On Seeing the Love of My Life in Person

I saw Jonathan D. Bellion in person for the first, and what I hope will not be the last time. I wonder if he’ll get famous enough or I’ll get broke enough to be unable to afford his tickets anymore. Unfortunately, at the end of this wonderful concert of LA’s The Human Condition III tour, the love of my life failed to propose to me so I’m still single. It’s a tragedy.

I can honestly say that seeing Jon Bellion live was one of the most necessary things I’ve ever had to do with my life. I can also say that he’s my favorite – in my opinion, the best – performing musician I know of. Yes, yes, I’ll concede that Beyoncé has phenomenal breath control, vocal training, resilience and excellent dance moves. She may be the best performing singer alive. But Jonathan is my best performing musician. Watching him perform, I think, should be an almost life-changing experience, even if you don’t rock with his musical sound itself. I’d felt it in videos, but was something I was determined to see for myself.



In 2016, when I got into Jon Bellion, the strange sounds he made, particularly in The Definition, caught my attention. I believe I started first listening to his tapes in chronological order. I started with the ancient mixtape, Scattered Thoughts Vol. I. (There have never been any subsequent volumes, which I think is very sad.) I remember thinking Jon’s music was okay – not mind-blowing, but nice – but the texture of his voice made me uncomfortable. It’s so strange, because only two hours later, I’d be in love with the very same voice on subsequent music projects.

I listened to Translations Through Speakers, and I was like okay, I like this content. I like what he’s doing with these beats… I moved on to The Separation and thought, this is stuff I’ll be coming back to again and again. But then The Definition. Hmm. “Munny Right,” the first track, slaughtered me in the post-hook by Beautiful Mind member, Mylon Haydes:

“Put the pause button on that weak shit

You sound like everybody else, muh’fucka”

Those lines became a mantra and I couldn’t do a thing about it. They energized me every time I felt low. Along with “All Time Low,” of course. The second track, “Carry Your Throne” made me so happy especially because of the drums and the vocals in the chorus. After that song, I was pretty sure I wanted to date Jon Bellion. But by the third track on the tape, “Pre-Occupied,” I was jumping up and down in my room around 2am thinking, “Who is this guy, and how can I get him to marry me?!” I am telling you, it was a spiritual experience! My goodness. I was nearly high for the rest of the time I used to finish The Definition.

And then I went to YouTube. I can only assume I was looking for corresponding music videos. I found something much better than music videos, though. I found “The Making Of…” videos. And they changed my life more than anything by any musician has ever changed my life before. And this is the story of how Jon Bellion became my favorite musician in one night.

To be honest, “The Making Of…” videos are the reasons I absolutely had to see him perform live. As much as I like the music of many other artistes, Jon Bellion is virtually the only non-poet I have ever wanted to see live so badly. Now that I have, I wonder if I’ll ever be interested in attending anybody else’s concerts, LOL.

Jon Bellion writes himself. And he’s a freaking lyricist. He’s the producer of all his songs. He can’t read music, apparently, but he’s a multi-instrumentalist. And I include beat pads and drum machines in the list of musical instruments in the world. He made his production and composition and recording process transparent in his “The Making Of…” videos in a way I’ve never seen been done before. He’s been intentionally mini-documentary-ing almost his whole creating process. So, I had to do everything I’d seen him do on video live. I was not disappointed. Except for the part where I had to stand, waiting at least 25 minutes after the end of Blaque Keyz’ opening act for Jon to come on.

Jon’s personality is contagious. It’s genuine, casual and bubbly. He’s almost always performing in just a white T-shirt and jeans. He doesn’t have a million-times-practiced choreography or team of 20 dancers in formation, yet his stagecraft is fantastic with just a themed slideshow behind him, his Beautiful Mind band, his loop station, and a lot of help from the ever-energetic Travis Mendes. The themed slideshow was such that, for example, there were clips of crashing waves as he performed “Overwhelming” and a collage of ’80s movies clips as he performed “80s Films.”

To see Jon practically effortlessly switch between the microphone, a piano, a physical drum set and a loop station or beat pad was one of the littest things I’ve ever experienced. And let’s not even talk about how amazing it is to have the whole crowd singing your lyrics even louder than you. And even the non-lyrics like “YEE!” and “Bambudeybambambudeybambudeybambambudey, Guillotine!” That crowd felt like community in unity.

