Tony Mbaziira walks to the stage, microphone in hand, as the 1998 Bookshelf riddim fills the air. It is a familiar sound – the kind that birthed Sean Paul’s ‘Deport Them’, Beenie Man’s ‘Bookshelf’, and Mr Vegas’s ‘Jack It Up’. For any music lover, the groove is instant recognition. “My name is Mbaziira Tony owe’ Binyaanyaanya,” he announces to a crowd in Ngando, Butambala, District.
The crowd cheers. Then, unexpectedly, they begin to disperse; slipping into nearby bushes. A baffling sight, until they re-emerge moments later clutching tree branches, banana leaves and ragged cloths. Mbaziira, now in the DJ box, raises his microphone and the ritual begins. This is not the DJing of Kampala’s uptown clubs. It is something stranger, older and more electric. This is Binyaanyaanya.
What Is Binyaanyaanya?
There is no direct English translation. Mbaziira likens the word to a mélange; a mixture, a medley, an assortment of musical elements fused into something new. The term, he explains, draws from a Masaka culinary tradition: the excitement of preparing raw tomatoes to accompany meat, the vivid mix of chilli, onions and ingredients coming together in a satisfying whole. Binyaanyaanya is that tasty, but for the ears. In practice, it is a cult-like form of DJing that connects with audiences without relying on traditionally recorded music.
Instead of playing pre-recorded tracks, Mbaziira uses sample pads, hot cues and vocal drops, often non-musical sound effects – to build a live soundscape. He records and manipulates sounds on set, functioning more like a live producer than a conventional disc jockey. The result is a low-pitched, rhythmic sequence with no lyrics. It is trance-like, hypnotic, designed to provoke movement rather than thought. “Unless otherwise, I do not alternate between high energy bangers and slow, deeper music,” Mbaziira explains. “Ours is not a roller coaster. It is energy and ambiance from the start to the end.”
The crowd becomes the forest
The audience, remarkably, understands what he is doing. They dance with ferocious energy, chanting fragments of lyrics as Mbaziira feeds them new sounds. He does not plan his sets with a conventional emotional arc. Instead, he sustains a single, relentless wave. At a key moment, he shouts: “Mukole ekibira!” make a forest. The crowd raises their branches and banana leaves, creating a bush environment as they dance. It is theatrical, participatory and deeply communal. This, Mbaziira explains, is where the term “Endongo y’E Binyaanya” comes from, a high-energy fusion of music and performance that proves infectious.
He also deploys memorable one-liners, such as “Atalina Bbina anyeenye Mugongo’, he who has no backside should shake their back, looped over a riddim to drive the crowd into frenzy. The production veers towards electronic trance, but its roots are unmistakably Ugandan.
The Nyege Nyege phenomenon
Mbaziira is not alone. His childhood friend, Suuna Ben, has become the more recognisable face of the movement. Suuna takes old Kadongo Kamu songs, Uganda’s neo-soul genre and recontextualises them for modern audiences. Tracks like Ssebowa Mugoonza’s ‘Akamasu’ and ‘Akaliga ka Simon’ find new life in his sets, layered with lewd jokes, dancing competitions and suggestive performances.
In 2024, Suuna was invited to Uganda’s premier music festival, Nyege Nyege. He was not billed as a headliner. But he stole the show, delivering an electrifying set that kept revellers dancing until sunrise. Many did not leave his stage until 8 a.m. It was a breakthrough moment for Binyaanyaanya, signalling that this underground movement had found mainstream acceptance. Suuna has since recorded mixtapes for online audiences, allowing other DJs to follow in his footsteps. His work has effectively revived Kadongo Kamu, giving it a raucous, party-ready energy that appeals to younger crowds.
A wider movement
The Binyaanyaanya phenomenon extends beyond DJ booths. In Iganda, singer Blood More, real name Ramathan Kakaire, blends Kadodi, Luwengele, Tamena Ibuga and Busoga music genres into a harmonic Afrobeat foundation. His performances are less about studio recordings and more about live adaptation, adjusting his sound to suit whichever audience he faces. His chant “Munayemba?” – will you sing? is met with a thunderous “Ehe!” from the crowd. It is call and response, communal and deeply participatory.
What unites these artists, Mbaziira, Suuna and Blood More is a rejection of conventional performance structures. They do not simply play music. They create moments. They manipulate energy. They speak directly to their audiences, often bypassing the formalities of the stage. Binyaanyaanya is not a genre in the traditional sense. It is a methodology, a way of performing that prioritises immediacy, participation and live adaptation. It thrives on unpredictability the sense that anything could happen, that the DJ or singer might pivot at any moment, drawing the crowd deeper into the experience.
The future of the movement
As Binyaanyaanya continues to evolve, questions remain. Can it sustain its momentum beyond the cult following? Will it translate to international audiences, or remain a distinctly Ugandan phenomenon? Suuna’s Nyege Nyege performance suggests it has broader appeal, but the movement’s power lies in its local roots, its ability to speak directly to Ugandan experiences, fears and joys.
For now, Binyaanyaanya is a testament to the creativity of Uganda’s underground music scene.
It is a reminder that sometimes the most powerful performances are not the most polished, but the most present. The ones that ask the audience not just to listen, but to become part of the music itself. Whether it will grow into a lasting cultural force or remain a niche movement remains to be seen. But for the crowds waving branches and singing along to sounds they have never heard before; the question is irrelevant. They are already part of something bigger. Binyaanyaanya is here. And it is dancing.