Afropolitan Vibes: June edition thrives despite rain and Iyanya

This was out of character for a show that has established a different way of doing things: punctual, egalitarian, performance driven. Given the changes that were effected, the show’s tardiness was forgivable. It was a new quarterly format debuting at a new location, the quaintness of Freedom park swapped for the expansive Muri Okunola Park.

“When your drummer starts taking off his shoes,” said Ade Bantu at an early interval, “you know you’re in trouble."

The crowd was already as large as it was for several editions at the old location. The Afropolitan Vibes brand has grown past the restrictions of the old prison grounds, no matter how cozy and storied it may be.

First act of the night Mzkiss mounted the stage after the band’s opening. She performed a trap song, a Fuji number and dabbed her way through her set. She was out of breath, and as enthusiastic as any Afropolitan Vibes debutant. She looked impressed and delighted that a crowd in the posh VI neighbourhood was ready to dig her Fuji as they do on the streets of Mushin and Isale Eko.

The Bantu band returned as a lone drone recording the event from on high was about to be hijacked by the elements. Already the wind was sending up leaves in small eddies. The drone owner set his device down. Rain began to fall.

But unforeseen acts of nature aren’t new to the four-year old show.

Last time the rains attended Afropolitan Vibes, it failed to stop the party. Members of the audience climbed onstage and danced with the band. Some stayed in the rain, chairs on heads. Others ran into shelters abundant in Freedom Park. That night Reminisce stayed on to perform in the damp conditions. This time Iyanya didn't.

But this rain was new too. Winds shook the stage, which had to be lowered to shelter the equipment. The audience retreated to the backstage area covered with tarpaulin. Some others were trapped with the food vendors dotting the arena.

After the rain subsided, many headed for their cars, others went to get food, while the band tried to salvage what was left of the show. Alcohol flowed, homeostasis did its work and many filed to the rest rooms. Amid this renewed frenzy, Ade Bantu’s voice boomed from the speakers, apologising for the delay. To many, that apology signaled the end.

Once upon a time, the promise of redemption would have been swift. The band would have gotten their opportunity to make it up to their fans in four weeks. Under the new format, it would take three months, enough time for the image of damaged mixers, soggy grounds, and disappearing acts to fester in the minds of the audience.

A few minutes after the announcement, a DJ started playing, and Ade Bantu introduced French rapper Leeroy. Accompanied by the DJ’s beats, conga from the Bantu band and a trumpet, Leeroy performed for the crowd gathered around him with phones raised. This couldn’t have been strange to a rapper who honed his craft in the 1970s. It was like returning to the streets where all the MC has is a boom box and an eager audience.

Paul Play Dairo then took to the microphone. He was returning to the Lagos scene after a long hiatus, but performed with the calmness of someone who has always been here, at home in the crowd. He sang his first number under the sound of music playing through the speakers, allowing the crowd’s familiarity with ‘Angel of my Life’ carry his performance. He then sang ‘Mo so Rire’ his signature song adapted from his father’s original.

Perhaps no one cared about Iyanya's absence, or maybe they didn't show it. Young men and women jived and grinded to the DJ’s selection, past the hour of the Hallelujah Challenge. Miming artists and a DJ saved a show famed for live performances—what irony. To many a crowd, this would be a let down. But to young Nigerians whose tastes align with the demands of the club dance floor, the night was but a regression to the familiar.