Empty seats and a late start marks WizKid's concert in the capital
The Wizkid Abuja Invasion was billed to start by 5pm. Three hours later, the audience was still waiting.
Rhythm FM’s Matilda Duncan, the MC, opened the show by 8:15pm,
and wasn’t particularly sympathetic, telling the audience “you know how
it is” in an accent so foreign it grated the ears. Luckily, the popular
deejay, DJ TTB, was on hand to make the interminable wait bearable,
playing hit after hit, even throwing in some pleasant South African
house music to grand effect.
The first official performer of the evening, the comedian Chuks D General, was successful, as was his colleague, Triple White, both traded on the difference between Abuja’s poor and rich as evident in the seating arrangement which saw N300, 000 and N500, 000-paying patrons seated close to the stage, those paying N4,000 far off behind and N10,000 VIPs seats ensconced in the centre of the hall.
Noting this class stratification, the comedians mined this difference endlessly, at one point calling females in the regular seats, “Masaka girls.” The few white people, occupying tables of 8 were not spared. Upon asking one how long he had lived in Nigeria, “20 years” came the reply. Calling him a ‘suffer head oyinbo,’ he delivered the coup de grace: he turned to ask the girl in his company, “did you pay for the seats?”
Cue laughter. All humour must have a victim.
If the comedians were mostly successful, the singers were spectacularly less so, both on their own terms and as clones of Wizkid. Fortunately, the crowd gathered at the International Conference Centre was generally amiable, offering screams and applause both to the superb and the abject. After a while it began to look like they were selected to fail, so the greatness of Wizkid, who had of himself festooned behind the stage, hovering over performers and performances.
None of the performers managed to convince the audience to sing along; still they must be thankful there were no hecklers in the audience. They were beset only by the uniform unpopularity of their songs, their inadequacies, and an early microphone malfunction.
Faith, of Cool FM, joined Ms Duncan and together they introduced average artist after average artist, as DJ TTB filled intervals with thumping music. It would be 10:15pm before the first artiste anyone knew anything about came on stage.
Gandoki, decked in polo shirt, jeans and sporting a considerable paunch, started by explaining his flight was delayed by five hours and then launched into a jokes about the nation’s whipping boy ministry— the aviation industry and its planes—employing his brand of physical comedy to demonstrate how a particular Aero Contractors airplane moves ‘like a dove.’ He asked if anyone knew the particular plane, saying it is mainly Benin to Lagos but sometimes gets flown to Abuja. No one knew; everyone laughed.
Funny
jokes from more easy targets followed: alcoholism in Lagos, marriage,
pastors. Performing in Abuja, he ended with a strange message to
politicians about setting limits for banks, churches and mosques before
‘the spiritual go dey fear the physical’. No one could be sure any
politician was within earshot.
Many hours later, many empty seats separated the regular seats from the occupied VIP seats, and if the organisers were waiting, hoping for more people to arrive, it was now obvious, it wouldn't happen.
So, by 10:35pm, as Jaywon climbed onstage, the empty seats were occupied by fans holding regular tickets. Wizkid would be on in a moment, anyone who had come to see some of the other known acts on flyers for the event, like Phyno and Tillaman, knew they had been disappointed. But maybe not by much, since many graduates from Nigerian universities know the antics of show promoters. Big mistake, since the other billed stars who did show up, mainly from Wizkid's crew, just do not have anything near the pull of Wizkid. As a girl said, referring to a singer onstage, "I just don't like him."
Jaywon left and by 10:45pm, over five hours after the publicised time, Wizkid came on stage to female screams and perhaps male jealousy. Looking smaller than he does on television, he sang a bluesy version of “Love My Baby” with a keyboard accompaniment. If this suggested the show would be more intimate and feature live singing, it lied. “Holla at Your Boy” and another hit were mimed. Not like the girls reaching for him cared.
He then left the stage briefly for Niyola, his EME crew member, to offer her take of his “Love My Baby” and sing a few of her own songs to nothing like the audience’s reaction to Wizkid.
He returned to sing “Roll It” over his own recorded voice. And then he rendered “Baddest Boy” with his other crewmate, Skales. Few minutes later he abruptly stopped singing and walked backstage as though angry. It was unclear what had happened. He came back out at 11:30pm to sing his duet with Femi Kuti, “Jaiye Jaiye” before announcing he would sing current hit “Caro” and retire for the night. Females in the audience danced vigorously, all reservations forgotten as soon as the beat came over the speakers.
