Someone’s Always Listening: KMRU on the Art of Sharing Music

For many artists, sharing music comes with a certain kind of vulnerability. When we release our work into the world, we put our creative judgment on the line, opening ourselves to scrutiny, interpretation, and critique.

Those with a certain kind of temperament may thrive in that space: extroverted, prolific, at ease with the performative rituals of modern self-promotion. For them, releasing music might feel like a celebration, complete with curated visuals, costumes, clever hashtags, and algorithm-friendly campaigns.

But what if you’re not wired for such spectacle? What if music, for you, is something quieter, more inward-facing, a slow and uncertain process grounded in emotion, or a simple need to make sense of the world? 

In today’s era of constant content, that tension can be especially acute. Sharing music often means navigating an online ecosystem that rewards consistency, visibility, and momentum, qualities that don’t always align with the texture of the work itself.

Music, after all, isn’t merely a product to be sold; it’s a form of self-expression. Its meaning and relatability are deeply personal, varying from listener to listener. 

For musician and sound artist Joseph Kamaru (known on stage as KMRU), sharing music is less about promotion and more about a steady presence. His ambient compositions, shaped by the subtle use of field recordings, atmospheric pads, and delicate intricacies, move with patience, revealing space as both subject and medium. When sharing his music, what Kamaru offers is not so much a pitch or campaign, but rather a quiet invitation: to listen attentively, allowing the sound to guide your experience.

In partnership with Mixcloud, we recently sat down with Kamaru to explore the art of sharing music along with the tools and approaches that shape his process. To accompany this article, Kamaru has also made a selection of field recordings from his archive available for readers to download and explore.

Download KMRU’s field recordings

Raised in Nairobi’s Kariokor neighborhood, Kamaru recalls his earliest encounters with urban music as a passenger aboard the matatus. Matatus are buses used for public transport in Nairobi. A key part of urban culture, they’re often vibrantly decorated with graffiti, pop culture references, and equipped with booming sound systems. “All sorts of amalgamations of different sounds were being played on them”, Kamaru recalls, “that was maybe my initial point of view in terms of music listening, but it grew from there."

Kamaru’s musical calling was evident from a young age. He chose to join the choir in primary school, later became “music captain” in high school, and drew inspiration from the legacy of his late grandfather, Joseph Kamaru, a renowned benga and gospel musician and political activist. But it was in university, armed with a guitar and laptop, that he began to compose more deliberately. Field recording, which would later become a cornerstone of Kamaru’s practice, emerged almost by accident. 

“It all started when I got a Zoom recorder, Kamaru remembers. “Initially, I just wanted to get an audio interface, but the Zoom recorder seemed the most interesting interface to me because it also had microphones. It opened up this new world of field recording for me. Sometimes when I listen back to a field recording, it feels like a snapshot of a moment, a kind of documentation of a space. Some recordings just feel like a track in themselves. They have a kind of natural harmony.”

Sharing Without Expectation or Attachment

Kamaru’s approach to sharing music is rooted in a spirit of openness that took shape during his early years in Nairobi’s music scene. Before distribution platforms and digital campaigns became standard, online music sharing platforms served as a space where ideas moved fast and feedback flowed freely.

“This kind of freeness is something I experienced a lot when I was beginning to make music,” Kamaru says. “In Nairobi, we’d just upload tracks and share them with peers and friends. Everyone looked forward to new releases. It was exciting.”

There was no strategy, no release schedule, just a shared sense of discovery and momentum. “You’d make a track, and you’d just put it out. Your friends would give feedback, and you’d be happy you made something. That was enough.”

Tools for Creation and Sharing

Kamaru’s creative process is grounded in experimentation. Whether in the studio or on stage, he relies on a setup of software and hardware that invites spontaneity. 

“I doodle a lot,” he says. “I’ve been using ppooll, a MaxMSP-based application that’s very generative but also chaotic. I drop samples and field recordings into it and just start sketching. Sometimes I’m not even sure where it’s going, but I always have Ableton Live recording in the background.”

In the studio, Kamaru cycles through various devices like guitar pedals, Elektron’s Digitone, and the Sidrax Organ, capturing moments as they unfold. On stage, he builds sets around Ableton Live’s Session View, using Push to trigger and manipulate stems in real time. “Push is always with me,” he says. “I use it like a mixer, fading in stems, playing synths, processing field recordings. It’s a very hands-on way of performing.”

