41. Aṣa Live at Kew Gardens

Or JP is rich!

Photo credits: Seun A.

Being married to an Aṣa stan has its perks and perils. The perks are straightforward. We see Aṣa at every concert whenever she is in town. We were at the Royal Albert Hall last year and enjoyed every second of her intimate premiere of her latest single, Odoo. Once the notification about seeing Aṣa at the Kew Gardens hit my calendar courtesy of the wife, I actually looked forward to it. 

I once described Aṣa as Nigeria’s Tracy Chapman to a curious white person. You know the type: very earnest in taking in all that African culture. But the wife shouldn't catch me saying that. It will be my second strike, really. The first was my unflattering review of Lucid, Aṣa’s fourth album. On some days, I  still get threatened with homelessness. This is the peril.

I have atoned for that infamous review, even if my views on that album stand. I wrote two reviews of her fifth album, V. I consider V a classic album that hasn’t quite enjoyed the kind of critical and commercial attention it deserves. It is, first and foremost, an ode to Afrobeats, but tellingly, it addresses an entire generation of Nigerian youth, saluting their industry, innovation, and respect for musical legacy and tradition. It stands out as Aṣa’s liveliest record. Breeze-easy music, warm guitars and shimmering frocks that conjure summer and cocktails. 

Even though we haven't had much of a summer this year, we fake it. We wear bright clothes, cool shorts, trendy Daddy sneakers, and dark sunshades. The train service was filled with people like us, revelers with disposable income for a Sunday evening faff. We must fake this summer in spite of its uncertainty. Summer may have been postponed, but we are certain of the assurances of a frosty winter. 

Once we stepped off the train, I knew exactly the vibe. It smelt of old and comfortable money. The houses were so grand they were given names. The wife loves houses, and is in real estate paradise. I have always been contemptuous about uppity wealth. Still am. But I love the good things in life. So, there goes my cognitive dissonance. 

Kew Gardens Overground station has printed signs leading all the way to Kew the Music, the picnic concert featuring Beverly Knight in bold font and Aṣa in African-Giant-Coachella-small font. Trust the English to line dross in straw; Aṣa is the “special appearance.”  For sure, she is.  

We see folks carrying their own folded chairs, picnic bags, and hip flasks holding premium liquor. Oyinbo people know how to gba life sha. It is my first time at Kew Gardens,  a UNESCO heritage site. The Royal Botanical Gardens may have an impressive inventory of plant life, but what concerns botany with music?

JP is rich! Photo credit: Seun A.

I am instructed to pose beside the gallant and tranquil body of water with mallards and other aquatic ducks. The picture came out right. I liked what I saw and damned the consequences. Posted it on my WhatsApp status captioned, JP is rich! There is a veiled reference here to John Updike’s character, Rabbit. It is also a prophetic saying. But I know my WhatsApp may suffer billing requests.

Once we were within earshot of the music, I saw joy in the wife’s eyes. Aṣa was already deep into her set when we got to the concert. The wife wonders if Aṣa has fresh tattoos. I am the wrong person to ask. I was enthralled by the music. It was a small set, maybe a quintet, with Janet providing additional vocals.

 I am on a first-name basis with Janet. I know her because she was shown to people by the real day-one fans. Like every Nigerian, I have loved Aṣa since she came on the scene. I appreciate her mystique, admire her bougie looks, and love that she strummed the guitar. I like the way she sings in Yoruba, eschewing bougie inflections and English words for something closer to the working-class variant. I like that she is a rock star and that she knows she is a rock star. I love that she is doing what she cares for, what she is exceptional at doing. 

Aṣa’s set was a potpourri of her discography. Songs were bunched together by mood and not by albums. When she played Jailer from her classic self-titled debut, it was as if the song did not age. That jumpy bassline and her chirpy singing compare the fate of the empowered and powerless. Almost entirely done in English, but for the use of the pidgin ‘sef’ in affirming the jailer’s mortality, I thought of alternative English words, and I came to the realisation that she found the perfect pidgin word, sef. That was pitch-perfect songwriting done at least twenty years ago.

Aṣa is special.