I think Steph Kapela should have stuck with Atwal Music. I’m at the airport and I’ve just missed my flight., so I have some time to pass till the next one. My mind is always quick to entertain me with cynical thoughts and random guesses about the lives of the strangers around me, but only thing is on my mind at this point, that post that Steph Kapela made announcing his split from Atwal Music.
I’m a cheeky little monkey; always been. I’ve always tried to find the most possible way of bending rules without breaking them. Or staying close enough to the line for it to be forgivable. It’s been a fun game. It’s been a risky game. But it’s been a game either way, exciting in a fearful and expectant way at the same time. It’s magical. It’s terrifying. It’s almost impossible. Continue reading Words| Life
I find fault in the use of ‘African’ as a prefix to words like Alchemist, or Boy, or King. I understand our current predicament. I understand that calling oneself an alchemist only arouses the image of a bearded old man – a white man. Our history was white-washed and our mindsets enslaved by nursery rhymes. It is our identity that was chained and taken away on dhows to the lands we once conquered. We were forced to return as servants. Our gold ornaments hidden away in vaults, our hair called shaggy, our beards trimmed to please the “Suh”. Continue reading WORDS| Black James Bond
Some days are special. Some days you wake up and you notice the birds chirping outside your window. These are the kind of days when you really feel that the world has the potential to be beautiful. That it was indeed intended to be a garden with rivers of honey and gold flowing freely. That all men were destined to be equal, to eat fruit and to pet cheetahs; to weigh the world between their ears, to mull over the balance that is needed in the animal kingdom and to ponder upon the issues that arose the previous day – the smaller animals’ complaints against the larger ones. To meditate. To reason. To think.
Growing up in Machakos in the early 90s the most revered automotive brand my father would talk to me about was Peugeot. His enthusiasm for the brand ignited a curiosity in me and I began to notice that he had more than enough reason to give the brand so much credit. At the time, the Peugeot 504 had taken Kenya by storm for a few years already. It was the police man’s vehicle of choice, it was a taxi, a family car, a farmer’s best friend, a matatu, a school bus, a van; you name it, it could do it. Continue reading The 504
Before I begin my tutorial, I have to apologize for being late on this article. Truth be told as I was doing my research, I realised that I was probably as blank and misinformed or underinformed(if such a word exists) on the nitty-gritties of writing a bio. However, my previous article on what goes into the bio is pretty much on point and in case you missed it I’d suggest clicking here to get you started.
To today’s topic: Writing an artist’s bio. First of all, you have to understand that a bio is not a cv or a cover letter or motivation letter; I can’t stress this enough. This is basically a short introduction about yourself. It’s more or less a tip of the iceberg with hints of what depth the submerged part is. With this in mind, the length should be quite short. Short enough to fit in a moderately lengthy paragraph. Continue reading Writing an artist’s bio
Sometimes I wish I was a brainless drone
To not be laboured by heavy thoughts
To not be concerned by outer affairs
To do only what I’ve been programmed to do
Feel only what I’ve been programmed to feel
To live my life with a blank stare
With no smiles, with no tears
So that everything wasn’t so painful
Even if it’d mean I’d feel never joyful
I’d wake up every morning, blink three times
Wash my face, brush three times
Every breakfast, have three bites
Have a cup of coffee, as I begin to sell my soul
To the wheels that would control me, that chain my soul
Sometimes I wish I was a brainless drone
To not get so tired
To not feel so alone