I still can’t find the words… Renato was a truly good man. Eight years ago he played at my 40th birthday and gave me, my family, and all our guests a night we’ll never forget. He always welcomed me up on stage to sing a few lines whenever I felt like it, no ego, no drama just pure kindness and generosity. In a world full of musicians who overcharge or cheat, Renato was the complete opposite: honest, respectful, and always fair.
We stayed in regular contact over the years, and every time he dedicated me in a song it felt like he was talking about family. I’m the guy you see in that photo in the video above standing right behind him wearing dark shades, his friend, his fan, his brother.
Yesterday brought the worst news I’ve ever received. I’m still trying to process that my brother Renato is no longer here. The pain is immense and indescribable.
Rest in peace, king. Thank you for every note, every smile, and every moment. You will live in our hearts forever. ❤️
Ken Mpiana claiming that if JB Mpiana doesn't pass away before 2026 arrives, either Didier Masela, Adolphe Dominguez or Werrason will pass away, since that according him, JB will try to sacrifice one of them in his place.
He also said that the difference between Werrason and JB Mpiana is that JB didn't show his bandmembers witchcraft and that he used to do all sacrifice on his own, while with Werrason he was showing WMM-members how to do witchcraft. Saying that he had different examples, that when Werrason would a member as Fabregas give the chance to release a song, the member would sacrifice different familymembers, also that Eboa Lotin got left behind for Zenith 2008, because according him, Eboa Lotin said to him, that he was fed up to sacrifice his familymembers and knew that he would get left behind. After that he said that he once met Bonbon Kojack and that he was afraid to be alone, revealing that he was seeing late Nico Bwakongo everywhere. Ken Mpiana claiming that Nico used to be his spriitual coach.
Later on, also giving the example how different bandmembers of F-Victeam lost their familymembers in the period of fete de la musique or how those who received 5-years visum from Fally, lost their parents, children or relatives.
This is superstitious nonsense and it is exactly the kind of thinking that makes Africa appear backward to the outside world. When people choose to explain every misfortune through witchcraft and imaginary sacrifices instead of looking at health issues, poverty, stress and basic life risks, it only fuels ignorance. Talented musicians pass away for the same reasons anyone else does. Attributing success on dark magic and painting every opportunity as a ritual sacrifice just drags the entire continent into the mud. Africa has brilliance, creativity and progress, yet conversations like this keep tying its image to fear and superstition rather than reason and development.
LIGHTING & GRAPHICS OVERKILL !!! Unless its the camera angles of the videos we are getting, i feel like the lighting & graphics guys did a poor job. The essence of a lighting & graphics is to enhance, support, magnify the main act not completely overthrow the main act. No synchronization, no theme, no flow , just random overkill chaos! The monitor strobe facing upwards was unnecessary, ruined alot of camera shots in the room and was painful too try strain past them to se the main act.
You weren't even at the concert and here you are bitching about the quality of a free video........we loved the live spectacle in the arena. If you do not like the lights.....tough.
I.was at the concert and will be back soon with a review later.
I remember when we were younger here Werrasonique, we literally would want to kill each other over Werrason and JB Mpiana. I can now only say, over time, you are the winner. I actually have been looking for you to confirm. I liked JB out of blind love and the confusion of the split of Wenge Musica. Werrason is by far the better organiser, coordinator of a band and that's what is key in Congolese Music. JB Mpiana, asila kala!!
Emo my brother 🙏🏾 I really appreciate that message. You’re absolutely right, at the end of the day, hard work triumphs over talent. JB Mpiana is undeniably talented, no one can take that away from him, but talent without structure and consistency is like rhythm without melody. He has always lacked organisation and long-term vision, which is why his empire slowly crumbled.
Werrason, on the other hand, built everything from sweat and discipline. He understood that to survive in Congolese music you must be a leader, a coordinator, and a manager of men, not just a singer. That’s why Maison Mère still stands strong while so many others have come and gone.
Time has simply proven the difference between natural talent and relentless work ethic. Werrason doesn’t just make music; he built a system, a movement, and a legacy. 💪🏾🔥
On the morning of 18 October 2025, I woke up at 7 a.m. buzzing with excitement. The day had finally arrived for my long-awaited trip to Paris for Werrason’s historic concert at the Adidas Arena. The thought alone sent a rush of energy through me. I jumped out of bed, took a refreshing shower, and slipped into my favourite tracksuit, comfortable, practical, and perfect for travel without the nuisance of airport security delays.
By 8 a.m., I was on my way to the local train station, bound for Birmingham Airport, where I would meet my friend and fellow Wenge devotee. I arrived just before nine, checked in my bag, and before long, my friend appeared, equally charged with anticipation. We breezed through security and settled into one of the airport bars, sipping our drinks and counting down the minutes to our 11:25 flight.
That was when the drama began. Instead of landing at Charles de Gaulle, our plane descended into Beauvais Airport, an unexpected twist that could only add spice to the adventure. We boarded the shuttle to Saint-Denis Université, a journey that lasted just over an hour, and arrived around 3 p.m. Paris greeted us with its usual mix of elegance and chaos.
We made our way towards Line 13, planning to take the metro to our hotel, the Ibis Budget Paris Porte de la Chapelle – Arena, located conveniently behind the Adidas Arena. Just before entering the station, we were stopped by an RATP police officer, armed and alert, though he spoke surprisingly good English. He warned us about the area, saying “pickpockets and crackheads,” and advised us to take a taxi instead. His words carried enough weight that we did not argue. Within fifteen minutes, our Uber pulled up outside the hotel.
