Ogi delivers heartfelt debut EP “Monologues”
Video created and designed by Raymond Okwenda. Edited original album art.
Ogi attributes a lot of pride in her work; there is sense of accomplishment, and folly doesn’t exist. She wills a 21-minute-long epistle into a unique “audition into the industry”. Ogi announced the arrival of her six-part act to her Instagram followers with a motion path GIF of her mini cover portraits puzzling inward, suitably prefacing what is to be expected. It is a work bound by the contours of memory and imagination, her monologues.
Contextualising the intently named record that otherwise strays from semantics through its incessant probe of relationships, she recalls learning in an acting class that “when an actor goes into an audition, they go in with different pieces or monologues to show the range of their talent; their breadth of expression as an artist”, neatly tying up its place in relation to her art.
On Monologues, love is an irresistible recurring motif; its animating power, and dizzying stupor influence a large part of the project. On her maiden foray, the Nigeria-American former choir and a cappella singer finds herself on quest for self, recognition, and validation. Her exploration of songwriting finds tandem with the joy of friendship, and love of family, each with dedicated tracks.
On Let Me Go, Ogi authoritatively beds dreary a cappella with warm reverb to proffer an anxious plea to be let go; “I know that it hurts,” she retorts, prefacing the rejection with the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ trope as a salve. In an interview with Rated RNB, she says that the song was “prompted by an impromptu text from an ex that I really didn’t want to hear from at all”. Still, there are more unsolicited, but scathing moments as she belts, “But it’s the best for you/ And it’s the best for me/ So put it in the dirt”. The tension builds until it can no longer, reluctantly meeting its demise with tearful desperation, “Don’t know what else to do/ And I just want to leave”. Percussive backing above oozing synthesiser and syncopated drumming is all she needs to issue the spellbinding plea that leaves the recipient little option but to acquiesce.
On the surface, it appears that a relationship already on its dying knees is having its diagnosis. Instrumentally scant, it is Ogi’s unrelenting harmonising that provides an appropriately haunting background for exhuming the skeletal remains of what little is left. In the first verse, the songstress retraces her steps to figure out all the possible what-ifs, but eventually settles on love never being enough. Yet, a few lines after could suggest a need for a different fate when she declares, “I know that you want me/ I know that you’d be so kind”. But hastily, we are returned to a reluctant Ogi, singing, “Far too much proximity/ I think we need the distance”. Most of her songs adopt this kind of haphazard thinking.
Similarly on the second verse, we find ourselves thrust within the throes of breakup blues – itself a second relationship – alongside her as she narrates the push-pull forces inherent at the dusk of a relationship. “You go find somebody new/ Who loves you like I never could,” she sings, almost like a dare she wishes could never come to fruition.
By the time Envy rolls in, it offers much-needed escapism. A guitar riff and piano keys sequence to syncopated bass and pop-synth to find Ogi still reeling from the delirium of lost love. It accompanies with it an assuredness-like optimism. At its core, the song maps the lifeline to catharsis, if delusion, as Ogi returns to the same pernicious point, asking such pointless questions as, “Did you know it’s a sin to covet,” or promising self-destructive wishes to “help resolve the pain”. The naivete does not last, as a burst of synth brass propels her to the realisation that she has “just dodged the attack”. Elsewhere, Envy sees the singer pivot to flippancy when the penny drops – she has been duped and this situation gives rise to various conjecture. The old, at times banal, Instagram-ready caption makes considered appearance, when she asks, “Was this all to try and get some glory?/ Get some clout and post it on your story, unbelievable”. It would certainly be remiss to not go there. While the lyrics tend to undermine the force of her power, they convey aptly the range of a 25-year-old millennial.
Yet, arguably the most cogent part of the anthem arrives at the pre-chorus when her vocal agility at a slightly higher pitch reveals exquisite depth and warmth. The lyrics are unimaginative, and repetitive at worst, but the sonics are at home. Ogi’s multi-tracked harmonised vocals are an aesthetic. Likewise on the retro bop – Bitter – that is undergirded by the soul of her voice.
Follow Me is a meditative slow jam that finds its essence around three shifting chords. Relaying the spark that galvanised that Drake-reminiscent introductory “You better just follow me (Follow me),” Ogi says: “Follow Me is inspired by a conversation between me and my friends about a person they were seeing that I really did not like”. It sees the songwriter lay bare the conceit in modern relationships, with this not escaping fate. Like a wounded soldier returned from war, Ogi is at pains to note down the signs of sin; “Let me guess/ He said you’re the prettiest in the world/ Let me guess/ He said that there were no other girls,” before closing the sentience with a call to “follow me (Follow me)”. A further listen might provoke a deliberate misreading of the situation that attributes the renunciation a message for self – like the unexpected moment of ascendency at the bridge, to its pinnacle at the outro.
Elsewhere, the reel reveals church bells ringing in the distance before a screeching halt overtakes to a crash that births a rap singing Ogi that begins, “All these blessings falling in my lap like I’m a grandpa”. It was inspired by the differing tastes to which she and her younger siblings relate. The beautiful moment of unity would happen on her debut album. Even IYKYK, the final slide of the EP, is an homage to her young brother. An act of selflessness-cum-oldest sibling responsibility.
There is beautiful wonder about the way Ogi wills her voice; there is agency, and coherency, and nuance. If it is not for acclaim, then it is perhaps a nod to her singing background, and to her producer, No I.D., who manoeuvred the arrangements beautifully.
Written by Thembi Ngubo
Album art designed and created by Raymond Okwenda