Review: Obongjayar is a genre revolutionary
Review by Bec Cushway
On a cold Friday evening, before we sat down to watch Obongjayar at the City Recital Hall, my partner asked me, “So, what genre is this guy supposed to be again?”
This question has no singular answer, and while I could have said:
“Obongjayar is an artist that straddles the borders of hip-hop, gospel, afrobeat, spoken word poetry, and nu-house,”
What I actually said was: “he’s sort of everything.”
Obongjayar is a London-based, Nigerian artist who released four stellar EPs before releasing one of the most unique albums of 2022, Some Nights I Dream of Doors. Since then, he has featured on tracks with Sampha, Little Simz, and Danny Brown, hyper-accelerating his already-fated stardom. His voice has shifted slightly - from raspy and passionate to mellow and soulful - but the painfully honest lyricism is still there. When he was announced as part of City Recital Hall’s contemporary music initiative Switched On earlier this year, I knew there was nothing I wouldn’t do to make it to that show.
CINTA took on the daunting task of walking into a half-empty hall as the first opener and filled the stage with a presence reminiscent of Erykah Badu. Crooning yet powerful, her voice was a wash of warm honey as the hall slowly filled with those lucky enough to make it in time for her soulful set. In a complete 180 of energy, second opener Agung Mango ran across the stage with a taste of the new wave of Aussie R&B Brilliantly charming, with a husky Ja Rule drawl, Agung managed to get a seated and sparse crowd up and chanting with bouncy call-and-repeats.
One of the best moments of any live gig is the minute of the empty stage leading up to the headliner making their grand reveal. It’s hushed, and small confused portions of the crowd give out tentative cheers as the sound tech walks across the dimly lit stage to rejig a mic cable. This moment was extended by a low cloud of theatrical fog as Obongjayar’s band meandered onto the stage. The man himself walked out, half-lit in blue, and announced his presence as meditative keys hummed into action. “I need everyone to come to the front. Come towards me, come close.”
Hesitantly, the crowd stood and pushed forward, around the stiff theatre seats of the City Recital Hall. The crowd, pressed forward in its entirety like this, only filled a third of the space. “This isn’t a performance, this is a spiritual gathering,” he declared. With what would have been an eye-roll-worthy statement from any other performer, the crowd wasn’t 100% on board yet. They stood stiff, heads reluctantly bobbing, as the opening keys of the poetic ballad “Try” reached out over the crowd. Obongjayar sang with power and minimal backing from his talented band, weaving around the stage in an incredibly physical performance. He embodied his opening ballads with rhythm and sensuality, communicating every word and beat through dance. This stage presence was enough to get the rigid crowd moving within three tracks.
He thanked the crowd, repeatedly, “You could be anywhere in the world, and you are here.” This transfer of energy and gratitude was reflected back to him, building to a thudding dance as he shifted from reflective ballads into high-energy drums and persistent rhythms. He thanked the ghosts in the hall, gesturing to the empty circle seats, laughing. He gave thanks to the ancestors of the space and his ancestors, making special mention of Fela Kuti. His bravado and stage presence gave hints that he felt as though he lived up to his eclectic Nigerian predecessor, at least in part. As a genre revolutionary, he may be right.
He performed the latter part of the show topless, his sweat shimmering in the floodlights. He alternated between rolling hips and delicate shimmies to power poses, stomping and starling as though at war with the audience. Highlights of the show included “I Wish It Was Me”, a crooning love song to his younger brother. He sang an extended acapella fade-out, so quiet that you could hear feet shuffling and glasses clinking in the crowd. He used this technique multiple times throughout the night and potentially wore it out, with more than half of the tracks ending in meditative, indulgent spoken word. The second highlight of the show was “Be Cool”, Obongjayar’s latest release, an easily danceable track with simple crowd-friendly rhythms. This drew the biggest response from the tempo-challenged crowd. He pushed them to their limits with “Message in a Hammer”, a pressing diatribe against Nigerian special police SARS. He shifted between a gravelly roar to falsetto repetition and changing time signatures as he called out the violence towards his community.
City Recital Hall itself was the biggest let-down of the night, the space not designed for such an innovative and high-energy performer. Folding theatre seats and red velvet were both physically and metaphorically getting in the way of an otherwise intimate production. Overall, it was an incredible show. The confidence of Obongjayar walked the line of arrogance, but his consistently entertaining and demanding stage presence saw a legend born before our eyes. In front of an unfamiliar crowd in such an ill-fitting venue, he requested our souls and gave us his in turn:
“Who would have thought, as a 14-year-old boy in Nigeria, that I would ever be here in Australia? Here tonight with you.”
Obongjayar played at the City Recital Hall on 16 June 2023. Find more information on him here.
Images by Rebecca Cushway
Rebecca Cushway is a radio host blessed with the most luxurious radio voice in the Inner West and burdened with the ability to do everything everywhere all at once. She’s not nearly as smart as the undergrads she tutors at UTS think she is.
This review was generously donated by Bec.
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