Didn’t watch the full thing but from what I’ve seen Manda Chante, Deplick, Brigade were guests and Werra had a spectacular entrance.

and the spectacular entrance(because its  still fairly new to people to have that level of "complex" entrance some are doing) these days is enough for a lot of people to consider concerts as good ones instead of those with normal entrance but serious background music and all that

I heard the concert was really short. Like 1hr 30 mins? Why is that? Is it expensive to do longer concerts these days compared to back then?

The concert was really short because they came out really late, nonethless a good show

I watched the concert live on Youtube, some channel Congo Plus or something like that. Quality was poor but I was able to catch a few things. Lemme say them before the negative energy branch descends here to point out how the concert was trash:

1. Alfred Solo couldn’t have come at a better time. Werrason rehearsals and performances were very lame with Ya Mukolo, Angola, Van Vedes and Co. He’s closer to some of the best WMM soloists of the past.

2. I’ve not watched any recent concerts where the crowd danced and sang along that much. Werra has some of the most catchy cris and when you add the energy they were played with, I was dancing in my head as well. I had said it before but Werra with all the finished band accusations we always get here is still the most energetic artist for me be it regular repetitions or enthusiastic concerts.

3. Jamaique may not be creative but he is better than we rate him here.

N/B: Am a huge Werra fan so my analysis may be subjective 😂😂😂😂 plus I hope he pays his musicians well this time and they don’t run away like we keep hearing then see them back in the band rehearsals in Kin

3.

I.was at the concert and will be back soon with a review later.

A Night with Werrason in Paris – 18 October 2025

At Adidas Arena in Paris

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.

Great review for those who missed out,thanks

One thing about Werra he always produces good shows. The fact that he’s turning 60 and still has so much energy is commendable. It’s gotten to the point now that people are coming to see him now and not maison mere, lol what happened to Bill?

You reckon Werra will perform at ING Arena? Me personally, I don't see why not. Arena Grand Paris, Adidas Arena, surely Werra's gotta perform at ING Arena next

He will, and for one reason lol

He will, and for one reason lol

To make Ferre and the Golois mad? Haha

It was a great show. I just regretted that it was just for 1h 30 minutes. Werrason is someone that needs to get atleast 4 hours. But that is sadly the format of the shows of today.  There was a guy who said "I paid 800 euros for my outside with the money I got from construction work, just see a short show".

Apart from the instrumentalists and atalaku's I don't know what the names of the singers are. I would like to know the name of the guy that was doing Lacoste's role and the one who was singing a bit like Heritier/Ferre. The guy singing like Mabiala was Inongo right ?

I was a bit scared about outro, for the way Werrason went back to sky, but it went well. I excepted Manda Chante also to do an impro, but he didn't go further after his vocal.

It was a bit akward to see all musicians including the guests (Manda Chante and Deplick) also at the Ibis Hotel behind Adidas Arena

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.