Ezra Collective guided us through the entirety of their new album in the gentlest way. Not to say it was without continuous dancing and sweating that is. Faith Hussain talks you through...
The night commenced with an energetic DJ set from Selassie TBC (whom I went through the depths of hell for trying to find his name before unsuccessfully having to DM Ezra Collective to ask) awoken a groove within the packed hall and shook her walls with dub mixes that I was shazamming for the life of me. He truly paid homage to the Soundsystem culture of the U.K. with every bassline nodding to the roots of modern revivals of reggae and jungle that goes so unrecognised.
As soon as the long-awaited shift to a golden lighting occurred, the crowd erupted into a heavy applause that was soon quenched by a few words from trumpeter Ife Ogunjobi. Before they commenced, Ife asked us to “connect with those around us”, thus erupted a wave of hugging strangers and greeting people we never would have thought twice about talking to without Ezra Collective’s incentive. In addition to fostering an amiable atmosphere, this gesture dissolved any sense of awkwardness, allowing us to dance freely with each other. That is what Ezra Collective are all about. Community.
Then embarked the best live music set I’ve ever experienced. The actual album Dance, No One’s Watching itself is continuous, the tracks perfectly fade into each other- this album was absolutely meant to be performed live or listened to in its entirety. Ezra Collective switched between songs of a more solitude beat to heavy pounding body shaking rhythms of neo soul, afro beat, and jazz fusions. These more upbeat tracks, such as Palm Wine, and Ajala, allowed for drummer Femi Kolsoso, sax James Mollison and trumpeter Ife Ogunjobi to birth an explosive dreamy sensory experience in which the audience were jumping to in a sort of trance.
As soon as the piano notes of God Gave me Feet for Dancing broke through our cheers, I clocked that the entire set was lyric-less. The explosion of musical excellence and energy of the crowd had made me unaware that we were the ones screaming lyrics. It was refreshing to be just as involved in the performance of the music as the boys were, who connected with the crowd in a way I’ve never before seen be done. The barriers between performer and audience dissolved, leaving behind a rare kind of unity—where music became the common language, and we were all equal participants in its creation. The band wasn't just playing for us; they were playing with us, and the connection felt almost sacred.
Next came Ajala, a celebration of jazz and afro beats that referenced Nigerian journalist Olabisi Ajala who wanted to travel the world via moped. His name became slang for restlessness. And restless we were as the pulsating drumming infected our bodies, manifesting in an uncontainable frenzy of jumping and dancing.
During Hear Me Cry, my favourite from the album, James and Ife came into the crowd and danced with us. It didn’t feel like they were elite in any way, fame, age, and wealth were discarded as everyone in that hall was momentarily one large family. The communal focus of the album was brought to life. Even the formation of the lighting upon the crowd and the band was indistinctive, welding us together through the shared energy of the room. The perfect follow on to the bass heavy rumbles within Hear Me Cry was Shaking Body, that really highlighted the unanimous skill set each member brought to Ezra Collective with a segment dedicated to each instrument. It brought a revitalising Latin dance spin to their set.
I’ve never had so much fun at a gig. The last track Everybody, more sober in melody yet equally as beautiful, made for a backdrop of reflection and cemented the importance of dance floor culture to the UK. Ezra Collective have spoken about the legacy of the Windrush Generation before, from which dance halls were born as a way to unite and entirely expressed the resilience of the Black diaspora to an unwelcoming British community.
I soon realised that Ezra collective is more than a jazz quintet, it includes all of us too. And I’m so glad they’re reigniting the dance floor scene to remind us music had the power to bridge divides and celebrate belonging.
Faith Hussain
Edited by Alice Beard
Comments