I think my magical moment was when he walked us through a quasi-production process of the song “Luxury” from The Definition, whose trumpets, I think, are iconic. More iconic than the trumpets in Jason Derulo’s “Trumpets,” which, by the way, is a song Jon Bellion wrote and “donated” to Derulo because it was too pop for him. LOL.

By the encore, I had lost my mind, with a few minutes of silence to recover somewhat after the end of the official concert. Several times, Jon built up tension with the ascending backing vocals in the “Jim Morrison” chorus from The Separation (and yes, I LOVED it that only the Day Ones knew the lyrics form this 2013 song – so that by the time Jon yelled, “Rock the fuck out!” I was unapologetically screaming,

“Ask my father, getting money is hereditary,

Will Smith, bitch, I am feeling legendary!”

like I was the most turnt person in the room. I was intoxicated by nothing other than the drug of Jon Bellion’s physical presence and energy.

I was a baritone the next day. It was a wonder I hadn’t lost my voice completely saf.

So yes, not only has Jon Bellion redefined for me what it means to be a great musician, but he has also restored my faith and aspirations in the art of musical performance.  That was so, so refreshing. Take me again!




Breaking Bars Broken Down

As a lexivist, I choose not to be apologetic about being more concerned with (read: borderline obsessed with) the meaning and words in songs more than anything else about them. Usually. There are certainly exceptions. However, most often, the lyrics are what define excellence for me, and from what I’ve seen, in this regard, I am in the minority. But who cares? I’m a writer first and a musician anywhere from second to tenth.

Now as someone primarily concerned with lyrical meaning, I cannot help but desire to expose and explain songs or projects that I find particularly meaningful for their lyrical content. Examples on my blog are The Magnificent Relevance of Motherfuckitude and The Spiritual Journey of Gallant. And now, I want to talk about one of the most lyrically important songs I have ever heard in my life, especially considering my own geographical and cultural contexts: Breaking Bars, by Tronomie.

Cover art by DeSouza Nelson

Aside from the fact that Tronomie is currently my best friend, whom I’d like to believe I know deeply well enough to write accurately about his intention, the thing that makes this post different from the ones about Motherfuckitude and Ology is that this is not an interpretation of the lyrics; it is an explanation. I understand the lyrics better than anyone other than Tronomie himself, precisely because I co-wrote them.

Before I go into lyrical meaning, I want to first acknowledge that this song sounds fantastic. Sonic quality alone. And if you want a better idea of why Breaking Bars’ sonic uniqueness is just about as relevant as its lyrics to the Ghanaian music society from people who seem to understand the sonic qualities of music several times better than I do, I suggest you listen to Episode 3 of Nkenten’s Decaf podcast, which talks extensively about the song and whatever industrial complexities surround it. (Aside: You can also listen to Episode 2 of the Decaf Podcast, The Lexivist Edition, which features yours truly!)

Now, on to my specialty area: the lyrics. (Which many people either seem neither to understand nor care that they don’t understand. And if you think this is salt…well, it just might be. LOL)

“Mirror, mirror

It’s been a while since the face in you was mine

Now all I see is a broken figure”

The lyrics begin with an awakening to self, or the consciousness within a persona/the singer/Tronomie that he is not doing something right.

“How long until I settle for ‘this is fine’?”

But a greater issue than the fact that the persona is no longer recognizable to himself is the fact that he can foresee a moment when he will no longer aspire to be better than he is – to conquer the true vice that makes him unrecognizable to himself in the mirror: mediocrity.

If you had no idea what the song was really about, at least you could follow the metaphor up to that point. Before we come in with our river metaphors, leave you baffled and potentially lose you entirely. And so, at this point, I would like to explain the actual meaning of the song.

The Christian artistic industry, especially the music one, in Ghana appears to be suffering from mediocrity with regards to content. Many are satisfied with merely scratching the surface of the religion, playing it safe in the name of approval from local audiences, content that as long as they mention Jesus’ name in their song, it automatically becomes great Christian music. Resultantly, they fail to address issues of prime concern in society which need to be tackled, but more than that, refuse to apply genius and creativity in the way they create their art – leading to an occasionally stunning difference in quality of what is considered “secular” music and what we accept as “Christian” music. While it is sometimes evident how much effort some secular artistes/rappers put into their songwriting internationally (note that international ≠ exclusively foreign, so save your breath if you wanted to attack me for that) is evidence of effort that is so often apparently missing from the works of Ghanaian Christian artistes who consciously or unconsciously know that whether their songs are trashy or not, they are likely to get coverage in the church context. (I’m talking about music specifically in this blog post, partially because I know that if I start going off on the Ghanaian Christian spoken word scene, this blog post won’t finish.)

