Gig review: Ezra Collective at Project House, Leeds
The bubbling sounds of Afrobeat rhythms float airily beyond the curtained pillars of Project House, before it shudders to a halt. An outstretched palm rises from behind the jockey decks before it slowly descends, calling for silence. As Ezra Collective troop, one at a time, onto the stage the noise begins to build in waves, until the crowd reaches a steady fever-pitch crescendo.
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Hide AdThat this is before a note has been played should tell neutrals all they need about the devotion the London five-piece have inspired since their Mercury Prize-winning breakthrough two years ago, part of a 21st century jazz-fusion renaissance far away from the stuffier ideals such a tag may be readily associated with.
They are no Steely Dan; their virtuosity is firmly attuned to party-starter mode, their skills attuned towards the purest form of celebratory improvisation.
They duly return this month with their third album – the aptly titled Dance, No One's Watching – and launch it as part of a series of gigs across the country, with this Leeds date laid on by the city’s Crash Records.
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Hide AdDrummer and bandleader Femi Koleoso certainly has his local history on the beat – “Call Lane?” he cries early into their 90-minute stream-of-song-consciousness. “I’ve had some nights there!” – but the opportunity is more to give back to the fans who have helped build them into the live powerhouse they have become.
It would not be a stretch to suggest Ezra Collective are one of the most thrilling acts on stage in the world right now, veering across Afro-Cuban hedonism to dub swagger and smoking-room melancholy with barely a pause for breath.
Koleoso and bassist brother TJ are a rhythm section that offers more than just a beat-solid bedrock for the thrilling contributions of keyboardist Joe Armon-Jones, trumpeter Ife Ogunjobi, and tenor saxophonist James Mollison; they are just as much as part of the tapestry of these songs, performed with thrillingly joyous emotion.
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Hide AdThroughout, the night holds communal spirit – Femi insists punters greet the stranger next to them early on, and the demographics range from three-year-olds on shoulders to pensioners lobbing their flat caps to the sides – and when TJ and the horns vanish into the crowd, they seem determined to play a solo from every corner of the room that they can.
“This is a love letter to the dancefloor!” Femi cries at one point. It’s more than that; it’s a love letter to the power of music, full-stop.
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