As a venue, the Bakery is like a hipster at a party. It slouches out the back end of the CBD, viewing the happenings with disinterested eyes, and is never without a hand rolled cigarette. An androgynous crowd, boasting neck-beards and unisex clothing, flock to the quasi-lit hanger compound, with its shipping containers and black drapery.
Oscar Slorach-Thorn, a.k.a. Oscar Key Sung, opened the night with a mix of future RnB and soul, providing pure, beautiful vocals over lazily paced tape loops. He worked a 4-track, and delay and reverb pedals, surely and deliberately, rather than with practiced rapidity. The bass was a little overblown, warping around the edges, but it was otherwise an exciting sound, reminiscent of James Blake.
One questions the appropriateness of Obaro Ejimiwe’s pseudonym. Despite adopting Ghostpoet, his poetry was neither ethereal nor ephemeral, but fully formed, and it left a lasting impression.
The morose baritone murmured his way through a restrained performance. The lyrically dense tracks cultivated an anxious environment.
His meandering intonations were carried across a river of down-tempo trip-hop, think Massive Attack, characterised by tortured production sounds and high-hats, which did not incite one to groove, despite his urgings.
For a spoken word artist, he operated with a huge set-up. Ejimiwe crowded the stage with drums, keys, and an electric guitarist. There was also an M.P.C. (Music Production Center), which he operated, looping phrases, and distorting and echoing his voice.
Despite the close quarters, his band never missed a beat. There was no mistaking who the star was, but they were an unfaltering unit.
Clare Uchima provided backing vocals from behind the keyboard, the singer/songwriter carrying simple melodies, and contrasting with Emijiwe’s gruff voice.
While they were technically strong, they were also overbearingly loud.
Combined with his thick English accent and slurring manner, he was as impossible to understand as James Franco’s career choices. The ensemble made for more of a live show, but it defeats the purpose of being a spoken word artist if only every fifth word is discernible. One could not be blamed for expecting his voice to carry more of the show, relying upon an internal rhythm, rather than a rhythm section.
His set drew from both his 2011 Mercury Prize nominated album, Peanut Butter Blues & Melancholy Jam, and the tongue twistingly titled new album Some Say I So Say Light.
The set flowed from one song straight into another, but it was a low-energy gig without any ‘smoke and mirrors’, so perhaps they did not need time between songs to catch their breath.
Ghostpoet’s material addresses accessible subject matter. He is the voice of the everyday man. Although in ‘Garden Path’ he insists ‘I ain’t wise,’ his anthemic music seemed to really speak to people, and drew an emotional response from the older crowd.
For example, the single off his new album, Meltdown, sees Ejimiwe lament his flawed nature, that ‘takes a hold,’ working to ‘disappoint and tear apart,’ ruining his relationships. But it’s in his nature, his ‘heart’, and he has to ‘follow it.
Emijiwe immerses himself in these tales of the ‘Average Joe’, and does not pretend to be a detached observer, clearly grasping the whole picture, as the hook begins with a plea to be shown ‘the way.’ There is a message though, do not let petty work troubles consume your attention and get you down.
A woman loudly professing her love from the front row briefly interrupted the set, a case of an intimate venue becoming a little too intimate.
‘Survive It’ offers a message of hope for those who have been ‘shown the door,’ because of ‘cut backs’, and now wonder ‘what next.’ Ejimiwe dismisses the need to force optimism, and encourages accepting the ‘pessimism’ that accompanies a bad situation. His solution? ‘You’ll get there soon/ Just have a little faith mate/ It’ll turn out great.’
Disappointingly, the lyrics ‘I so desperately want to leave this place’ received a hearty cheer from the one hundred or so loyal punters. One gets tired of haters dissing the fast-developing Perth as uneventful (untrue!), and proposing leaving for ‘more exciting’ locations.
‘Cash & Carry Me Home’ tells such a mundane tale, one questions whether it deserves to be enshrined in song. He talks of a ‘wild’ night that leaves him to ‘wrestle with a headache/That was spawned in hell by the devil himself/I’m feeling quite sorry for myself.’ However, deeper analysis reveals a story of an aging alcoholic with ‘grey hairs’ and a ‘shake’ who is ‘lost.’ The idea of ‘searchin’ for a way in life’ is reiterated.
His two-song encore was composed of the suitably titled ‘Finished I Ain’t’, and ‘Us Against Whatever Ever’, a track that speaks of a deep compatibility with a partner.