What on earth does all this have to do with Breaking Bars? Well, you see, the Christian artiste who makes mediocre music, both lyrically and sonically, is exactly like the persona at the beginning of Breaking Bars, reversed; s/he hasn’t realized that his/her image is distorted, and has indeed settled, unknowingly for “this [mediocrity] is fine”. BUT

“Why should a river compromise if it reflects the sky?”

The persona – no, the Christian artiste – is the river. What is the sky? The sky is God. The Christian must reflect God the way a river reflects the sky. S/he cannot do that if there are a bunch of obstacles in his/her way – in this case, the obstacles are those of mediocrity. The idea of river and sky’s reflection is just a way to imperfectly (which metaphor can ever fully encapsulate a complex, real-world idea?) the concept of having a higher purpose or potential. The absolute highest thing a river can reflect is not the branch of a tree, nor a mountaintop, nor even a passing bird; it is the limitless sky. To be content with anything intermediary, less, is to be content with mediocrity, in the context of this song.

And again, here, we potentially lose you again with the confusing retention of the general river metaphor, while we swiftly change the dimensions of it.

“So I’m going to run on deeper,

Break the dam if the bars won’t let me by”

Where is the change? Well, it lies in how we have suddenly gone from looking at things in the upward direction (sky) to looking at them sideways. No longer are we talking about the river’s reflection, but now we are talking about its flow. The same way objects between river and sky stop the river from reflecting, so do the “bars” create a dam within the river, a stoppage that does not allow it to flow the way it should. The bar is mediocrity. And the goal is to break past it.

Then there’s another very rapid metaphor switch, sorry-not-sorry. The “bars” have transformed from river dam bars into prison bars. Either way, they are the unwanted obstruction. Now the bars of mediocrity are the ones that “hold the standards too low”. We are speaking again, of course, of the general standards of the Christian artistic industry. And so this persona/Tronomie sees an antidote as a course of action, to

“Rip every note,

Transcend what I’ve known”.

It’s somewhat metonymic. Ripping notes, singing excellently, stands in for also doing everything related to music creation or art creation excellently. Including writing lyrics. [This is where I am pleased to reveal my jon by mentioning that music is and/or lyrics are written in…bars. Hehehee!] So, fundamentally, this is the meaning of Breaking Bars. You could stop reading here because by now you should at least vaguely get it. But please continue reading because I am going to continue writing, as there are obviously more lyrics, and certainly more to say.

The second verse of the song more explicitly brings out the purpose of the song rather than just the meaning. The purpose of this song is to be a challenge to Christian artistes wherever, to step up their game when it comes to making excellent art.

“Step up, leader

If your speaker is connected to your mic

Your voice makes me listen, eager

But your message is disconnected from my mind”

If you have access to a platform, and an audience for anything that you do (e.g. If you have a working microphone and have a voice coming out through speakers that people are listening to), you are probably a leader of sorts, whether you know it or not. But now what is the point of the sweetest voice that claims to be doing the work of glorifying God but is really not saying anything that the audience’s minds can recognize as substantial content? If you have a platform, you might as well use it well.

“Silver spoon on a golden plate,

Do you only decorate?

Your guests will be starving for dinner

If you’re living your life behind your case.”

(Trust Tronomie to be there thinking about spoons when we’re talking about bars. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t already know that he was crazy but…LOL.)

How baffling that you can turn something so purposefully utilitarian (literally, utensils) into purposeless decorations. As an artist, you should not want to be a purposeless decoration – not when people are starving and you are the person that can be used to feed them. The “case” here is your comfort zone of mediocrity, of acceptability, of refusal to say or do anything that could disrupt the problematically silent status quo of Christian culture on issues that matter more than we give them credit for. This protective shield is another “bar” that must be broken. Christianity. Is. Not. Safe. You can’t even finish listing issues Christian culture, especially in Ghana, has too long been silent about. Examples that readily come to my mind are mental health, the de-contextualization of Scripture, and the very real struggle of going through doubt while still ascribing to the faith. I’m sure there are countless more you can name.

