Back in the 1990s, concerts were a simple affair. A ticket cost a few hundred shillings, word was spread through radio and hand-made posters, and Nairobi’s party faithful gathered at Carnivore, KICC, or Safari Park to rock to live bands.
Lesos, jeans, and sneakers ruled the fashion scene, and the night ended with a photo printed in Monday’s newspaper, not an Instagram story.
Fast-forward to the post-Covid era, and the same crowd that once clapped politely to saxophones is now at Soul Fest, OktobaFest, Blankets and Wine and Summer Tides, dancing next to Gen Zs and millennials in crop tops and boots. The lines have blurred, the beats have evolved, but one truth remains: the 40-plus crowd still knows how to groove.
At the Blankets and Wine concert held in Nairobi on September 28, the air hummed with music, chatter, and a heady cocktail of sunscreen, cologne, and booze. The grass was dotted with picnic mats and cooler boxes. Some posed for selfies as laughter burst from small circles of friends sharing wine and gossip.
Musician Chimano performs during Blankets and Wine event held at Laureate Gardens in Nairobi on September 28, 2025.
Then, under a small tent, I spotted a group of older concert goers who clearly came for the music, not the hype. They looked calm and confident, like people who have seen trends come and go and wanted to enjoy themselves regardless. I wondered what keeps 40-something-year-olds going to concerts that clearly target Gen Zs and millennials.
“This is Peppa,” Raychelle said. “My handbag, my best friend. For the last four years, I have not attended any concert,” she told Lifestyle. “I thought it was not a child-friendly place. But I checked their page and saw they had activities for children and I said, why not?”
Raychelle Wachira during Blankets and Wine event at Laureate Gardens in Nairobi on September 28, 2025.
Photo credit: Bonface Bogita | Nation Media Group
“I love young people’s energy, fashion, and freedom. Being around them makes me feel alive,” added Raychelle.
As the music picked up and the sun began to dip, I wandered a few meters close to the sound tent. There, I met Reagan Omedo, 50. He was in a faded Bob Marley T-shirt, ripped jeans, and sneakers. He held a beer can in one hand, nodding to the live band.
“I have been attending live shows since 1992,” he said. “Back then, a ticket was Sh300. You would sit under a tree with your mat, sip a soda, and feel the music. We did not have VIP tents or Instagram stories. Just vibes.”
When I asked what keeps him coming back, his eyes lit up.
“Live instruments,” he said firmly. “The guitar, the drums, that is where real music lives. DJs are fine, but they do not excite me.”
He giggled as a group of young men nearby shouted “Uncle Reagan” and offered him a cup of rum punch. He took a sip. “They call me uncle, and I do not mind. When the beat drops, we are all the same age. My knees remind me I am 50, but my heart does not care.”
Reagan’s most memorable concert was Damian Marley’s show at Carnivore in 2017. “The rain started pouring, but no one left. We danced in the mud. Young people today think they invented fun. They did not. We just do it slower, but better.”
Nigerian singer Temilade ‘Tems’ Openiyi performs during Blankets and Wine event at Laureate Gardens in Nairobi on September 28, 2025.
Photo credit: Bonface Bogita | Nation Media Group
Away from the stage lights and selfie sticks, I found the queens of the groove, women who had turned concerts into a tradition. One of them was Beatrice Mwikali, 48.
“This is my therapy,” she said. “Every concert is a reminder that I am still me and I need to have fun.”
Bea and her three friends, Judy, Carol, and Tess, have been attending concerts together for over 20 years. They call themselves “The Fab Four.”
“We used to attend concerts in KICC. Tickets were Sh500. We would save for weeks just to buy new outfits – flared jeans, big earrings, matching tops. We felt like queens.”
They were dressed in flowy maxi dresses, wide hats, and ankle boots, coordinated, elegant, effortless.
“We may not twerk like them, but we move with grace,” she said.
What keeps them coming back? “Life can get hard. Work, bills, children…it all piles up. But here, I remember the girl I used to be. I laugh, I dance, I breathe. Concerts are how we remind each other that fun does not have an expiry date.”
At the Safaricom Jazz Festival, I met Dennis Moses, 46. A glass of wine was perched atop his table, he was nodding along to the soft jazz playing. He was dressed in a white linen shirt, khaki trousers, and leather sandals. A fedora hat shielded his face from the afternoon sun.
“I prefer my concerts mellow,” he said. “Jazz, neo-soul, instrumental stuff. I like hearing every note.”
He has been attending the Jazz Festival since its first edition. “Back then, a ticket cost Sh1,000,” he recalled. “Now it is three to five or more, but I do not mind. It is worth every cent. Good sound, good people, good wine.”
His love for live music began in the late 90s when he was in college. “We used to sneak into hotel lounges just to listen to jazz bands rehearsing. The rhythm, the trumpet, the crowd snapping along, it felt lively. I got hooked. My friends and I would save our small allowances just to attend live shows at Carnivore or the old Club Choices. That was our version of Netflix.”
