Is Mashada still alive? That online community where folk gathered, once upon a time, to discuss issues? Hell, do those online forum still exist when there is Twitter and Facebook to mouth off on? Turns out they do.

A friend of mine recently popped up on Google-chat and said that she had read something about me on some social forum where I was being discussed. Look, I’ve heard and read a few things about me floating around out there, most of them resoundingly uncreative, the sum total of idleness destructiveness.

So I told her that there isn’t anything that anyone will write about me now that will entirely unsettle me. “This one might,” she wrote back and I got curious. So she sent me the link of this social forum that I won’t mention because it might dignify the racket they run there.

In short, they were saying I’m gay!

Me. Gay. A homosexual.

I read the thread and it struck me that I must have a doppelganger out there because everything about the details was queer (not intended). They said my girlfriend (boyfriend in this case, I assume) was in JKUAT (seriously, JKUAT? Drive all the damn way there for a moustache? It’s like dating a chick from Sagana). His name, it was revealed was John and I wondered if I often buy him flowers. Or if I help him with his homework. The discussion also revealed that I have two tois (the other, I assumed, with John) and that I often show up there on Fridays in a very loud Subaru (louder than my pants?). They went on and said; sometimes I spend the night in his room (Right, on those tiny bunker beds? Kwani just how skinny is this John chap?) And that when I travel I often take John along with me, (of course, John loves Giraffes). It went on and on, this narrative, with the onlookers online inciting for more information by stoking the fires of this person with the moniker Le’Kenyan. Amazing stuff.

It’s foolhardy to “defend” myself to such lore, but I just want to say one thing. I believe in reincarnation (and that Le’ Kenyan clown is certainly coming back as an albino Walrus) and if I ever came back as a woman, I wouldn’t date a man called John. That’s the kind of chick, I would be. Standards.

Karibu Maurice.

Oh, notice the cool illustrations here? They are by a chap called Maurice Odede, an illustrator by profession. We recently waited for an elevator together. He was this dreadlocked bloke sporting this gigantic chrome timepiece, one of those pilot jobs, and since I’m a huge fan of timepieces, I said, “ Some watch! Does it have a blood group?” He laughed, easy chap. We spoke about timepieces and when he got off on the 11th floor we had established that he was an artist and I was a writer and that we could work together. From today, he will be illustrating stories here. Maurice welcome to High School. The canteen is that way; get yourself half loaf and milk your welcome hamper.

Michael Joseph interview

I never write my questions down before an interview like most serious journalists. I walk in and feed off the temperament of the interviewee; an answer always informs the next question, I believe, and it’s this rhythm that makes it more about a conversation than an interview. Conversations are boundary-less, interviews are structured.

I have now interviewed Michael twice. The most important lesson I left with from the first interview was that sometimes you need to write the questions down before because interviewing Michael demands preparation; no trivial questions, no half-witted questions, no vague questions, no, ahs and uhms. With Michael, when you ask a question that is even beneath you, he will remind you. And if you have 45mins with him, it’s going to be 45mins, not 46mins, so you don’t have time to murk around. Michael demands more of you as a professional.

So when last week I was asked to interview him again, I prepared by writing down my swalis. We spoke about how it all started, how his personality informed his successes and failures at Safcom. We spoke about management, about handling people and about Elephants, his favourite animal. For 35mins he never once uncrossed his leg. And at the end of it all, one lesson easily buoyed on the surface for me, one that managers here might find useful. Indeed, Michael succeeded because of his brilliance as a leader, yes, but I realised also he did because Michael doesn’t just care what you think of him. We all do really care what people think about us, to seek approval that we it distracts us from the job at hand.

This is to managers who don’t give a toss.


Explorer Tavern

Part of my hustle is to discover new trendy bars every week and review them for gazetini. Recently my pal, Martin Keino said that perhaps I should check out Explorer Tavern.

You see that dip on Argwengs Kodhek Road, where Radar security and Bar is? Go down, take a turn to your right. Half way through, before you get to that roundabout of Methodist/ For You Chinese restaurant, there is a small boulevard dirt road on your right. Explorer sits at the cul-de-sac.

Truth is, there aren’t many whisky bars in Nairobi. Most claim to be whisky bars because they sell Glenmorangie. Explorer is a true whisky bar.