“Where is the mind God has given you?

Do you want to do better?

Do you want to say better?”

The minds that we have must be used. The Psalmist was an artiste who used his mind to create lyrical excellence. What is your excuse? To refuse usage of the mind in the capacity it was designed for is to transform it from purposefully utilitarian to purposelessly decorative.

And so as a whole, we tried to do with Breaking Bars what Breaking Bars is trying to challenge others to do. If the amount of deliberation, intentionality and effort that was put into trying to make this song transcend standards and expectations is any indication, I’d say we have reason to be at least a little bit proud of what Tronomie and everyone involved in the making of this song have managed to produce.

Lastly, I would like to emphasize that Breaking Bars is not a Gospel song. I have heard it referred to as such and I just can’t deal with it. What it is, plain as day, is a song written by a couple of Christians. It is a song. It is music. Aside from the fact that it simply does not fit the conventional “Gospel” category of music, there is also the (valid) argument that there really is no such thing as Christian music in the first place. And to illustrate, I shall pull up my favorite quote from rapper Lecrae’s Unashamed autobiography:

“There is no such thing as Christian rap and secular rap. Only people can become Christians. Music can’t accept Jesus into its heart. So I am not trying to make Christian music or secular music. I’m just making music. Hip-hop, like all music, is a good thing. I could use it for evil by filling it with violence and misogyny and profanity. Or I can use it to glorify God. Every song I write doesn’t have to have the Gospel spelled out or quote Scripture so that people will know I love Jesus. My goal is just to use my gifts to produce great art that tells the truth about the world. If I see the world through a biblical lens, the music will naturally paint a picture that serves people and honors God.” – Lecrae Moore



P.S.: The Genius.com lyrics to Breaking Bars can be found here.

Can You See God?

It was late, near midnight, and I was in the library, trying to finish a paper whose deadline (midnight) I wouldn’t meet anyway, and overdosed on coffee to the point of mentally hyperactive discomfort. The paper I was writing was far less exciting for me than the project of passion that I was working on simultaneously with the team over a long distance: the Solitaire EP.

Moving to California for school caused a lot of complications and coordination problems with the Vision Inspired team back in Ghana, not least of which was the 8-hour difference between us. This was early in the morning in Ghana, around 7 or 8 am, and Tronomie had just sent me a Whatsapp audio of the final arrangement of Dear God part 2. He hadn’t slept all night. Of course I halted my work immediately to listen to it. And. I. Loved. It. I think that was the moment I actually began to get excited about the whole EP. I think this is how Tronomie became my favorite singer. The only person who loved it more than I did was my manager/CEO, Ekko, who had, as usual, offered his creative input and direction – in this case, his suggestions had worked such that Dear God had begun to sound not just like two songs, but like three.

Before these Vision Inspired Magicians did their surgical sorcery to Dear God, it had existed as a classically angsty Akotowaa spoken-word-on-beat with all the enthusiastic anger my performances are known for.

“I feel caged by expectations, grades, examinations, the range of practical occupations” – Akotowaa [Dear God]

And it was very short – barely even 2 minutes long. Also, it wasn’t supposed to be part of the Solitaire EP. Ironically, now that Tronomie is on it, I think it’s the longest Solitaire track.

When I got the “final draft” of Dear God, it was the first time I’d heard that final bit of the song; the Ekko addition that made the song sound like three instead of just two. The aim of all the light production and the BVs was to end the track on a sonically significantly happier note than the one it began with. When Ekko asked me what I thought about it, I said, truthfully, that the sound I was hearing did not fit my perception of something that should come out of God. (And for those of you who still haven’t gotten the clue that Tronomie is the voice of God on this track, here’s your chance to pretend like you knew it all along.)

As horrified as I was to admit it, it was true. Despite my intellectual awareness of the complex nature of God, I still had a fixed, streamlined vision of Him in my mind – one that was very much captured by the production vocals Tronomie had created at the beginning of Dear God part 2. The sudden, powerful drums. The vocals swinging through crescendo and diminuendo to give me the impression of a dark room, smoke and an invisible, invincible, untouchable, out-of-reach force. That was God. The sweetly-singing “Love me” person just wasn’t adding up to the one whom I’d heard sing before him, in my brain. Problematic? Indeed. (Ironically, I had written the lyrics, and I don’t know how I expected the words “love me” to constantly sound booming and menacing, more like a command and less like a request.)

