Immediately the news broke that Camp Mulla, a Kenyan music group had been nominated for the 2012 Black Entertainment Television (BET) Awards for Best International Act – Africa, the cybersphere was atwitter with praise for the quintet in particular and Kenyan music generally which was hailed as having come a long way.

If Kenyan music had come a long way, Camp Mulla — known widely for its party anthem Party Don’t Stop — had not, for the group was introduced to the public in February 2011 when it performed at a gig where another local musician was releasing a music video.

Towards the end of the same month, Camp Mulla, made up of Matthew Wakhungu, Benoit Kanema, Karungari Mungai, Marcus Kibukosya and Michael Mutooni — who go by the stage names of Taio Tripper, Shappa Man, Miss Karun, K’Cous and Mykie Tuchi— respectively, curtain-raised for a visiting Nigerian musician at the Carnivore.

The quintet’s big break came with the Party Don’t Stop, its second single, with which it won Best New Artiste and Best Group at this year’s Chaguo La Teeniez Awards.

But while Camp Mulla was receiving accolades over the BET nomination, and Kenyan music was being hailed for its growth, what remained unanswered is what exactly is Kenyan music or whether it exists, and if it does, has it really grown and do the musicians make money from it?

There is a school of thought which maintains that there is little to sing about since Kenyan music lacks a distinctive sound, and its growth is stunted because it does not make waves outside the country’s borders, and is equally not saleable within.

Another group contends, based on the international stages where Kenyan musicians perform nowadays, that Kenya music is striking the right note, with musicians literally going places.

Then there are the puritans, generally the older generation who grew up dancing to live performances with band members belting out numbers and playing instruments.

This is the lot for whom little good can be said about Kenyan music or its growth because it has no shelf life and musicians lose their voices faster than their music is listened to, or pulled off air by radio stations.

MCSK’s role

In between, we have the Kenya Music Copyright Society, which is not only singing all the way to the bank, but also ensuring that musicians, either those who mime or those who play instruments, do not leave the stages empty-handed by collecting royalties on their behalf.

This last group is upbeat. “The industry is worth Ksh10 billion ($119 million), but it could be more,” says Maurice Okoth, MCSK general manager says. “More money could have ended up in their pockets but for lack of awareness.”

The puritans have reservations. “The hype about the so-called Kenyan music has really grown, but when it comes to direction, we are in reverse gear,” says John Katana of Them Mushrooms, the group whose 1980s song Kenya Hakuna Matata is the international anthem for tourists.

As for the younger generation, nothing can stop the music. This hyped-up bubblegum music is the future and the present — it has no past.

“The teens don’t care about musical content, they want to see one of their own on stage and they will scream, cry,” writes entertainment journalist Philip Mwaniki.

In an article titled Why we need bubblegum music published in the Sunday Nation of November 13, 2011 in defense of Camp Mulla, Mwaniki argues that “We need more of these kinds of kids who do nothing but bubblegum music… If you are 30, what are you doing hating on a bunch of teens? They don’t target you…Look at Justin Bieber, that kid is said to be worth $100 million and he is not even 20…Kids want to see their own and if Camp Mulla sticks to this, they will be very successful.”

Camp Mulla may not have won the BET award, but Mwaniki must be feeling vindicated about their nomination.

However, we are yet to know whether their success can be monetised, how much money they have made, or are said to be worth, a la Justin Bieber.

“Local musicians lose a lot of money because they do not know their rights. Their songs are used on different platforms without their knowledge and they think they are being promoted while in essence, they are being abused,” MCSK’s Okoth contends.

He adds that there is a lot of potential in the local music scene, and that the industry is growing, but is quick to admit that in other countries in the region, fans appreciate local music more than Kenyans do.

“Lack of appreciation, coupled with poor distribution networks and piracy, has slowed down its growth and in turn affected the earnings of Kenyan musicians,” says Okoth.

In Tanzania, Uganda or Ethiopia, a local musician of any age can hold an audience for a good part of a performance backed by a live band, but in Kenya, different musicians have to band together, preferably in concerts, to draw audiences even when they are backed up by a live band, which is something of a rarity.

Also, these days in those other countries, there are venues for live performances where cover charges are levied, unlike Kenya where performances are usually in pubs where alcohol is the main commodity, and music secondary, thus, no cover charge is levied lest the imbibers should give it a wide berth.

It is this lack of appreciation that makes musicians lose out because fans infringe on their rights knowingly, and musicians have little recourse, says Okoth, who adds that this outright violation will end soon since MCSK is educating musicians on their rights.

“The MCSK is also geared toward collecting revenues from the different streams that modern technology has offered,” he says.

“There are many platforms that have taken advantage of the musicians’ lack of awareness, and are not paying them what they deserve.”

Katana also says that modern technology has cheapened music because no matter how many times one reproduces it, illegally of course, from the original quality is not lost unlike with the cassette, where repeated reproduction changed the quality, forcing people to buy only originals.

Katana and Okoth agree on one thing though, the distribution system is wanting. For the young ones, little bothers them as long as they can shake a leg and wiggle their hips to bubblegum music that they have not bought or paid for.

To this last group, whether musicians leave the stage empty-handed, learn how to play instruments, lose their voices or get nominated for BET awards, makes little difference all is good as long as the party don’t stop.