Ghostpoet on Dark Days + Canapés
We speak to Obaro Ejimiwe, aka Ghostpoet, about his latest record Dark Days + Canapés
Obaro Ejimiwe, aka Ghostpoet, has been a reliable voice of anxiety throughout his career. Since his debut, Peanut Butter Blues & Melancholy Jam, he has quietly been providing forlorn social observations via his trademark drawl and, on new album Dark Days + Canapés, it seems the world has finally caught up with him. It’s fearless; a visceral yet universal critique of issues such as consumerism, immigration, and warfare. It’s the rare contemporary commentary that neither patronises nor alienates. Just don’t call it a political statement.
“[That’s] not really what the record is about,” interjects the London-native when approached about the subject, “it’s political with a small ‘p’. It’s more a social commentary, a social awareness.” On first thought the difference may seem negligible, but it’s true – Ejimiwe uses these larger issues as a blueprint to instead tell smaller, more relatable stories. He has an innate talent for condensing knotty subject matter into sympathetic, digestible chunks; whether telling the story of a refugee drowning on a perilous journey, or simply condemning conflict and bloodshed, he has a knack for getting under your skin through unexpected routes.
Even the title itself – Dark Days + Canapés – evokes dread and anguish the longer you reflect upon it, though it similarly resists definitive interpretation. Are the canapés symbolic of the social elites? “That’s one way of looking at it,” Ejimiwe starts, before trailing off. “It’s just kind of a reflection of the world, I guess. We’re going through relative dark times, you know, the haves and the have-nots.” Much like the album itself, Ejimiwe says the title is whatever you make of it. “It’s a mixture of things, I write titles as a means of entry. Everyone will have his or her own interpretation.”
It may seem something of a paradox, but Ghostpoet’s most narratively ambitious album yet is also a deeply personal one, though he stresses that it's not overtly biographical: “It’s not about me, I’m writing about other people, the world that I’m living in. If I want people to relate to my music I feel the best way to do that is to write songs that anyone can put themselves into, rather than be exclusively about myself.”
While moments on the album seem to come from a place of true desperation and disillusionment with our society, Ejimiwe explains his intentions were more muted. “I’m just giving a voice to the voiceless, that’s always my modus operandi, so it’s really for people going through certain issues, feeling a certain way, to give them a voice.” If there’s one thing Ejimiwe is clear on, it’s that he doesn’t view the album as a grand political statement, but rather as a series of – admittedly bleak – vignettes connected by our brave new world.
In between breaths of societal musings and harrowing ruminations, Ejimiwe finds rare moments of introspection, such as on beautifully pensive cut Trouble + Me, though he’s adamant that they’re not the point of the album: “I don’t feel the need to write about [myself] exclusively. I may write a line or two in there but I don’t feel the need to write a track solely about me.” It’s true, the album contains many moments of reflection from Ejimiwe – mostly melancholic – but they’re a reaction to the world around him.
And, on a more personal scale, the world around him has shifted massively. Late last year Ejimiwe moved home, swapping out the hustle-and-bustle of London for the relative serenity of coastal town Margate. As for whether the change has affected his songwriting is a moot point, as he hasn’t been working on new music since the move. “I’m not an everyday writing person,” he tells us, “I try to gather up experiences, then try to write again.” In the meantime, he’s happy taking music off his mind and simply living in the moment, doing “life shit” and taking those experiences as they come. “You can’t be consumed by one thing,” he says.
Dark Days continues Ejimiwe’s exploration of a more alt-rock tinged direction, casting aside the airy electronic beats of his early material. It’s quite the dramatic shift, but he seems to have found gratification in the transformation. “I feel quite comfortable where I am right now,” he states coolly, “wherever it goes it goes.” Ejimiwe is decidedly more relaxed when it comes to his songwriting approach than his stressful subject matter. As an extension, there’s no one specific reaction he anticipates evoking out of the listener, but rather is happy for them to take whatever they take from Dark Days.
The album marks Ejimiwe’s first time allowing another producer to take on a greater role, recruiting Brian Eno and Paul Simon collaborator Leo Abrahams. “I wanted to just take my hands off the reins a bit, when in the past I’ve always wanted to be in relative total control.” He sees the collaborative experience as a decidedly positive one. “You learn from everything you do, every experience that you face, regardless of whether it’s musical or not, hopefully you learn something.”
Given Abrahams’ long career as a session musician and film composer, it’s no surprise Ejimiwe saw him as a natural fit for the operatic yet intimate stories he tells on Dark Days: “Leo just felt like the right person to work with, he got what I was trying to do.” Unsurprisingly, one of the bigger contributions Abrahams made was the strings: “Working with someone like Leo really helped [them] along, he did the string arrangements off the back of my demos. It’s something I felt like doing for this particular record.”
While Ejimiwe is steadfast that Dark Days is as much a Ghostpoet album as his past releases have been compositionally, Abrahams seems to have had a profound influence on the mixing. The instrumentals are loud and operatic, at points threatening to drown Ejimiwe’s vocals beneath them – a conscious decision, he reveals. Beyond this, though, there’s a definite synergy between the lyrical content of the album and the compositions themselves
On tracks like Karoshi (meaning 'death from overworking' in Japanese), and the crushing Immigrant Boogie, the instrumentals are almost apocalyptic, echoing and invigorating the sombre lyrics. “I like the music to reflect the subject matter,” he tells us, and it makes sense as the whole album abides by this philosophy; it’s a lyrically bleak album, made that much bleaker by its cold and tumultuous soundscapes.
Dark Days + Canapés is a strange beast of an album – a blend of intimate narratives, pensive meditation, and greater ruminations about our society as a whole – a fact that, after spending time talking to Ejimiwe, seems a conscious decision: “It’s always been a mixture of things to me. I just kind of write about everything, be it personal, be it external, emotional, human condition. I just let it flow from there.” And what are his thoughts on all of these disparate elements coalescing, about the contrast between his distinctly individual approach to songwriting and production, the intention of an entirely personal response from the listener, and the universally sympathetic stories he’s telling? “Human beings are very complex.” He certainly is.
Dark Days + Canapés is out now via Play It Again Sam
Ghostpoet plays Stereo, Glasgow, 28 Oct