I had another poem in the works by this time, one I was to perform at the VIM concert on the 23rd of December. It was supposed to be a Christmas poem. I’d been working on it for a while but it didn’t seem to be going anywhere. It was one of those unfortunate projects that felt like everything that was coming out of my pen was trash. I was trying unsuccessfully to turn the Biblical story of Jesus’ birth into a poetic narrative, but it lacked any meaning I could identify… until after this incident with being asked about how I felt about the end of Dear God.

When I began I See God, I didn’t know it was going to be my Christmas poem. It was merely a story I was telling of a man who could only see the harshest side of God, being introduced to the loving image of Him. The God of John 3:16.

“I see God in the rolling thunder,

The crashing of the waves and them pulling under

Everything that cannot withstand

The fearful power of the ocean’s command” -Akotowaa [I See God]

In the beginning, this fictional man’s rant to the stranger who has joined him seems harmless. You see God as impressive and powerful; is He not these things, anyway? Will every knee not eventually bow to him whether it desires to or not? But then later, you start to see how destructive this kind of image, when held in isolation from the whole nature of God, begins to get.

“I see God as an icy God

A block so cold proximity burns

A rock so old it doesn’t age

The God that sent Egypt the plague

…A God that, by nature, pushes people away.” -Akotowaa [I See God]

When this carries on, the image of invincible power turns into an image of unbridled cruelty. Such a Being becomes unapproachable and incapable of love, much less getting others to love Him. He is indeed a God who pushes people away. A Being like that is someone I’d be careful to keep my distance from because I’d be terrified of what He could do to me if I even breathed the wrong way.

The stranger whom the man in my poem is showing his God off to remains unimpressed. You can tell that the man who spoke was proud of his speech. The might of his God probably fed his ego; made him feel special and conceited, for belonging to a religion whose God would effortlessly smite the gods of any other person’s religion. I can only imagine how he expected the stranger to look at him with starry eyes, envying this man his religion and even fearing him a little for being a worshipper of Someone so fearful. But then the stranger says to the man what I would now say to myself:

“Your God sounds like a terrorist

A God without rhyme,

A God without reason

A God that only knows the harshest season

A God of power but not of love

A God as a vulture, never a dove

The God of the flood,

But not of the rainbow

That’s the God that most of us claim to know.” -Akotowaa [I See God]

The question, as I was thinking of all this dialogue between the two men, was where had I seen evidence – plain, undeniable evidence – of the loving, soft God that would croon “Love me” softly to me? Where could I find evidence of the John 3:16 God who “so loved the world that he gave His only begotten son…”? Well, in the circumstances of John 3:16, of course!

If God loved us enough to send His son to save us, in what manner would His son be sent? In a tornado, perhaps? The falling of the sky? For goodness’ sake, this is the entrance of Jesus we’re talking about. Jesus, who is a son of the terrifying, all-powerful God; Jesus who is himself God. Surely, the earth would at least quake a little. But Jesus showed up in a way I’d have never, ever expected an omnipotent being to show himself to mankind: naturally, as a baby, naked, small and defenseless, pulled from a woman’s vagina into a manger. It really doesn’t make any sense. If you showed me a naked, newborn baby and told me that he was God, I’d probably laugh in your face. Interestingly enough, that isn’t what the shepherds did. I would really love to know what those guys were thinking that night. I wonder how difficult it was to accept everything that they were experiencing.

“What if he looked naked?
And quiet?
With the facial features of an Israelite
With baby skin not made of iron
covered in blood and prone to crying
The one who made us in His image
taking our image and making it His
defying your notion of a superhero
and speaking to people just like this?
A lamb to complement my argument for the lion
the one who forgave and healed and saved
and became a shoulder to cry on” -Akotowaa [I See God]

Yes, God is mighty and supreme. It is impossible to ignore this aspect of Him. But God is also meek and humble. It is impossible to ignore this side of Him. To hold the image of a perpetually angry and mean God will push you away. However, to ignore Him as a supreme holder of power in favor of the loving image, to believe that every single thing you do would be looked upon favorably no matter what, will also condemn you. Be careful how you see God. I do not have enough expertise in theology to explain this to a greater extent yet, but hopefully you understand what I’m saying.

When I stopped to think about it, that image of a superpower-less, naked baby countered my perception of a solely huge, unapproachable and severe God. And since the circumstances around this were the ones for which Christmas is celebrated, well, I finally had subject matter for my overdue Christmas poem.