It was started out as a friend’s club who enjoy whiskey but soon morphed into a bar. It’s discreet, “silent” and mature. Average age group; 40. They play nothing but New Jack Swing, which is to say they play soundtracks of our teenage. It’s not cheap, yes, but neither is good whisky. It’s place you go once or twice a month. Or if someone else is buying. Of course the patrons there are the slightly well-to-do, sleek professionals making some decent bucks; I met two top execs I had interviewed earlier, one who wasn’t happy by my portrayal of him in the article, but who, in a true grown up and gentlemanly fashion, stood up from his Johnnie Walker Black to shake my hand when I walked into a room he was seated. Which goes to show the type of guys patron this dive; men. We often find ourselves drinking with boys, which is okay because when we finally drink with men it re-defines how we drink. Explorer is where men drink.



I also, last week, patroned one of the worst bars I have reviewed in recent times; Galaxy Bar in Eka Hotel. You would imagine that a swanky hotel like Eka, a hotel that endeavours to take hospitality seriously, would impress you with their service because really, that’s the only thing that separates a good establishment from a bad establishment, not how expensive their floor tilling is.

The bar man, Juston, was one of the rudest and uncouth chaps you will ever meet. He treated me with contempt, he acted like he was too important to serve me and of course being kind of self-suffering egocentric twerp who takes things personally I summoned his supervisor who, when I realised didn’t have the necessary clout to address the issue adequately, I asked to call the hotel’s manager. He came down in a crisp suit and a sharp glib and listened to me sympathetically before he offered an apology (and some honey glazed chicken and chips). Nonetheless, I went home and wrote a bleeding review.

To say I was disgusted (by the experience, not the chicken) would be grossly understating it. If a barman from some random bar in South B – like Nerkwo (a decent local, sit down) – spoke to me like that, I wouldn’t care because they don’t include service charge on my drink. But Eka does and from them you expect a certain level of professionalism, of service.

Sauti Sol

I have never dug Sauti Sol. I realise that this admission might sound sacrilegious to their legion of fawning fans that hang onto every tune they pelt. I have heard tales of girls going cuckoo – throwing undergarments on stage etc – when they perform. I have read interviews where they were quoted extensively using superlatives like “home-grown”, “authentic”, “uber talented”, “local.” And I scoffed.

Not that I have never tried to like them because I have. I have You-Tubed and listened to their songs and missed that point of connection. But I liked their track “Coming Home”, it had a great video and they all seem to feel that song. Then they did that Gentleman song with P-unit and I thought, well there. That was something. To me, Sauti Sol has always been OK, but OK is not enough to whet my interest.

But then I realised that the root of the reason I didn’t really get wowed by them was because I associated them with Blankets and Wine, and we all know how I feel about Blankets and Wine. That association for me compromised how I would view them. I felt like they had stopped being artists and were now mascots of social (arty) liberation propagated by the bourgeois. I felt that they were a creation/belief of the middle-class, one that they pushed on forums that they most found comfort in; twitter. And so I thought of them as a Twitter-band, with a musical character that you would simply review in under 140 words. A single-layered band.

The reason why I associated them with middle-class is because the middle-class in Kenya it at a point where they realise their triviality in lauding foreign ideologies and bodies of work and so to appear conforming to their African pride, they look for “causes” to support in the arts and business. As it so happens, Sauti Sol was nearby because they sang better than most local bands and so the middle-class adopted them, making them their “charity” of choice. You know? Something to save their shameless faces with. A redemptive move. And taking Sauti Sol under their wings is also the same reason the middle-class now sees it proper to drop their English names and use two “African” names like Kimotho Gachara, Odongo Otieno, Wekesa Wanyama etc. Don’t be fooled that this is a sign that we are entering the long-awaited era of African reinnascence. It’s not. It’s just the middle-class amusing themselves before their own gallery.

I guess another reason I couldn’t embrace Sauti Sol is because I just couldn’t just get past their pants.

Sometimes in Oct I was commissioned to do a story about the Safaricom LIVE concerts. I went down to Eldoret to attend one of Safcom’s “Niko Na” concerts. I was required to spend time backstage during the concert and write a colour story about what goes on behind the stage before the artists go on stage. Of course I was filled with a deep sense of trepidation, not because it was a hard job to do, but because the whole Kenyan celebrity scene drain my soul. It’s shallow, trivial and frivolous. It’s smoke and mirrors.