What drew him most, he said, was the feeling of community. “It was not just the music; it was who you met there. We were a small circle of dreamers, talking about life and plans between sets. Some of those guys are still my friends today. We may not meet often, but every concert feels like a reunion.”
Dennis laughed when I asked if he had ever gone to a Gengetone show. “Once. My son dragged me there. I lasted 30 minutes only. My ears almost resigned!” he laughed. “But I respect the young people’s energy. Every generation has its sound.”
When he is not at jazz shows, he attends acoustic nights or small gigs in Karen and Westlands. “I like spaces where you can actually talk without shouting,” he said.
At the Kulture Experience concert held on October 7, 2000s hit songs moved the crowd. There, we met Grace Bahati, 47, standing at a vendor stall filled with the smoke of nyama choma , grilled chicken and roasted maize. She was in skinny jeans, white sneakers, and a floral kimono that flowed with her every move. Around her wrist were colourful bangles, and in her hand, a cup of cold cider.
“I do not do weekday events,” she said. “I need my sleep. But give me a weekend concert or a holiday, and I will be there.”
Grace’s most memorable concert was Koffee’s show at Carnivore in 2019. “It rained, but no one cared. We were drenched and dancing. I remember thinking, this is freedom.
“I love watching the younger generation during concerts,” she told Lifestyle. “They are fearless...Their fashion, their energy, even their hairstyle.”
Grace frequently attends concerts filled with Gen Zs and millennials, from Sol Fest to Blankets and Wine and even OktobaFest.
“You people know how to have fun,” she said, smiling. “There is something pure about how you enjoy music. No stress, no pretending. You can tell these young people came to feel the beat, not to impress anyone. And I love sharing that space with them. When they start singing along to old Sauti Sol songs or classic reggae, I realise the music we grew up with still connects generations.”
Her circle of friends, five women she calls her “weekend sisters,” are part of her ritual. “We plan everything on our WhatsApp group,” she reveals. “One checks the ticket prices, another looks for transport, and someone else makes sure there is a picnic mat and a cooler.” They never stay till midnight. “We come early, dance, eat, take photos, then leave by around 10am or 11am. We like to go home before the chaos starts,” she added.
Caroline Wambua at The Kulture Experience where timeless music, hot chai, and old-school vibes turned a concert night into a heartwarming trip down memory lane.
Photo credit: Pool
Still at the Kulture Experience concert, we met Caroline Wambua.
“I like such concerts. The program is well organised, the timing is perfect, and the crowd is so mature. People are mingling freely without those VIP barriers. It feels real.”
For Caroline, it was not just about the music; it was about nostalgia. She sang her heart out through every set. The experience took her back to her high school days. “I used to write down lyrics in my diary and cut out pictures of some of these artists,” she recalled. “When I saw them on stage, it reawakened those memories.” The DJ’s mixes had her dancing non-stop, and when Darling P performed, she lit up with joy. But the most emotional moment came when E-Sir's brother stepped on stage and raised his flag. “I almost cried,” Caroline admitted.
What stood out most was not just the music but the attention to detail. “There was even a tea vendor,” she laughed. “They really understood what the older crowd wanted.” Caroline loved seeing others enjoying the event, and even noticed people in their 50s and 60s relaxed in tents, sipping tea and nodding along to the old-school hits. “This is the kind of vibe we want,” she said.
Eugene, 49, a lover of the throwback hits, watched from a few steps behind, nodding to the beat. “These songs built us,” he said. “We grew up with them, fell in love with them, even raised our children with them playing in the background.”
But the night also carried its tender moments. When the crowd rose for a tribute to E-Sir, Eugene stood still, his hands clasped. “That one hit hard,” he told Lifestyle. “He was our star. His music still feels alive, like he never left.”
For Eugene, Kulture was not just entertainment. It was proof that time does not erase feelings. “We might not jump as high anymore,” he said with a smile, “But the experience makes us young again.”
From Nameless and Wahu’s heartfelt duets to the electrifying comebacks of P-Unit, Jua Cali, Wyre, Mr Lenny, Big Pin, and Prezzo, the stage at Kulture concert became a time capsule of Kenyan music’s golden age. DJ Pinye spun the decks like it was 2005, turning the crowd into a sea of movement, silver hair, sneakers, heels, and all.
As the concert fields glow with energy, phones raised and laughter spilling, the younger crowd jumps, sings, and records every moment, while the older concertgoers, the over 40 crowd, groove with an ease that only time can teach.
They stand out not because of age, but because of their attitude. They have learned that joy does not need to be loud to be enjoyable. They have been here before, when the speakers crackled, when tickets cost Sh300, when concerts were about the band, not the brand. Now, they share the same field with their children’s generation, Gen Zs in crop tops, millennials with phones in hand and somehow, it works.