They begged him for another song. Entertainer that he is, he mimed “Pull Over,” thanked everyone and withdrew backstage. Many in the audience looked forlorn. Maybe they were thinking of how they had waited for over five hours for a performance of less than 50 minutes.
Or maybe they just missed Wizkid.
The first official performer of the evening, the comedian Chuks D General, was successful, as was his colleague, Triple White, both traded on the difference between Abuja’s poor and rich as evident in the seating arrangement which saw N300, 000 and N500, 000-paying patrons seated close to the stage, those paying N4,000 far off behind and N10,000 VIPs seats ensconced in the centre of the hall.
Noting this class stratification, the comedians mined this difference endlessly, at one point calling females in the regular seats, “Masaka girls.” The few white people, occupying tables of 8 were not spared. Upon asking one how long he had lived in Nigeria, “20 years” came the reply. Calling him a ‘suffer head oyinbo,’ he delivered the coup de grace: he turned to ask the girl in his company, “did you pay for the seats?”
Cue laughter. All humour must have a victim.
If the comedians were mostly successful, the singers were spectacularly less so, both on their own terms and as clones of Wizkid. Fortunately, the crowd gathered at the International Conference Centre was generally amiable, offering screams and applause both to the superb and the abject. After a while it began to look like they were selected to fail, so the greatness of Wizkid, who had of himself festooned behind the stage, hovering over performers and performances.
None of the performers managed to convince the audience to sing along; still they must be thankful there were no hecklers in the audience. They were beset only by the uniform unpopularity of their songs, their inadequacies, and an early microphone malfunction.
Faith, of Cool FM, joined Ms Duncan and together they introduced average artist after average artist, as DJ TTB filled intervals with thumping music. It would be 10:15pm before the first artiste anyone knew anything about came on stage.
Gandoki, decked in polo shirt, jeans and sporting a considerable paunch, started by explaining his flight was delayed by five hours and then launched into a jokes about the nation’s whipping boy ministry— the aviation industry and its planes—employing his brand of physical comedy to demonstrate how a particular Aero Contractors airplane moves ‘like a dove.’ He asked if anyone knew the particular plane, saying it is mainly Benin to Lagos but sometimes gets flown to Abuja. No one knew; everyone laughed.
Funny
jokes from more easy targets followed: alcoholism in Lagos, marriage,
pastors. Performing in Abuja, he ended with a strange message to
politicians about setting limits for banks, churches and mosques before
‘the spiritual go dey fear the physical’. No one could be sure any
politician was within earshot.Many hours later, many empty seats separated the regular seats from the occupied VIP seats, and if the organisers were waiting, hoping for more people to arrive, it was now obvious, it wouldn't happen.
So, by 10:35pm, as Jaywon climbed onstage, the empty seats were occupied by fans holding regular tickets. Wizkid would be on in a moment, anyone who had come to see some of the other known acts on flyers for the event, like Phyno and Tillaman, knew they had been disappointed. But maybe not by much, since many graduates from Nigerian universities know the antics of show promoters. Big mistake, since the other billed stars who did show up, mainly from Wizkid's crew, just do not have anything near the pull of Wizkid. As a girl said, referring to a singer onstage, "I just don't like him."
Jaywon left and by 10:45pm, over five hours after the publicised time, Wizkid came on stage to female screams and perhaps male jealousy. Looking smaller than he does on television, he sang a bluesy version of “Love My Baby” with a keyboard accompaniment. If this suggested the show would be more intimate and feature live singing, it lied. “Holla at Your Boy” and another hit were mimed. Not like the girls reaching for him cared.
He then left the stage briefly for Niyola, his EME crew member, to offer her take of his “Love My Baby” and sing a few of her own songs to nothing like the audience’s reaction to Wizkid.
He returned to sing “Roll It” over his own recorded voice. And then he rendered “Baddest Boy” with his other crewmate, Skales. Few minutes later he abruptly stopped singing and walked backstage as though angry. It was unclear what had happened. He came back out at 11:30pm to sing his duet with Femi Kuti, “Jaiye Jaiye” before announcing he would sing current hit “Caro” and retire for the night. Females in the audience danced vigorously, all reservations forgotten as soon as the beat came over the speakers.
They begged him for another song. Entertainer that he is, he mimed “Pull Over,” thanked everyone and withdrew backstage. Many in the audience looked forlorn. Maybe they were thinking of how they had waited for over five hours for a performance of less than 50 minutes.
Or maybe they just missed Wizkid.
###
Look out for "And Wizkid Was Here," a blow-by-blow account of the show.
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