But I have a daughter to take to school, some jobs you don’t pass no matter your feelings around them.

The artists present for the concert were Camp Mulla, Size 8, Wahu, Jimmy Gait, Emmy Koskei, Jaguar, Wahu, Jalango and, yes, Sauti Sol. The venue was Eldoret Stadium. Time was 8pm. It had rained, so it was colder than a witch’s tits. To keep the cold at bay, I shared whisky with Tony Mochama (he had Vodka) in the VIP tent then later shared another with Smitta. Tony is charming, funny, very knowledgeable and generous. Smitta knows all the celebrities and vice versa. And he writes everything in this small but intimidating notepad.

The one guy who surprised me was Jimmy Gait. He was exceedingly cultured and calm. He had a firm handshake and good eye contact, which is to say he was confident. And he was very mild mannered, engaging and accommodating. He answered my questions calmly. I liked him, he surprised me.

However, you want to know what happens backstage? Not much. They sit around with little activity, hibernating, saving their energy for the performance. I didn’t see any of them touch alcohol. I saw Jaguar sip tea and I saw some sip sodas but most drunk water. They were constantly on their phones though; thudding smses, tweeting, Facebooking…etc. And they watched the others perform from the big screen in their tent and I wondered what went through their mind, if they felt anxiety, foreboding, doom, vigour…I remember Jimmy was to perform last, and I asked him if he felt pressured that he would close the curtains and he said, “ No, I’m the last light. I have the word of the Lord and it’s my responsibility to send everyone home with that word.” Did you hear that? “I’m the last light.” Goodness, such depth I almost tossed away my glass of whisky. I almost felt unworthy to be holding alcohol in the presence of such godly quip.


The first thing that occurred to me when Sauti Sol got on stage was that I was wrong about them. Startlingly wrong.

Look, many artists went up that stage that cold night in Eldoret and performed to the best of their talents, but Sauti Sol carried the night even in those pants I resent. Not one could hold a torch to the level of voltage they zapped from that stage. They were extremely well choreographed, they fed off each other’s energy, their voices seduced even the hardest of cynics (read, me) and for their trouble, the crowd – a sea of them in that frosty Eldoret night – sang along, swayed, danced, cheered, and clapped so hard it sounded like an incessant clap of thunder.

Sauti Sol breathed life into songs that I had earlier on scoffed at and written off as lacking and desperate, like that one for soma soma. Si you know that school one? They had female dancers dressed in school uniform come on stage and do a sexy routine that made me want to go back to primo. And in a very brave move, they re-did Gentleman in a way that made it sound like a great song borne from a good song. They garnished these songs then delivered them with such star quality that left me reaching for humble pie. And they danced. By Jove, did they dance?!

I can only describe their performance in one phrase; A Sauti Sol musical orgy.

I was to interview Baraza, one of the band members. I hadn’t made contact because I had planned to catch him soon after his performance. So when he stepped off the stage – shored out by a screaming, un-quenched crowd – and ran behind the maze of tents to their backstage artist tent, I intercepted him.

I caught him vulnerable, just like I wanted. I caught him when his pulse was still thudding frantically at the base of his neck and his chest heaving under his shirt. Caught him when his face still glistened with sweat in the starless night. When he was still bewildered by the performance, blinded by adoration from the crowd and seemingly disordered by all these swirling emotions. I caught him unready, unprepared, unrehearsed and I peppered questions at him before his pulse could return to 72 beats a minute.

I asked: how do you feel? What’s your state of mind right now? Use one word to describe what you feel now. Describe the feeling of singing into a sea of humanity who loves you? What does music mean to you? Did you drink before the performance? Did you feel like it? Why do you have a chicken perched on your shoulder as your Whatsapp avi? Fried of roasted? No, Whatsapp, I mean, not chicken.

And Baraza was eloquent as he was gracious. Not once, not even after the amount of adoration he had just experienced – did he act like he was star, not once did I feel like he was trying to over-glorify his art or himself for that matter. He spoke of his insecurities and of the triumphs on a night like that. Of the amount of hours they put in as a group to get to where they are. Of how a good physical regime, how health plays a part in their performance. And right there it occurred to me that sometimes you have to respect the man before you can understand his art.

