Formed in 2005, when some of the pop luminaries in Kenya were starting to decline or blow up, the Sauti Sol band didn’t take too long before capturing the masses and sitting atop the hits ladder, pretty and satisfied.

At around that time, or honestly, quite much later, they emerged with their seminal hit Lazizi. And the birth of Sauti Sol was complete.

Back then, the foursome (no pun intended) was pretty much a rugged ragtag bunch of emaciated black boys with lanky legs and sullen faces. Also, a bunch that blew away time lounging by the alleys around Alliance Francaise, a worn-out guitar hanging from their scrawny shoulders.

But they had voices. Big, massive and gravelly voices.

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Sauti Sol group back in the day 

They were four. One was tall as a street lamp, the other was a little cheeky boygirl, another was short and sported some ruffian hairstyle and the other was a little demure, less menacing and almost forgettable footnote in the entire musical algorithm.

The tall one was the lead singer – also, as we will discover later, the de facto asshole in the Sauti Sol ludicrousness.

He had a oval-shaped head that stuck out like burnt groundnut, and would shave it clean for the ladies. And his own bloated ego.

The rest of the boys experimented with a myriad of eerie styles that left them, most of the time, looking like poorly-drawn caricatures in a third rate Russian newspaper.

As their fame grew, so did their quirkiness.

Year after year, the hits came. One after another after another. And then they dropped the groundbreaking Sura Yako and Africa started listening to them. And paying attention to their wackiness.

The tall scumbag was called Bien-Aime Baraza. A total anus of a man, with the manners of an alley cat. And the stench of a fish pot.

Then there was Austin Chimano. Or Chimamo, I am not quite sure. A little rat that continued to stun the masses with his eccentricities and tacky sense of style. Also, the one endowed with the golden voice.

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Austin Chimano of Sauti Sol 

There was also Savara Mudigi, a thoroughbred bozo that acted as if the World revolved around his little scrawny ass. Albeit, a gifted guitarist.

And lastly there was Polycarp Otieno. A nice individual who had no business going to bed (no pun intended) with these irascible, incorrigible and inveterate swines.

Their fame grew bigger and bigger and they would soon fly out of the Country on many occasions to give the rest of the World a little taste of Kenyan flavour. Although sometimes the flavor would be riddled with too much grouchiness.

They got many nominations to various awards and camped on the Internet begging the World to vote for their buttholes. Sometimes we voted. Other times we didn’t, and they flew home empty headed, oops, handed.

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And since they had now found international fame, won a couple forgettable Awards and managed to drop a tune with Yemi Alade, the little black boys from Bungoma started acting like they were the Second Coming of The Beatles.

Out with the rusty old vests. And the cheap, Ngara jewelry. They had now found actual fashion to follow. And had become global stars. Or so they thought.

Soon, they would pontificate on every little national matter as if they were officials from the Mwananchi Bora organization.

Soon, they would let the fame go into their thick heads…and soon, as their notoriety grew, so did the watering down of their music.

Sura Yako became their last authentic hit and everything else they did after that was tasted like a cat’s semen.

Shake Yo Bam Bam was trash. Isabella was trash. Nishike was trash. Relax was trash. Sura Yako remix was trash. Friendzone was trash. And I go could on and on and on…But that sounds like stuff Chimamo hears in bed.

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And in July 2017, these boys, led by the group gigolo Bien Baraza, wondered to the media why the Kenyan Industry was LACKING some “beef”.

Bien said, and I quote, “Beef is important, I’m wondering why there’s not a single rapper declaring that they want to take down Papa Jones musically,”  He continued, “Beef is necessary, what are we going to do without it? I feel like our industry needs positive but aggressive competition,”

And Delvin added, “This is show business, it’s not meant to be sweet, and fans should see some dynamics from artistes, one moment you’re up, the other you’re down, especially in hip hop. Hip hop is majorly about beef man. Beef makes hip hop grow, I don’t know why we are afraid of it in Kenya,”

But three months later, when a rapper who actually understands what beef actually is called them out, not from a beef’s perspective but from a fact’s perspective, the little four girls retreated to a little corner to lecture the rapper, call him names, sermonize him and bloviate like the bunch of teenage underpants they are.

Sauti Sol, led by the obnoxious Bien-Aime, aimed unguarded attacks on rapper King Kaka, whose crime was to correctly point out that this repugnant quartet had done very little to support the local industry, lift other talents and boost other local acts.

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King Kaka – Rapper, Entrepreneur, Talent Scout and Founder of Kaka Empire.

Bien unashamedly called out King Kaka and trashed his entire Kaka Empire and yet it’s the same Empire that gave us names like Timmy Tdat, the same Empire that introduced us to amazing female rappers like Wangechi and Femi One, the same empire that injected life into the careers of countless artists including Avril and the same Empire that even took up comedians like Owago Onyiro.

Also, the same empire that is now behind the new phenomenon in town – Arrow Boy.

While King Kaka was busy nurturing stars and plucking female rappers from obscurity, this Sauti Sol terrorist group was busy shopping for clothing at the women’s section at Nakumatt Junction.

This bunch of nefarious narcissists was busy trying out female underwear at Mr Price.

While King Kaka was busy steering new singer Phy to stardom, the Sauti Sol boys were busy planning sleep overs at each other’s houses. Like the high school girls they were.

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And they had the audacity to call out King Kaka. A man who has more balls that them. Combined.

And soon after attacking Sauti Sol, this transgender outfit later thought it would be a brilliant idea to lecture Kenya on governance and political catchphrases. All in that same condescending tone of a bunch of spoilt brats.

But then Twitter was waiting for them like a piece of steak in a Tiger’s den. And in less than three minutes after that stupid tweet, Kenyans totally obliterated the foursome. Forcing them to eat humble pie. And not ass, this time.

A couple forgettable collaborations, a couple obscure awards, a couple nondescript hits and a couple performances at State House may have spurred this group into being the proud, sickening, vile and repugnant twats they are.

But that was the path that Tanzania’s Mr Nice trodded. And now he sells cabbages in Mlolongo.

And while there is no denying the heights this band has climbed, the contributions they have made and the stellar career they have had, there also is no denying that this one is fast becoming a vain , contemptuous outfit that is so consumed by its own sense of importance and success that it finds anything that does not align to their demented worldview as inferior and worthy of derision.

Sauti Sol, you’re not above the law. Or above reproach. Or above reach.

You’re just a small fraction of an Industry. And a fraction that can be wiped out. And I’m sure you are all very familiar with wiping things. At the wee hours of the night.

Oh, and for people who have 1 Million Followers on Instagram, the LIKES that each of your posts receive does not match the number of followers you have.

You can buy some Instagram followers some time, but you can’t buy your way around the LIKES.

Ask Huddah Monroe a thing or two about getting people to like your posts. After all, girls love helping each other out.

Bitch, Be Humble! And sit ya gape ass down!