Where I’m Meant to Be – Ezra Collective
I finally listened to Ezra Collective after being worn down by repeat All Points East visits. Ezra has existed like elevator music in my life, pitching into the hum of hangouts and house parties. I’ve always lazily associated jazz with creativity. A pretentiously worded theory of mine is that the instrumentals are ripe for impression, providing expanse for the nomadic mind. But perhaps it’s not a lazy association. With some new-found attentiveness, ‘Where I’m Meant to Be’ became creative kerosene. It gave me sudden urges to go crate digging and shop for overpriced vintage tat. But these urges ebbed as pride regained control. I’m a vain man. I inwardly conform to this image of myself that I’ve created with microscopic scrutiny. Maybe that’s dramatic. I just take responsibility for my self-esteem. As such, I’m acutely aware of the ever-looming danger of pretentiousness, lurking beneath the creative tightrope waiting to swallow the next fool with a lob-sided ego. And thanks to a group of fools I’ll refer to as ‘Kangol Massive’, the image of the ‘creative’ conflicts with my own. The ‘Kangol Massive’ are a group fashionably dressed, dub sympathising gentlemen that might inspire from a distance. But my vendetta stems from a dancefloor encounter where my head became a target for every arse and elbow beneath a kangaroo emblazoned beret without so much as a hint of awareness from the perps. Clearly kangols give you a license to possess an overwhelming air of wankery. If I embrace my creative side, I’m afraid I will join the ‘Kangol Massive’ in spirit. I’ve already benignly drifted into the performative man stereotype. I just happen to be a mulleted, moustachioed man whose passions include coffee, records and literature. I have no Machiavellian designs to be a fanny magnet. Yet I live with the knowledge that I appear performative. Maybe I didn’t like them because I can’t pull off a kangol. Either way, I’ve been burdened with panoptical self-awareness.
It’s my belief that Ezra was aware of my dilemma in the gestation process because ‘Where I’m Meant to Be’ is the remedy to my pride. As if track names ‘Ego Killah’ and ‘Togetherness’ weren’t obvious enough, this music is indiscriminate. It ushers the staunchest loner into cavalier extroversion. You’ll want to grab the first sorry sod you see and dance. Take the opening instrumental track (‘Victory Dance’) which isn’t an arrogant boast so much as a celebratory whitewashing of ego and a primer for the rest of the album. Ezra is dialled into the keys of life. Their sound is organic, evolving in real time. The instruments weave and shift emphasis, synergistically drifting in and out of the foreground. The transitions on ‘Never the Same Again’, ‘Belonging’, ‘Live Strong’ and ‘Welcome to My World’ are as natural as the changing of the wind. The key instigator is the powerhouse maniac drummer (Femi Koleoso) who switches rhythms like revolver cylinders. But all the members match each other in vigour. They awaken an ancient, buried instinct that wilts my pride at the slightest excitement.
Just a forewarning. The main benefit of having your own blog is the freedom to talk copious amounts of bollocks, and I intend to abuse that liberty. The instrumentals have a transitory quality. The first half is a mezcal soaked odyssey that wades across desert plains from barroom to shantytown to dancefloor. It adopts the guise of a latin inspired Gia Fu set, courtesy of Ife Ogunjobi’s trumpet work, with reggae turns on ‘Togetherness’ and ‘Ego Killah’. Beyond this the songs become more cerebral and illusive. At this point I have crossed the highway in Rango and my world is reduced to my own consciousness and the horizon. The Laurence of Arabia passage on ‘Belonging’ is a surreal climax, a cactus juice induced mirage. Finally, ‘Never the Same Again’ places you back on Earth with a breakneck samba.
Recently, someone told me that my blog was harsh. That might inspire the invertebrates to fold, but it only spurs me on to be a meaner bastard. I have one critique of the album – it would be improved without features. This is an Ezra Collective album, but they seem to forget that when they feature an artist. They sound stilted and confined as they pander to Kojey Radical’s ‘way’ of jazz. It’s like calling the fire brigade to water your garden. The vocal tracks aren’t bad, but they disrupt the album flow. They’ve been cynically spaced out to keep the average goldfish engaged. I understand the pragmatism as I’m sure these will be some people’s standout tracks but these shoehorned interludes interrupt my passionate albeit bizarre desert vision. In a backhanded way, this is the biggest compliment I could give Ezra. I guess the mark of great jazz is wanting to listen to the instrumentals over vocal tracks.
If anyone wants to hook me up with Ezra Collective tickets, I’ll buy you a London priced pint. I think these guys are probably at their best live when they can interact with crowds and indulge in some meanderings. The name Collective is curious. Ezra doesn’t feel like a group so much as a movement, or a jazz crusade, one that I feel I have joined having given the album some time. Perhaps ‘Ezra Cult’ was taken. And despite these tracks sounding like national anthems for the ‘Kangol Massive’, it’s so undeniable that I would cast aside my pride and tolerate the association.
