By Hana Sakurai Wernham, First Year English
Ibibio Sound Machine are an Afro-electronic dance band with a vibrant energy that fuses traditional African rhythms, futuristic synths and infectious grooves. With a flourish of a shining golden cape, charismatic frontwoman Eno Williams graces the stage and promises us a ‘party’, and I am assured we are in safe hands.
The crowd is roused immediately by the soaring synth pads and punctuating bass line of ‘Electricity’. It’s a slow, driving build, that injects movement into a crowd that is already pulsing under the whispers of a drum machine.
A band 8 members strong, it would be easy for Williams’ presence to be swallowed, or conversely for the instrumentalists to be banished to the stage’s shadowy margins.
Instead, the performance is joyfully collaborative, often allowing for short instrumental solos that decorate each track. It’s not that Williams needs delegated solo time to shine, however – in between each sung phrase she can’t help but beam. It is the simple act of joy that gives her command of the stage.
There is something about Eno Williams that makes you do whatever she tells you to. So when we are instructed throughout the night to engage in some (quite complex) call and response, we do.
Some are in her mother tongue of Ibibio (from which the band draws its name), some are rhythmically tricky, others split the audience in two like a choir. She announces, very blasé, that ‘most of you already know how [the call and response] goes’, which I positively don’t, but when she starts instructing me it’s as if I’ve known these melodies all along.
What strikes me most is the trust she has in her audience – to sing, to dance, and to feel with her. In ‘Electricity’, she dismisses ‘big, big English/big, big grammar’ in favour of love and energy. This becomes palpable in our collective voice – words indistinguishable, just feelings.
One of the many highlights was ‘Protection From Evil’, another track where feelings take precedence over words. Williams speaks in indistinguishable tongues, and stumbles around the stage, as if possessed by the indelible spirit of electronic dance.
At the climax of the song, distorted synth lines build to Williams’ disembodied voice booming from a vocoder: ‘spiritual, invisible, protection from evil!’ It is nothing short of euphoric: the spirit is come, and I feel truly awash in whatever synthy spell has just been cast on me.
Djembe player Afla Sackey pulls focus throughout with expertly improvised solos. Eyes closed, he is deep in the jam. I recall my own primary school djembe playing– not quite to the same standard.
Between songs, Williams beams and touches her heart, thanks us ‘for your power, for your spirit, for your energy’. Her graciousness is palpable.
She dedicates the next song to those ‘wishing for something, needing something, even praying for something’. The powerful opening vocals to ‘All You Want’ are met with raucous cheering, and Williams promises earnestly: ‘you can get it’.
The crowd’s energy soars – this track is slower, less danceable, but the collective emotional energy makes the whole room swell. Triumphant brass melodies, a driving synth, soulful vocals: it’s a recipe for goosebumps.
Williams is teary when the synth bass dies away, and she showers us in wordless thanks. Ibibio Sound Machine have the remarkable ability to command audiences as one dancing, pulsing mass and at the same time connect with the individual.
They seem to represent a coalescence of values more widely: the individual/the whole, African music/electronic music, English/Ibibio. I walk away feeling still protected under their collective musical spell.
Featured Image: Matilda Hill-JenkinsWhich gigs have left you feeling teary at the end?