I merged I See God with the as-yet-titleless poem I’d been constructing, and I’m happy to say that I wrote a poem that would have changed (some part of) my life if I hadn’t written it myself. As a matter of fact, something about my life (i.e. my vision of God) did indeed have to change before I could even write his poem. I’m proud of I See God. I think it’s excellent content-wise. (The sonic quality is questionable, given that it was recorded on my phone, and the VI guys did their best to enhance it so that it didn’t sound entirely like trash. Shout-out to Reynolds TheGentleMan for the dope production!)

I don’t know how many people have the same problem with how they see God as I did. Whoever they are, wherever they are, I hope they somehow get to hear I See God and be as impacted by listening to it as I was by writing it.


For complete lyrics of Dear God, click here.

For complete lyrics of I See God, click here.

Excellent, 2017

I’m surprised I haven’t seen as many new year resolution blog posts this year. Are we just tired of declaring things for ourselves that we can’t stick to? Anyway, that’s besides the point. What’s interesting though, is that more than defined goals, at least 3 people I follow have more of central themes than anything else, for example, a word or a virtue, like “peace” or “joy”. I realized I kind of do the same thing – but I use songs. In 2015, my theme song was Lecrae’s Anomaly. In 2016, I didn’t explicitly choose a theme song, but I guess it unfortunately ended up being Sia’s Unstoppable. I wrote a blog post on it, which I am not eager to re-read, because those were depressing times.

This year’s song just happens to be the appropriately titled Excellent, 2017 by Sho Baraka, off his latest album, The Narrative. Every song has a year attached to its title, and this one is perfect for this purpose. [Side-note: Please listen to The Narrative. It’s great stuff. My favorite changes, but for now, it’s Love, 1959.]

“Hat on top ’cause we think excellent

Frames on straight ’cause I see excellent

Dressed for success ’cause I be excellent

Everything we do, everything we do”

I chose “Excellent, 2017” to remind myself not to settle for less than what I am capable of – because I feel like I have been doing that for a while. And also to remind myself that I need to make excellent things and be excellent because I was made excellent by a God who is excellent.

thenarrativeIn 2016, when Tronomie became my best friend, I invented the word “swagblocking” just for him. At first it seemed like he was just cockblocking himself, but then I realized it extended beyond that context even. He refuses, to this day, to acknowledge nearly anything about himself which is cool. (And that’s everything about him, by the way, because he’s an amazing human being.) So he was swagblocking himself. Speaking down on his own genius, for no apparent reason. And it was ridiculously annoying until I realized I do it too. Now I’m not okay with that.

What really sparked my discomfort is the realization that my influence is growing. An increasing number of people now have their eyes on me, either because I interest them, they resonate with me, or they generally admire what I am doing. Now, the more my influence grows, the more unhealthy my giving in during my battles with my inferiority complex gets. There are several reasons why. For one thing, I cannot imagine the nasty spiral my psyche would take if I kept this up, believing that every single compliment I receive is a lie. The compliments keep getting longer and more heartfelt and there’s going to be a destructive, consuming war within me if the self-deprecation simultaneously augments.

Another thing is that I’m a freaking lexivist – an activist/advocate for word-related things, and I want to actually help people to go forward with their word-related endeavors. AS I said, there are far more people looking up to me than there used to be, and I’m going to be no help to them if I consistently refuse to acknowledge my own abilities and achievements. Then I become a dormant resource, which completely defeats the “activism” part of “lexivism”. So the swagblocking gotta go.

But the most important reason why it gotta go is that it stops me from being excellent. Swag-blocking is being defeated before one has even started. When you begin by believing you are “not that good anyway”, chances are, you will not be able to push yourself into creating art that is anything better than “not that good anyway”. It’s entirely unhelpful when you are, like me, aiming for excellence.

“Art on high ’cause we make excellent”

I am on a mission to become the person I want to be – the person I believe I was meant to be. I’ve found that I waste too much time. It takes far too long for me to bring my ideas to fruition, not because I’m meditating on it, but probably because I spend hours a day scrolling through timelines. And it’s made me realize I’m letting a lot of opportunities pass me by. This must stop.

I’ve decided that I’m going to take my writing way more seriously. Like my life depends on it. Which it does. Well, the career part of my life, anyway. I need to be writing like I actually plan to get published. Because as much as I love words, I must admit that I half-ass things a lot.