When the time comes to share his work, Kamaru notes how different platforms serve different needs. “Autonomy is a keyword for me when it comes to sharing music,” he says. “I like to be as free as possible, using platforms that allow you to control how to put the music out. I originally opened a Mixcloud account because it felt more focused on releasing longer mixes and archiving radio shows. But recently, I realised you can put out single tracks on there too.”

Listen to KMRU’s track “Fraught I” on Mixcloud

The Label Route

For a time, Kamaru tried releasing music via the record label route, hoping to reach wider audiences. “I remember signing my first label contract, and it felt huge.” Sharing music through labels brought exposure; however, it also came with limitations. “There’s this whole strategy I didn’t know about,” he says. “Like, you’re supposed to wait a month after releasing an album before sharing anything else. I just wanted to put music out. But suddenly there were these timeframes, these hidden structures you’re expected to follow.”

Kamaru recalls releasing three albums in the same year, a move that, by industry standards, might have seemed almost rebellious. That freedom, he says, is something he inherited from his grandfather. “He would release music based on what was happening in his life. He wasn’t following any campaign strategy; he just shared when he felt it. I always try to bend the system a little, even though I know it can affect how the music is received. It’s interesting how different people share music. But for me, it’s always been about what feels right in the moment.”

Alongside working with labels, Kamaru has found a balance in quieter, more considered ways of sharing and releasing music, through physical tapes, self-published albums, and small-run experiments. “It’s like self-releasing, but with care,” he says. “Especially after seeing the other side of the music industry, which isn’t always healthy for the music.”

Sharing Frequency: What is Too Much, or Too Little?

In an era shaped by visibility and social media metrics, the question of cadence looms large for many artists: Does engagement rise with output, or is there value in restraint? “I feel like there was a year where I was putting out a lot,” Kamaru says. “It came from this freedom, just wanting to release these musical experiments I was doing. This year has probably been the longest I haven’t released anything. Sometimes momentum helps, but it’s also about the music itself.”

The Post-Release Feedback Loop

Many creatives experience the desire to keep their work authentic and undiluted, while also making it accessible and relatable. The moment we open ourselves up to an audience, we also invite perception and critique. But, how much weight should we give to this? Is it inevitable that feedback begins to shape our creative choices, however subtly?

With an extensive back catalogue of releases already under his belt, that moment of unveiling his work and sharing it with the world still carries a lot of excitement and vulnerability for Kamaru. “It’s like getting a new toy and showing it to your friend”, he says. “Sometimes there’s this intense reaction. Suddenly, everyone is listening; some people are even writing about it. It’s a privilege, in a way. To feel the audience's anticipation. To put out a project and sense how it’s received.”

Still, Kamaru knows that once the music is out, it begins a different life. “I can’t control how people feel about it. It’s like any artwork; you make a decision, and once it’s out, you can’t change it. It’s for others to decide what it means to them.”

That sense of letting go, is part of what makes sharing meaningful for Kamaru. “I think that’s the beauty of it,” he says. “You’re vulnerable. You know it’s not going to be for everyone, but you’re still happy it’s out there.”

Kamaru often revisits his past work, not to revise or second-guess it, but to better understand where he was at that time and why it resonated in the way that it did. “I go back and listen, and I ask myself: why do people really like this project? But I try not to make decisions based on what people say. I’m not trying to please an audience. Right now, I’m in a phase of deep experimentation, trying different techniques that might sound really different from what people expect.”

This spirit of risk-taking shows up through his catalog; it’s something he embraces, even when it brings uncertainty. “It’s scary,” he admits, “but it’s also exciting to see what people will think.”

Looking back, Kamaru sees each project as part of an evolving study of process and intention. “Each release is part of your own growth”, he suggests. “You won’t regret it. It’s research into your own practice. That’s what I love about it.”

When is it Time to Share?

For many music makers, knowing when a piece is finished can be difficult to discern. There’s always another detail that could be tweaked or another idea that could be explored. But part of the creative process is learning when to step back and trust the work to stand on its own.

Kamaru’s process often unfolds in phases, starting with creative exploration, then the act of sharing. “Right now, I’m in this creative phase, writing tracks for a possible album,” he says. “When I finish the tracks and mix them, I try not to obsess over fine-tuning every detail to make it sound ‘perfect’, because how good can it really sound, in the end?”

