It is easy to agree with him that pointing fingers will not solve any of our social problems and we cannot be upset when he questions if they’ve done any real work to abate the problems.
By Tharseo Jovita
On Friday, 30th May, Obongjayar released Paradise Now. It’s the sophomore album that many have been waiting for. Everyone I’ve seen talk about it loves it. I also went into it, listening passively while scrolling—like I do with all albums before really going in. On that first listen, one song got my full attention, and for a while, halted my progress through it. Even after I had listened to all fifteen tracks, it remained the standout track; I loved it.
Featuring Little Simz, “Talk Olympics” follows the style of the preceding songs, “Holy Mountain” and “Jellyfish” in their upbeat sound and danceability, and becomes the peak. The next, “Prayer”, is somber.
“Talk Olympics” is the odd one out of the tracklist, the one song that concerns itself with a public issue whereas every other song is personal and intimate—of the self experiencing itself and relationships with other selves.
It completely veers off theme while being close to the middle of the tracklist, track six of fifteen. Why not track fifteen of fifteen, with a “(bonus)” beside the title? I don’t understand. This brings into question the process and thought that went into the curation of the tracklist. However, that is not the matter of this piece.
It starts, immediately, with hooting to xylophone, drums, and then strings, and fifteen seconds in I’m on my feet (and surely, many others too). At after twenty seconds in Obongjayar begins: “Talk Talk Talk Talk Talk Talk Talk Talk Talk Talk Talk Talk, you too talk”, a sporadic attack addressed to “trending topic psychologists”, “social media philanthropists” and “political biologists”.
Anyone who hears these titles immediately has an inclination of who they are. We encounter them on all our daily scrolls through our various apps commenting on our various issues, often without a convincing grasp of the topics or without any insight or meaningful suggestion to deliver or even with the aim to mislead their audience. Obongjayar says to them, “no more talking, do the walking”.
It is easy to agree with him that pointing fingers will not solve any of our social problems, and we cannot be upset when he questions if they’ve done any real work to abate the problems. “Talk Talk Talk… you talk too much”, the chorus repeats.
“…You keep talking” Little Simz chimes in, “when there is nothing here for you to say, nothing to discuss”, addressing those who are experts at making mountains out of even holes, the faux deep interpreters and those offended who expect us all to be offended by everything and make us think “will tomorrow come?”. She switches flow and the drums go ‘samba!’. “Please, I need a break… give me silence and some space”.
I have been, for a while now, of the opinion that ‘silence and space’ is a great lack in the general culture of Nigeria and something we desperately need. We are too reactionary and have yet to learn to reflect and really assay the gravity and meaning of events and situations, our words and acts and inactions. We must learn to give ourselves silence and space. It is a short but excellently performed verse, my favourite part of the track.
All has gone well and a message is being passed before the third verse, and what follows comes to muddle it. It appears to me as a ‘need-to-finish-this-song verse’. “…chewing off my ear like you’re Mike Tyson”. Nice reference, but does it add relevantly to the discourse topic? No. Why? So, because of what follows, “please don’t call my phone no more, put it in writing”. This is a repetition of an overused line, overused by people with an unjustified sense of self-importance. A blow to the seriousness of the message of the song.
It can be said that these lines only follow in the comic nature of the song, and yes, “It really is all nuisance to the ears and mind”, one might say. However, I say, the phone line immediately makes the verse sour as it suddenly brings “my ear” and “my phone” to highlight and taints itself with a self absorption. ‘My’ being a possessive pronoun appearing twice and in such proximity.
Also, “put it in writing”, harmless as it sounds, carries the wicked suggestion that writing is the proper format for noise—a suggestion that writing can and should be ignored.
The song is comic, but it is serious. These subtleties are not to be ignored. What saves this third verse for me, as little as it might seem, is the delivery of “shut up! shut up! shut up!”, we should all shut up.
Still, it falls into a questionable mantra. “Go get your money, stop all the talking” repeated over and over, like money chasing was the efficient alternative to excessive talk, like the ‘hustling’ of everything everywhere wasn’t one of the major problems we need to work on. It threatens to ruin what the first two verses combined to say. It collapses into another event in “Talk Olympics”.
Overall, the song is still a good one with amazing sound and performance. Hats off to producers, Loubenski & Monomite.
The rest of the album is a great pleasure, with “Born in this Body” and “Life Ahead” being my personal favourites, alongside “Talk Olympics”. As I stated earlier, save for the one song, it is an intimate album. The type I return to on sombre evenings. This one is special, it will turn my sombre evening into dancing without getting rid of the sobriety. It is well worth the listen and will be every nth time.
Tharseo is a Kaduna boy a neighborhood woman insists on calling Baba Yoruba. He likes to wander aimlessly in streets, write poems and write short stories because what else is there to do? Maybe listen to music. Find his work on Kalahari Review, Akpata Magazine, WENSUM, Afrocritik, and Stripes Literary Magazine. X(twitter):@_tharseo & Instagram @tharseoz