Additionally, I’ve discovered that I’ve been passively running away from things I’m too scared to try. Like making new friends. Asking people for favors. Buying books that I want. Saying things that I mean. Being a rapper. Starting a YouTube channel. Learning videography. In IWITP, I said “I just wish I could have been bolder.” In 2017, I am saying, “Well then, be bold now.” A huge part of all this is learning how to not be scared to fail. It’s entirely possible that I could fail at any, none or all of the things I bother to try. The important thing is not, as they say, to at least have tried; for me, the important thing is, if I fail, to have failed excellently. Even trying can be half-assed, you see. But I can only fail excellently if I tried excellently.

“If you’re reaching for the top, you better learn to survive

You can either fall or fly when you’re reaching for the sky

Fly excellent

Or fall excellent

But never quit

Never quit”


Solitaire was a huge experiment…but apparently, it worked

[Hi – please, if you haven’t listened to Solitaire, my debut spoken word project, please go and do that and come back. Thanks.]


I was madly nervous during the listening session. This was 2 weeks before Solitaire was due to drop. I had invited some of the coolest people in Accra that I knew and trusted to come witness and give me feedback for the biggest and riskiest thing I have ever done in my life to this point. Because they were my favorite people, I wanted to know how they’d respond as I believed it would give me an idea of how people as cool as them (AKA my target audience) would respond.

Surprisingly enough, the thing I was most concerned about was people hearing my words and realizing how wack and corny my lyrics were and finally see what a fraud of a writer I was. LOL. Imagine – my writing was just about the one thing nobody complained about. So what’s wrong with me? (BTW, all Solitaire lyrics are available on Genius.com.)

Solitaire is a huge experiment. And it wasn’t intended to be, as unbelievable as that may sound. I have never heard a project that sounds like Solitaire before, true, but I realized that after it was completed. I didn’t start out from the beginning thinking, “Okay, for this project, I’m going to try my best to go all out in breaking all the rules.” It seems befitting to my personality to have done something like that, but that isn’t what happened. Solitaire came to life mostly organically. I described the circumstances around its lyrical composition over-dramatically in the blog post “Where did Solitaire even come from?

Solitaire (the poem itself) was written while I was blanked out in math class. Ephemeron was written in my room in boarding school during very hormonal moments. It was cathartic, though. Imagine harboring hurt for 2+ years from people whom you are forced to see nearly every day anyway. Dear God was written under high duress (that is, Part 1). I don’t know why it ended up following a regular beat. These things just happen to me. I think Dear God was one of those casual voice notes I sent my manager like, “Look, Ekko, I wrote something.” It wasn’t even originally part of the tracklist. We decided to replace one of the originally intended tracks with Dear God very late in Solitaire’s compilation stage. I wrote Part 2 when Ekko and I decided that Tronomie should sing more than just background vocals. I’m glad he did. It gave the poem a sense of further completeness. And his voice is amazing. Love you, Solitaire God! ❤

To Be has an interesting backstory. It was not originally a poem. I had written a blog post called Comfort as Yourself, and during Ekko’s daily rounds of Akotz Stalking Sessions (back when he actually had time to recreationally care about my life), he found the blog post and sent me a Facebook message immediately, telling me to turn it into a poem. That’s why, to some extent, I feel like he wrote it rather than me – even though he never touched my pen or my words. Maybe we both wrote it in a way.

During the listening session, someone asked me if I had tried saying Undeath of the Artist, as more like a poem and less like a rap. I had forgotten about it then, but in fact, I had tried. In February, I took a break off from school to record demos of every intended Solitaire poem in the studio with Tronomie. He pressed record and stopped halfway through, like “No. This needs a beat.” Um…well, I knew that. A few months later, I met EDWVN for the first time in person. I had been following him for a while on Twitter and had finally mustered up the courage to enter his DMs and ask whether we could be friends. The first day we met, he played a bunch of stuff he’d produced for me (the only productions of his I’d ever heard before were from Sutra’s mixtape, The Art of Being. I’d been stalking Sutra for a while then too.) I hadn’t even paying attention to his music; I’d just thought he was a cool person from his tweets. But then when it finally came to time to start thinking about production, well, I thought, if EDWVN didn’t produce it, anka who would produce it? And as you can see, the production is cooler than the poem itself. So maybe I made a wrong move. LOL

Solitaire is a freaking hybrid.

