done were just attempts at earning love? Cause the hole inside my heart is stupid deep” That’s the kind of songwriting that gets to me. That’s such a simple way to express love. He could have said it in a hundred different ways, but he chose that one. That’s what I admire. Not just what they’re saying, but how they say it.
That approach is very present in your music, especially in ‘888.’ What’s your favorite lyrical moment on the album?
It’s a conversation. It’s not one person talking. On ‘I will never,’ there’s this part where one voice says, “The things you want for me, I want it too. The things you like for me, I like it too.” And then another voice—almost like a god-like figure—responds: “Hope you know that I would never say something I don’t mean.” That moment feels special to me. It’s basically a prayer, but I don’t like to box my lyrics in, I keep it open-ended.
With the album it feels like you weren’t just making music but you were reclaiming something. Would you say this project is a turning point for you?
Yes, I think so. It’s not my first turning point, though. ‘Bond’ was the first one. ‘Bond’ was the project that put me in rooms I never expected to be in. Before that, I was just a student making music. Then, suddenly, people were calling me—people I respected. That was how I got into songwriting for other artists. But then, in trying to navigate that world, I lost a bit of myself. ‘Guitars and Malaria’ was me trying to find that balance, and ‘888’ is me realizing that I don’t have to balance anything, I just have to be.
You’ve mentioned that you’re at peace with not chasing commercial success. Is there a part of you that wants mainstream recognition?
If it comes, great. But I’m not going to force it. I know how the game works. I’ve written for big artists, so I know the kind of songs that work in that space. And if I wanted to, I could sit down and make those songs. I could make music that fits neatly into what’s trending. But that’s not why I do this.
Does songwriting for other artists help you keep your music pure?
Yes! That’s a big part of it. Since I also write and produce for other artists, I don’t have to rely on my music to pay my bills. That takes a lot of pressure off. It means I can release what I want, when I want, without thinking, “Will this chart? Will this go viral?”
That freedom must be refreshing.
It is and it’s why I don’t overthink my releases anymore. I’m constantly creating. So when something feels ready, I put it out. I don’t have to wait for industry validation or the “perfect” timing.
What does that mean for the future? More projects?
A lot more. I’ve realized that my way forward is to just keep giving. The Lord has put me in a position where I can create without stress, so that’s what I’m going to do. No long breaks. No holding back. I’ll just keep releasing.
What is the biggest takeaway from ‘888’ for you?
That you don’t have to force anything. Whether it’s love, creativity, or success—what’s meant for you will come when you’re aligned with yourself. And if you have to fight too hard to keep something, maybe it was never really yours to begin with.
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