It’s easy to forget that Obaro Ejimiwe, a.k.a Ghostpoet, is already a Mercury nominee and a Mike Skinner essential listening recommendation when I’m standing in the middle of the relatively unfilled Duchess on a Wednesday evening.
Yet I’m not writing this review to bemoan the relative apathy of the York audience when it comes to appreciating the few tasty musical morsels pushed their way. I’m writing it to review Obaro: the live entity. Yet apparently drinking your body weight in banter a few roads over in the infamous Ziggy’s slash Mansion slash House of Lad is a more appealing activity. Who could blame them? Spending an evening listening to the deliciously blended sounds of one even tastier man, using all of what is good in British Urban music right now, to construct a delightful sandwich of “Peanut Butter Blues And Melancholy Jam”, sounds rather shit in comparison. As I was consumed by the sorrow of missing a once-a-week opportunity to throw up on myself, I was barely able to console myself with the sounds of Ghostpoet making his way through his set. Not so much biting the hand that feeds York the occasional musical morsel, as not biting at all, not one bit.
I’ve found myself frustrated at the music scene on offer in York and this was a prime example of why good artists just aren’t coming here. If you can only fill a club to half capacity when you’re booking an artist, it’s just not financially viable to try and fill it at all. Unless you offer vodka at an ethically questionable low price, blast out “Swagger Jagger” remixes, the masses of York won’t visit. It’s all too apparent that soon York won’t be the occasionally visited backwater by musicians, more a maligned, forgotten and dried-up lake.
Yet Ghostpoet was enthusiastic, even if it was obvious that beyond the first few rows of vintage clad bodies, he was playing to his sound man, tour manager and the barstaff. Opening with “Gaaasp” he progressively got more enthusiastic as the crowd (see: half filled room) warmed to him. Halfway through his set us Englishmen had progressed from head bopping, to foot-tapping and the occasional awkward hand waving as we shook off years of emotional repression to tracks as “Liiines”, “Finished I Ain’t” and “Longing for the Night”. He finished with “Cash and Carry Me Home”, which involved a lengthy interlude, where Obaro minced with his fancy Macintosh computer and made some sexy, epic sounds.
Ejimiwi played what felt like an extremely personal set, mainly using album tracks, and he played it well, with vigour, which is all we can ask for. Oh, and there was a bollocks unknown indie band beforehand; luckily I arrived as they were finishing. And the beer was expensive and weak. And my seminar leader was there from second year. I recommend in future that if you actually want a night to remember, make an informed decision, like the man with three degrees, my ex-economic history tutor did: go see some live music. If not, Morrisons own gin is cheap and “Swagger Jagger” is on every night somewhere in York. Peace.
pretty sensible words if i ever heard any..