'Kenya doesn't have a talent problem': Eric Musyoka masterclass on what's holding the music industry back

Long before streaming algorithms, viral TikTok sounds and Spotify playlists became the currency of the music business, Eric Musyoka was already shaping the sound of Kenyan popular music from behind a mixing console.

From the late 1990s, when the country's urban music scene was still finding its identity, the multiple award-winning producer quietly became one of the architects of a generation, helping transform raw talent into chart-topping records while building a career that has spanned music, film, television and advertising.

Over the years, Musyoka's fingerprints have found their way onto some of Kenya's most recognisable records. He has produced for artists including Sauti Sol, Juliani, Nonini, Nameless, Wyre, P-Unit, Just A Band, and Octopizzo, releasing classics such as ‘Keroro,’ ‘Furahiday,’ ‘Juu Tu Sana,’ ‘Kare’ ‘You Guy’ and ‘Ha-He’ that have helped to define different eras of Kenyan music.

Beyond commercial releases, his work has stretched into audio post-production for films and international productions including ‘Nairobi Half Life,’ ‘Sense8,’ ‘Strike Back’ and CNN's ‘Parts Unknown,’ as well as campaigns for brands such as Safaricom, Coca-Cola, Tuborg and Unilever.

That breadth of experience gives Musyoka a rare vantage point. He has watched Kenya's music industry evolve from an era of CDs and radio airplay to one driven by streaming platforms, social media and short-form video. He has seen artists rise on talent alone, others disappear as quickly as they arrived, and now finds himself mentoring a new generation navigating an industry that looks vastly different from the one he entered nearly three decades ago.

So, when Spotify invited him to a producer-focused conversation during the Greasy Tunes festival in Nairobi two weeks ago, Musyoka wasn't simply reflecting on his own journey. He was taking stock of an industry he helped build; one he believes is more adventurous, more ambitious and more connected than ever before, but one that still has important lessons to learn if Kenyan music is to compete on the global stage.

On the sidelines of that Spotify session, Citizen Digital managed to pull Musyoka aside and the first question we asked him was very simple; “describe the state of the Kenyan music industry in 2026.”

"Eclectic, experimental and fun," he said. A simple three-word answer, but one that captures how dramatically the country's music landscape has transformed since he first stepped into a recording studio nearly three decades ago.

Unlike the generation before them, today's artists are creating without the burden of fitting into one genre or chasing one sound. They grew up with the internet, unlimited access to music from every corner of the world, and they're more willing to experiment because they have seen music evolve from a passion project into a legitimate career.

"We're at a very interesting intersection of music genres," Musyoka says. "We have a generation that has grown up on the internet, is very well exposed and willing to take risks because they now understand that music is actually a career that pays."

Ironically, if he were starting his own career today, Musyoka says talent wouldn't be his biggest priority. Instead, he would focus on building ‘Eric Musyoka the brand’ first.

He admits that while his generation was focused almost entirely on making music, today's creators understand that success extends far beyond the recording booth. Personal branding, digital storytelling and audience-building have become just as important as producing a hit record.

"With the understanding I have now of what brands can become, it's something I should have invested in much earlier. But with the mindset and ecosystem at that time, we didn't have the kind of tools that are available now," he says.

For Musyoka, that shift represents one of the greatest advantages young musicians enjoy today. Beyond better software and easier access to audiences, they have something his generation never had; examples to learn from. Where older producers often relied on trial and error, today's artists can study careers that have already succeeded, as well as those that failed.

"I believe younger people are learning things at a much earlier stage," he says. "They're getting into the business with way more knowledge than we had."

Back then, he recalls, opportunities were limited and uncertainty was almost part of the job description. Reinvention wasn't easy because there were few pathways back after failure. Today, the landscape is different.

"There was a lot of doubt back then," he says. " That 'If I do this, what will happen?' Right now, it's easier to bounce back. When you make mistakes, it's easier to pick up the pieces and reinvent yourself."

And yet, for all the optimism he has about Kenya's new generation of musicians, Musyoka however believes one thing continues to trip many artists up. They fall in love with the applause before they've done the work.

When we ask him about the biggest mistakes young artists make now when they first walk into the studio, the legendary producer takes a deep sigh before searching for the right word.

"Is there a word like over-believing?" he asks with a grin. "Being too ambitious sometimes can cripple you. Because it blinds you to the faults that are at hand. You throw caution to the wind and start believing in the hype."

For Musyoka, confidence is essential, but delusion is dangerous. He says every artist eventually reaches a point where praise from fans, friends and social media can distort reality, making it difficult to separate genuine progress from temporary excitement.

"You have to sit back and ask yourself, 'Is this hype real or is it an imaginary level of hype?'" If you're too ambitious and believe your own hype, failure can hit you hard," he says.

His advice is simple, but perhaps one of the most important lessons he has learnt after decades in the industry: "You have to learn to measure your hype." It's a philosophy that extends far beyond the recording studio.

In an era where a 15-second clip can turn an unknown artist into an overnight sensation, Musyoka says the temptation to chase quick success has never been greater. Virality, he acknowledges, has become one of the music industry's most powerful currencies.