Then he saw my name on my PRESS-tag hanging from my neck. And he said “Oh shit, are you Bikozulu?” (Yes, reporting to duty, sir!) then professed how big a fan he was, how he loves High School and how in campus they often discussed my work in their literature classes (I didn’t believe that part). I was humbled that the chap who had just had everybody screaming moments ago, who had just harvested souls, thought I was the shit. Come on, don’t act like you would have acted cool, that shit is humbling.

I confessed to him I didn’t think much of them until that night. That I thought they were a bunch of phony musical posers and he laughed, good-naturedly, and refused to take offense. Took it on the chin like the star he has become. Baraza is all right, I decided. Sauti Sol is all right.

Still, those pants!

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  1. This right here==>”It had rained, so it was colder than a witch’s tits.” has made my day!
    Thank You,Biko for the lovely post,and I was having such a crappy day too,until I checked and found it *clapsshandsinglee*
    Oh, and I agree,those pants!

  2. I have to admit that you taking the 1st and last week of the months post wasn’t a bad idea after all. I look forward to reading more pieces like this one. And you being gay….that’s just the highlight of the YEAR! Lol

  3. Sauti sol were the shit, as the middle class would say. I dug their first album, it was quite soulful and engaging. It flowed; it had ass; it was the album you would listen to and sang along with your Mrs when stuck in traffic; something like Kidum’s “Haturudi Nyuma” album, which you reviewed in primary school.

    I ‘dug’ two songs in their 2nd album, actually, 3 songs: ‘Awinja’, ‘Soma Kijana’ and ‘Coming Home’. Then I listened to their Extended Play album and felt like throwing up. Such betrayal! You can see where the graph is heading here. I think they have been afflicted by what you describe above: they have stopped being artists and are now mascots of social (arty) liberation propagated by the bourgeois…honestly, I do. They need to go back to their original sound. They seem too influenced by their new-found acceptance in Scandinavian (and the Blankets and wine types of) markets.

    Never attended their live concerts, so I will take your word for it: that they are good on stage. Used to see the boys a couple of years back in Eastlands when they were trying to break out. Nice to see them being recipients of panties while at work. But please, let’s get back to the original sound boys.

    1. A couple of weeks late; didnt want to raise my hopes too high so decided to wait for a looooong time before checking in.

      So, im tagging my response to Ratzinger’s because, like him, i LOVED Sauti Sol’s 1st album. The one they did when no one gave a flying rat’s arse who they were. That was really really deep. Middle class Kenya took notice (must have been the reference to Java in that Lazizi track) and perhaps to keep up with the pressure of feeding their fan base, the band sold its soul to the devil. Thier 2nd album is pathetic. It took really long for me to find even one song that I liked. But I finally settled for Awinja and Coming Home.

      I do love their Live performances; they have great energy and synergy and really connect with the audience. That they can get such loyal following in Scandinavia is quite telling of this as most of their music is in Swahili or Vernacular yet there’s a whole bunch of people who dont understand these languages who dig them.

      On Blankets, Ratzinger, you speak like someone who attended this gig when it was a small cosy affair over at that place near Windsor. Then it became the flavour of the month for Middle Class Kenya where you need 2k to buy a ticket and a little white dog to gain acceptance. Thats where they lost me. The initial concept of BnW was great. Noble even; as it was a forum for Kenyans to listen to and see and meet their artists who hardly received air play on radio. But to each his own. Let middle class Kenya be. At least Sauti Sol can earn a living off their art now. And i live in eternal hope that they will buy back their soul for their 3rd album.

    2. And of course the pants. They really need to fire their stylist (is there a stylist involved here???) and get a whole new wardrobe. But then again, its those skinny pants that endear them to middle class kenya. of which i suspect most of high school is made up of 🙂

  4. Welcome back after that brief hiatus! I loved the bit about Jimmi Gait. however it looks like the conversion came from Sauti Sol!

  5. The Monthy review is interesting & engaging perharps a monthly magazine in the making!I like the little concise atricles maybe we could now weven have guest writers on a regular category!

  6. Making a pass at the dude in an elevators, jimmi gait, sauti sol, those pants. Le’kenyan could be onto something.


    Welcome back!

  7. you do not want to see how fast i rushed to work this evening to read this post,as always its a classic,n im not the only one who finds this middle class vanity of two african names annoyining i see ati njoki wa kinyanjui,ai really?and dude,sauti sol is the shit,thier first album is the one u should totally listen to.thank you biko for a good post!

