Mbu Ugandans are pissed.
Bien said a few things on a podcast and, somehow, the entire country entered defence mode. Bien-Aimé Baraza, Kenyan singer and songwriter, member of Sauti Sol, apparently said Ugandan music is for bisawe, and also best enjoyed while digging in the garden.
Except, of course, he did not exactly say that.
But once the internet heard “Ugandan music” and “bisawe tour” in the same conversation, context packed its bags and left. Screenshots were taken. Patriotic essays were written. And musicians began defending Uganda as though Bien had arrived at Entebbe Airport carrying a bulldozer.
Yet beneath the noise, the man said a few uncomfortable truths.
He spoke about an industry model where one hit song can launch an artist into a nationwide tour. And, to be fair, we have seen it happen. Get one song that catches fire, print a banner, call a few promoters and suddenly you are touring Uganda with a catalogue that can fit into one WhatsApp voice note.
Khalifah Aganaga recently tried to recycle the glory of a song about one Nassanga from roughly 10 years ago. The nostalgia came through a TikTok challenge, a remix we did not ask for was released. The memories came. The people, however, appeared to have remained at home.
And speaking of people remaining at home, Salvador recently held a show at the National Theatre and the auditorium’s seats reportedly received more attention than the stage. Mbu there were a few well-wishers, some media people and relatives who had been informed through family channels.
The interesting thing is that Salvador’s show last year also struggled, but at least people knew it was happening. They trolled him, debated ticket prices and posted clips.
This time, the show allegedly struggled so quietly that the trolls missed it.
Which one is worse: having your show flop while the whole country watches, or having it flop and nobody even knows there was a show?
Bien also suggested that Uganda’s music industry exists in a bubble, a model that somehow works here but may not travel very far. He may have accidentally opened a conversation about whether our sound has evolved enough, whether artists are packaging themselves for bigger audiences and whether we are building careers or simply surviving from hit to hit.
Because, if we are being serious, kidandali has remained remarkably committed to its original assignment. The rhythm changes clothes occasionally, but the song often returns wearing the same shoes.
Then there is the question of artistic growth. What exactly is Eddy Kenzo singing about when he says, “Awamidu, let me do, let’s do…”?
Maybe it is poetry. Maybe it is international strategy. Maybe we are simply not ready.
Meanwhile, Pallaso has reportedly been posting motivational, AI-inspired declarations defending Ugandan music with the energy of a man appointed Minister of Musical Affairs. And many Ugandans have responded to Bien as though admitting that the industry has weaknesses is equivalent to surrendering the country.
But why are we so determined to protect mediocrity?
Criticism is not hatred. Saying the music needs better packaging is not saying Ugandans cannot sing. Questioning the hit-song-and-tour model is not an attack on culture. And asking whether our sound has evolved is not treason.
Perhaps Bien did not humble Uganda. Perhaps he merely held up a mirror, and we got angry because the lighting was too clear.
The bigger question is not why Bien said what he said.
It is why Ugandans heard a few truths and immediately started defending the problems.
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