Once Kamaru sends the track to the mastering engineer, he sees it as a turning point. “At that moment, I just have to set a release date. If I’m releasing it myself, I can schedule things on my own terms. But if it’s through a label, then comes the process of timelines and planning.”

The Unpredictable Art of Promotion

The other side of sharing music, of course, is promoting it. For many artists, the challenge lies in maintaining authenticity while navigating the increasingly pressured landscape of self-promotion. 

Kamaru acknowledges the challenge of balancing promotion with creativity. “Promoting is always a learning curve,” he says. “As an artist, you want to share your work in the best way possible. Promotion is more on the admin side of things. There’s always this tension between the artistic side and what helps your music gain traction. I’m usually fine with doing what I can, but there’s always that question: how much is enough? How much more should I be sharing? There’s always a certain limit to how much difference it can make.”

The results we see from promoting our work can be frustratingly unpredictable. An EP released with a full PR campaign might sink without a trace, while a quietly self-released project could go unexpectedly viral.

“I feel like I’ve built a strong audience through self-releasing,” Kamaru reflects. “Sometimes, with those self-releases, I wouldn’t explain much, I’d just share the track and artwork, without saying how the music was made or what it was about. It’s not necessarily the best way to release music, but I started to notice that this approach created a kind of anticipation.”

Working with labels and PR teams has taught Kamaru a different side of promotion, one that’s more structured, but perhaps not always essential in every context. “A friend of mine runs a PR agency, and once she told me, ‘Kamaru, you don’t need to spend a lot of money on a full campaign. Just put the music out and I’ll do a mailout.’ That made sense to me. I appreciate having those kinds of conversations with people in that world.” You can have the best PR and publicists, but one of the projects I released with no backing at all did really well, people really engaged with it.”

Those unexpected successes Kamaru refers to can often serve as catalysts that boost an artist's following and profile. A “hit,” of sorts, though we rarely know which piece it might be. When asked if there was a particular record that moved the needle for him, Kamaru cites Peel, released in 2020. “It opened doors for me, on the festival side, in the music world. Suddenly, I was part of this circuit of labels, agencies, and performances.”

Even with that success, Kamaru continued to experiment with different ways of self-releasing. One example came the following year, with “Natur”. Unlike a traditional album, the project was a single, continuous piece running over 50 minutes. “I’m always trying to blur the boundaries of how music is shared”, he explains, “whether it’s formats, structures, or how people interact with the work.”

Kamaru reflects on one release, Temporarily Stored, that gave him pause before sharing. “It was very contextual,” he explains. “It was a research project about repatriating sounds that are stored in museums. I didn’t think it would get much interaction or press.” But the project found its audience in a different way. “The art world appreciated it. It was like an art project released in a musical way.” Kamaru made tapes, uploaded it freely, and didn’t worry about the usual album rollout. A year later, it was picked up for an exhibition. “Other artists were invited to engage with the archive; it became an ongoing project, still growing,” he says. “I’m really glad I shared it the way I did.”

Someone Is Always Listening

When asked what he’d say to someone who makes music but doesn’t yet feel ready to share it, Kamaru speaks with quiet conviction.

“Sharing helps you understand what you really want to put out,” he suggests. “I tell friends who make really good music, ‘Just put it out.’ There’s always somebody listening. There’s always that one person, or a bunch of people, who care about what you’re doing.”

Sometimes, he says, it just takes a small gesture to build confidence. “Even just one person reaching out to say they heard your track, it’s like a pat on the back. You feel, ‘Okay, yeah, I’m going to share more.’”

If you find yourself sitting on the sidelines yet drawn to the idea of sharing your music, Kamaru’s advice is simple: “Just put it out, even if it feels uncomfortable. Being vulnerable is part of it.” He also stresses the value of a second opinion. “Find a second ear, a mentor or another artist you trust. There are so many good people in the world. You can just reach out and say, ‘Hey, I made this, let me know what you think.’ That’s how I’ve built friendships. Some started online and then grew in person. It really helps.”

When asked to describe the experience of sharing music in three words, Kamaru ponders for a few moments: “Freedom, excitement, and unknown”, he says.

Keep up with KMRU on Mixcloud, Instagram and his website

Text by Joseph Joyce 
Interview by Joseph Joyce and Yemi Abiade
Photography by Palma Llopis 

A version of this interview appears on Mixcloud.com