  8. Lol what did the sagana chic ever do to you? Lol n you being gay….hahahaha,… You made my day ‘colder than a witches tits’ really! You are amazing as usual..keep up

  9. Loved this. I am don’t know how you know the temperature of a witch’s tits, I am not sure I want to find out either. I however must object to the association of two African names to some form of amusement, some of us just have traumatizing first names 🙂

    Great job Biko. Methinks Le Kenyan may have a crush on you .
    (Just joking)

  10. I (and a few other people)have been looking for the story about you being gay. And i cant find it. Be a doll,no pun btw,and attach the link

  11. You, gay? Clearly people need to find better things to gossip about.

    Sauti Sol…. I kinda lied to myself that I loved their EP. I could feel where they intended to go with that but it didn’t work…
    Then thy released Money Lover today… I am back in love with them, money or no money.
    They are anything but single-layered…

    Welcome back.

  12. i don’t see illustrations either! n I so agree with u on that two ‘african’ name thing… thought that trend would have stopped by now

  13. Heard this response to that gay accusation:

    I refuse to respond because there is nothing wrong with being gay!

    Great post, think we do that whisky bar soon! Or at least before we close the year out!

  14. i honestly liked sauti sol more when they were a bit underground. i hate that they are everywhere now.its jus so…for lack of better words COMMON. but i guess money has to be made..but still….SIGH!

  15. Finally u posted I been waiting for ages, that story of u being gay ….seriously?? people need to style up and find better things to talk about…..on those sauti sol pants i always say kama hiyo ndio fashion wacha inipite

  16. Biko you’ve been missed! Good read.

    But I see lack of practice is weighing on thy grammar good sir 🙂 Crimes easily forgivable thanks to the quality of your content.


    1. I really enjoyed that piece ‘The making of a writer’. I think all writers at some point should toss their insecurities away and just write, just for fun of it.

  17. Biko,

    1. I have noted that for the first time you have mentioned Blankets and wine without mentioning Kileleshwa *CLAPCLAP*

    2. I agree with you on the pants, hope you mentioned it to Baraza.

    3. What illustrations? #blonde moment

    4. Jimmy Gait, dint think much of him but after that statement, he has my respect.

    5. The part about Michael Joseph, I was taking notes.

    Thank you for posting. It was a lovely read.

  18. This “…sometimes you have to respect the man before you can understand his art….” captures it all, including the rude bar man.

  19. I laughed till I cried in the lib at “(seriously, JKUAT? Drive all the damn way there for a moustache? It’s like dating a chick from Sagana)” ha ha ha! Priceless 🙂

  20. I would probably react the same if I met you, you talk to me and I figure out it’s Biko Zulu. Then continue to say how much I *as I am avoiding to use the word love, and my vocabulary is limited* your literature.

    Ps: Ever thought of writing a book? You’re very visual in your writing. I’ll buy it…promise. Keep up the good work!

  21. “The discussion also revealed that I have two tois (the other, I assumed, with John)” <== ti he he he! I liked the quips on John. Nothing like laughing off rumors about yourself to irritate the rumor mongers.

    "Service…that’s the only thing that separates a good establishment from a bad establishment, not how expensive their floor tilling is." – couldn't agree more. Many are the times I have felt the service at an establishment was not up to standards but never quite spoke out. I think we take a lot of it lying down – kinda like it's expected – thus encouraging it. Whatever happened to the customer being king? Bad service always ruins the customer's day. Very glad you called them out on their BS, kudos to you.

    Don't quite 'feel' the Kenyan music scene but I liked how that part came alive. Felt like I was backstage with the rest of you. The Michael Joseph part was too brief though. I know it was a brief look on the month that was but, I'm left wanting. Guess I'll just have to read it magazetini.

  22. Biko, the intermittent break is doing good to your soul. The drift of writes never left it’s brutal honesty corner. I like.

  23. Was introduced, influenced and derailed to read your posts by someone preety close to my heart and a religious follower of your blog.

    Honestly, you do know your pen n paper. Thumbs up to the talent!

  24. Was introduced, influenced and derailed to read your posts by someone pretty close to my heart and a religious follower of your blog.

    Honestly, you do know your pen and paper. Thumbs up to the talent!

