Live Review

Ghostpoet – Koko, London

• 16th Feb 2012

Who would have thought you could get so much talent under one brown, pork pie hat? Obaro Ejimiwe, aka Ghostpoet, swaggered onto the stage at Koko in Camden last night, fashionably late but equipped with a huge smile and a rush of charisma that was swallowed whole by a large and largely devoted audience. By the time he messed up his recollection of his finale, the swagger and sway had permeated all of the many corners and crannies of the deep red venue.

Me and my plus-one liked Ghostpoet instantly, a rare event for a first visit to a new band. And by like, I mean really like. Our very own afterparty was filled with replays of the poet’s Youtube selection.

So what is it? Well, he’s a big bloke, he smiles a lot, looks totally at ease on the stage, and has his own little jig. While never losing control, he grooved through his choice of chat to music. And that’s what it is – rap without the violence but in the form of insightful commentary. The subjects of his songs are not sweepingly dramatic, he is not averse to the odd mention of pork pies – real ones – and a lot of the lyrics are lifted purely by his lilting delivery. It’s rap with zing.

Very much behind him, there’s quite a large band that mixes violins and cellos with trumpets and saxophone, neatly seated and away from the compulsory drums and lone guitarist. The poet leads his mini orchestra with an electric piano, but it’s his large presence and varied delivery that means your attention remains fixed on him. His musicians are not as cool as him, but they are tight and provide all the filling for the big sound that so often erupts.

In the end, the announcement of the last song is met with a palpable outpouring of disappointment, as the last chance to sway and clap nears. Once more, the poet throws out a heavy bass-backed, jungle rhythm. This is reverberating reggae with a groove, with a touch of mysticism slipped in to keep you close to the lyrical content and, perhaps, just make it more interesting and fun.
Hints of Massive Attack are no bad thing, as are frequent sightings of Mike Skinner’s Streets. And above and beyond all of that the tempo is good – the poet knows how to please a crowd – the lyrics are clear and compelling, and the sound is cool. Add the charisma and easy conviction, and the poet should feel confident about his move to the all-important second album.

In the build-up, Alt-J shuffle onto the stage and into the limelight. It’s their biggest gig yet and, contrary to stories of crazed dancing, the set is mild. Carefully constructed, with some catchy vocal combinations, Alt-J has a decent following and some sweet songs, but jumpers (the woolly ones) on stage have never really worked for me.

Stepping aside from that irrational prejudice, Alt-J is a tuneful band, who owe something to Radiohead but with a look that is more Housemartins. But the musicianship is better than all that, notably the drummer. I could hardly contain the photographer from the Daily Star standing next to me, he was bowled over by the man with the sticks.

A big bass drum played a part in more escapades into outbursts of jungle trance rhythm. They’re clearly a talented bunch, but I was hoping for more from a live set.