After checking in, hunger guided our next steps. We walked towards the Arena and were met with the intoxicating smell of freshly roasted maize and groundnuts being sold by street vendors, a small slice of Kinshasa in Paris. We bought grilled chicken from a nearby stall, ate to our fill, and stopped by a supermarket to stock up on drinks before heading back to the hotel to freshen up.
By 7:45 p.m., we were on our way to the Arena, just a short five-minute walk. From my hotel window, I could see the glowing silhouette of the venue, a fortress of sound and light. As we approached, the buzz was palpable; fans in Wenge gear streamed in, hailing the "Roi de la Forêt" (King of the Forest) and his promise to "correct" Paris with ndombolo rhythms. Entry was smooth and well organised. My friend and I parted ways at the gate, he went to Block H, and I made my way to the floor (la fosse) for a closer view.
Inside, the atmosphere was electric. A DJ was spinning Congolese hits while the Sapeurs, flamboyant fashion icons in their tailored suits and colourful attire, paraded like peacocks. Some looked sharp and regal, others utterly ridiculous, dressed like overdecorated Christmas trees. The crowd was vibrant, proud, and ready, a sea of over 7,000 strong from the Congolese diaspora and beyond, turning the arena into a pulsating heartbeat of the motherland.
I wandered to the bar at the back but found the drink selection disappointingly limited, nothing caught my fancy, so I decided to keep a clear head for the show.
The music continued until around 9 p.m., two hours behind schedule, a timing hiccup that drew a few groans but only fuelled the anticipation. Then the MC took the mic and introduced Wenge Maison Mère’s instrumental team. They opened with smooth, jazzy undertones before erupting into a five-minute sebene that blew the roof off. The energy surged through the crowd like electricity, and all traces of frustration over the delay instantly disappeared.
And then the moment arrived. Werrason descended from the roof, suspended on a harness above the crowd, regal and commanding, the arena trembling with screams of joy. Cameras flashed, people jumped, and suddenly everyone was on their feet. Thousands of phones captured him in vibrant red trousers, arms outstretched like a conquering eagle, hovering amid swirling smoke, cascading green, red, and blue lights, and pyrotechnic bursts that lit up the night. The audience roared as he landed on stage and plunged straight into an explosive sebene that sent waves of rhythm through the entire arena.
This was Wenge at its purest, raw, energetic, and intoxicating, a non-stop ndombolo assault that had the full house on its feet, sebene sections dominating 90% of the two-hour set and leaving no one seated.
Three guest stars joined him, each igniting fresh waves of cheers:
Manda Chante, who serenaded us with his soulful parts from Kala Yi Boeing, his voice cutting through the frenzy like a warm breeze.
Brigade, who unleashed his trademark cries during Sous-Sol, whipping the crowd into a frenzied mosh of claps and stomps.
Deplik, who performed a smooth rhumba number that momentarily slowed the tempo, offering a sultry breather before the sebene storm resumed.
By 11 p.m., after nearly two hours of relentless energy, Werrason was lifted once more into the air, vanishing above the stage as dramatically as he had arrived. The concert was over, but the euphoria lingered, as fans poured out singing, clapping, and shouting praises for the 60-year-old legend who had packed the Arena to the brim despite minor organisational snags.
As we made our way out, I narrowly avoided three pickpocket attempts, batting away grasping hands even though my pockets were empty. It added an edge of street-level realism to an otherwise magical night.
Back at the hotel, we poured drinks, recapped the concert, and laughed until around 1 a.m. We debated heading to Keur Samba nightclub, a hotspot recommended by locals, but exhaustion triumphed over curiosity. The dance floor at the Arena had already taken every ounce of strength we had.
Now, as I write this from my bed, my legs still ache from hours of dancing. In a few hours, I will head out to explore Paris, maybe do some shopping and grab a proper meal before flying back to the UK tomorrow.
But for now, I am still basking in the afterglow of what was, without doubt, one of the most electrifying concerts of my life. A total triumph, a slice of Kinshasa conquering Paris, and proof that Werrason’s forest reigns eternal.
Bravo, Werrason. You gave Paris a night it will never forget.
Werrason’s artistic evolution is one of the most remarkable in Congolese music. Every era he has touched carries a distinct sound, a fresh lineup and a refined sense of musical identity. While others burn out or repeat themselves, he recalibrates and returns sharper, more relevant and more connected to the streets and the stage.
People who criticise him for using supporting voices overlook the genius of his direction. He is not just a singer but a conductor; a builder of sonic architecture where every vocalist, guitarist and atalaku fits into a deliberate design. His music breathes because it is communal, not self-centred. That has always been the secret behind his staying power.
What frustrates many of his detractors is that he keeps producing impactful songs long after others have faded. They look for flaws to explain away his dominance instead of admitting that his formula continues to work because it is authentic. Werrason does not chase the limelight; he builds it. Each release is a reminder that leadership in music is not about noise but about vision, discipline and timeless execution.
Despite all the respect I have for his work, I feel like Japonais is a liar and takes credit for a lot of things.
That is a serious allegation you are making against someone I consider to be one of the finest guitar prodigies to come out of Congo. With claims of that magnitude, you must provide evidence and demonstrate clearly that Japonais Maladi is indeed lying.
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