  25. Adele. Truth be told I have never been a fan of Adele. She’s the typical definition of a budding artist – rash with her albums, too loyal to her fan base and uncertain of her place in the musical arena. But her vocals, goodness me. Her vocals place her in a league of her own – 10million+ fans cannot be wrong.
    If I sat face to face with Adele and asked her to ‘speak’ her lyrics to me, I’d be squirming in my seat a few minutes into any album, by the time we get 3 tracks into it, I shall be making a dash for the exit – {lyrical} vomit caught in my throat.
    If I want me some Adele, I listen to ‘Someone like you’, then go on with my day. Her music is not timeless. Period.

    So I wondered what happened this time round with Skyfall? True, it loops around in your conscience look after the credits scroll up; like any classic piece would.
    But c’mon – her backing vocalists are off, lyrics are weak and the delivery so-so.
    2.17seconds into the track and she boldly proclaims “you may have my name….”
    She nails it in the 2.27’th second. Orgasmic.
    And then it hit me right in that moment – its the instruments. Bli-mey, a 77-piece orchestra!

    She’s now been crowned a Bond girl, without the bikini and the booze ofcourse. {note to self: the words ‘bikini’ and ‘Adele’ should never be used in the same sentence}
    Critics think that she’s the ‘sultriest, silkiest and smoothest Bond Girl’ of them all. I agree.


    50 years later, and what I am trying to put across?

    I liken this entire post to the 2.27’th second of Skyfall.

    Biko, I can feel the ’77-piece orchestra’ that pulsated through you as you brought this piece to life.

    p.s. sorry, but I just had to ‘pox’ on your blog. Hehhe
    Now try you some Sauti Sol’s Mwanzo – there shall never be another album like that.

  26. really, jackson being gay, wonder wht tamms may say abt that,
    and not forgeting her highness!!!!

    Biko, u got sam to deal with…..hia

  27. So basically, the fact that you hate being ‘pre-judged’ as being gay,
    did not stop you from ‘pre-judging’ others on the basis of their pants. Ok. I share in your hypocrisy. Yes I figured that all by myself and no it did not hurt! Great piece. When I grow up I wanna write like you.

  28. Ha ha….you gay and having a boyfriend in JKUAT!!…….Joke of the month!..

    Must say those Sauti soul pants annoy me….caught a bit of that Eldoret show on TV and i agree, they brought the house down.

  29. ‘I felt like they had stopped being artists and were now mascots of social (arty) liberation propagated by the bourgeois. ‘
    Would you believe that is exactly how i initially felt too-about reading your blog.Because twiterrati were quick to label one a pariah,if you had no clue who biko was.

  30. ‘mascots of social (arty) liberation propagated by the bourgeois. ‘ i think this is the artistic culture that is currently propagated by our artists, musicians, gal or boy bands et cetera to gain acceptance on the dynamic nairobi social scene……… twocentsworth

  31. So they claim you’re gay? Must be an unhinged fan whom you spurned an autograph. About dating chicks from Sagana, i pose ,are their any ladies in that neck of the woods? Not that i’ve met any.
    So in your next life you wont date a dude named John eh? What about one named Jackson? Always a pleasure Bikoz.

  32. u said wahu twice…. nitasema, sauti sol don rock ma boat, actually the whole local scene sucks nowadays, where did k-shaka, ksouth, klepto, calif camp go.
    biko ur blog looks modern now keep rockin.

  33. Of course you would hate on sauti sol until you go to one of their gigs..their performance is orgasmic man…they totally rock!

  34. maybe it’s a good thing you’re only writing twice a month!
    i went to high school with the sauti sol guitarist, i used to try and play the guitar back then. he used to ask me for guitar tips and advice, and now i can’t even play a full song. haha, destiny i guess

  35. In my opinion Sauti Sol rocks, they are a cut above the rest. That range rover song they released was a BIG no no, i feel like they were experimenting something different, i pray they don’t experiment for too long…

  36. I was waiting, all through the tirade before the praise, waiting patiently to hear the conclusion. Nice save Biko. I mean, everyone is entitled to their opinion on everything, but really, how could you loathe Sauti Sol?Nice to see you’ve come around though i’m not quite the fun of Range Rover, their latest single, i think.

    And i knew that those who you trully dislike you describe in fewer words than you did Sauti Sol