But he's quick to caution that visibility is not the same as longevity. He points to Kenya's Gengetone explosion of 2020 as both an inspiration and a warning. The movement redefined Kenyan popular music, produced household names almost overnight and proved that local youth culture could dominate the mainstream. Yet just as quickly as the wave arrived, much of it disappeared.

"If you go viral, please make sure the foundation to sustain that virality exists. Don't go viral and then, once that virality has died, you don't know what to do," he warns.

In Musyoka's view, the downfall of many Gengetone acts wasn't a lack of talent. It was the failure to build careers that could outlive a trend.

"They created the wave, and you can ride the wave," he says. "But if the ocean runs dry and you just drop, guys will move on to the next wave. They'll surf the next wave. They (Gengetone artists) never invested in the foundations that could drive them beyond the wave."

For years, one question has lingered over Kenya's music industry. Why does a country brimming with gifted artists still struggle to command the same global influence as Nigeria or South Africa?

Musyoka doesn't buy into the argument that Kenya lacks the quality to compete. If anything, he believes Kenyan musicians are among the most innovative on the continent. The real challenge, he argues, begins after the music leaves the studio.

"We don't market," he says matter-of-factly. It's a statement he believes explains why Kenyan artists often punch below their weight on the international stage.

While acknowledging that artists such as Sauti Sol laid important groundwork and that Bien continues to carry the torch globally, Musyoka says Kenya has yet to match the level of investment that powered the rise of Afrobeats and Amapiano.

"Sauti Sol did it. Bien is doing it now," he says. "I'm not saying artists are not marketing at all. It's just not to the level that can compete with the kind of resources Nigerians and South Africans are deploying."

For him, the conversation shouldn't revolve around whether Kenya has enough talent. That debate was settled years ago. Instead, the industry needs to ask tougher questions about investment, branding and long-term strategy.

"We have the music and we have the talent. We just need the resources to market us vigorously enough to sit at the table with these other cats," he says.

It is perhaps the most revealing insight from a producer who has watched Kenyan music evolve from cassette tapes and CDs to a streaming-first economy. Success today, he suggests, is no longer determined solely by what comes out of the speakers. It is equally shaped by what happens behind the scenes; how artists package themselves, tell their stories and position their music for audiences far beyond Kenya's borders.

Streaming platforms such as Spotify have certainly opened new doors, making it possible for a song produced in Nairobi to find listeners in London, Lagos or Los Angeles within minutes.

But for someone who has spent most of his career producing hit records, it's perhaps surprising that Musyoka's favourite creative outlet isn't making songs for radio at all. It's scoring films.

Musyox, as he is popularly known in Kenyan showbiz circles, says composing for the screen offers something modern music rarely does: certainty. Unlike commercial music, where producers are often tasked with building an emotional world from scratch, film already provides the picture. His job is simply to give it a soundtrack.

"I enjoy making music for film more. When making music for film, I have boundaries to work with. I don't have the pressure of asking, 'Will this work?' because there are visuals to accompany the music and it's a story you're already telling," he says.

But with a commercial record, he explains, every creative decision carries another question. He says: "You have to create the world in which this song and these lyrics exist. But with music for film, the picture is already there. You're just interpreting what's happening."

Financially, he says, neither path has proved more rewarding than the other: "It depends on the season. Sometimes music is doing well, sometimes film is. If a song blows up, it can make you more money. One isn't greater than the other."

Even after nearly three decades behind the console, Musyoka remains fascinated by artists who refuse to play by the rules. When we ask him which Kenyan musician - past or present - he wishes he could produce just one album for, he pauses for several seconds before arriving at an unexpected answer.

"Wakadinali. There's something mystical and mythical about how they write their music. It's not the norm, but they write songs that just work," he says

What captivates him about Wakadinali isn't just their technical perfection, it's instinct.

"The way Munga writes choruses, I find it fascinating. He doesn't follow the rulebook, but it just works. He has this aura in how he writes his choruses and melodies that's infectious," he says.

"It works because it's him. Give that chorus to somebody else and it won't feel the same."

That appreciation for originality perhaps explains why Musyoka remains optimistic about Kenyan music despite the challenges he outlined throughout our conversation.

He believes the talent already exists, that opportunities are growing, and that what remains is for artists to think beyond the next hit song.

He says many musicians still don't fully understand branding, licensing and the business opportunities available to them. Ironically, he has found that some of the country's most disciplined creatives aren't musicians at all. They're influencers.

"I've worked with influencers and they take their stuff seriously. It's super admirable. If influencers could sing, it would be over for musicians," he says, before bursting into laughter and then adding:

"But if musicians worked as hard as influencers, then we would be at a better place as an industry."

Musyoka isn't yearning for the "good old days." If anything, he believes Kenyan music has never had more talent, more opportunity or greater global potential than it does today.

His message to the next generation isn't to slow down, it's to think bigger.

“Build a brand. Stay authentic. Market relentlessly. Learn the business. And once the spotlight finds you, make sure you've built a foundation strong enough to keep shining long after the hype fades.”