  • The Curse of They is literally a sonnet said out loud.
  • Undeath of the Artist is a thing most people can’t fully classify as rap or spoken word.
  • Ephemeron fits classical perceptions of what spoken word should be but yo – have you heard those sound effects? (Shout-out to Ekko and TheGentleMan for making that poem sonically pregnant with creativity.)
  • Solitaire is a poem made out of a freaking card game. That’s not normal. This is how I know I’m mad.
  • IWITP is a spoken word song. WTF is a spoken word song anyway?
  • Dear God is a prayer-rap-call-response-poem-song in 2 parts. Whoa.
  • To Be is a poemified blog post. That’s weird.

The whole project ended up being strange, even to me. But maybe that’s just the only way it would make sense because I’m strange. I don’t fully understand myself, much less am I able to understand or predict the nature of the art that comes out of me. Solitaire was a huge experiment…but apparently, it worked.


Where did Solitaire even come from?

Solitaire is a French word. It means “lonely”/”alone”/”isolated”.

Solitaire is a computer game, designed to be played alone.

I sat in math class almost 2 years ago, and as usual, every single thing was flying over my head. I opened my notebook and saw parabolic graphs I didn’t understand. I would rather have been anywhere but that class; several times rather have been playing Solitaire on my bed. In my room. Away from people and life.

Solitaire was my escape strategy. It was the computer application I went straight to when I didn’t want to think. Thinking was too hard but Solitaire was mindless enough. The Microsoft Collection had about 6 different types of the game, making it nearly impossible for me to get bored of it. And as I sat in that IB Higher Level Math class, I definitely didn’t want to think. However, the class had an unspoken no-computers policy. So instead of Solitaire, I started to scribble words on top of my parabolic graphs.

Perhaps I should have been more concerned about how I fared in that subject, but I genuinely couldn’t bring myself to care. I had my eyes on graduation. With math in particular, I just needed to hit the pass mark and pass on to graduation. Excelling in the subject was out of the question. If I managed to just get by, that alone would be a miracle.

I zoned out completely. Writing it was a mindless endeavor, and it was nearly as much fun as playing the game itself. I had made a new game: a Solitaire word game. Ace. Two. Three. Four. The paragraphs began to form all over the page, squeezed into corners between equations. I was about halfway through by the time the class ended and hadn’t learned a thing. I forgot about my Solitaire word game.

Another math class. I opened my math notebook and saw the paragraphs of my word game. Well, if I hadn’t gotten anything from the last class, what were the chances I’d benefit from this one? I might as well continue writing. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

At some points, I would walk to school alone. The most popular girl in my class never walked alone. She literally had the nickname of “queen”, possibly because of her influential online presence and general reputation. I wasn’t the biggest fan of her friends but their appearance of untouchable “royalty” still intimidated me. I tried to ignore them as I walked. I did not always succeed.

This was the period of my intense obsession with Janelle Monae. Nearly every time I put my earphones in, I would go straight to this one album: The Electric Lady.  For a while, my favorite song was QUEEN. I loved these lyrics:

“Even if it makes others uncomfortable, I will love who I am.”

I wanted to be QUEEN. I wanted to love who I was. Jack. Queen. King.

My word-game had turned into a poem now: “Solitaire”.


In this period of the Electric Lady and Solitaire addictions, one of my roommates was an artist. The previous year, we had taken IGCSE Art together. She abandoned art for humanities in the IB Diploma Programme. I left it too, for Mathematics and Physics. In the months and year after we left Art, she would periodically ask me, “When was the last time you drew?” If my pencils were food, they’d have gone to rot from having remained untouched and stale for so long. The artist in me felt like she had died.

But I refused to let her go. As Dylan Thomas said,

“Do not go gently into that good night

Rage, rage against the dying of the light”

If the artist in me had died, she must by all means be revived: “Undeath of the Artist”.


I used to think the friends I had the first year would be my friends forever. Our bond seemed so strong and permanent. I didn’t know how ephemeral the whole thing was going to be. The close circle broke up. I wrote my pain. I vented privately. I vented publicly. In very unpoetic words and several expletives. Finally, about 2 years later, when I’d calmed down a little, something else came out, in the form of something that finally resembled poetry. I used it to let go of my harbored hurt: “Ephemeron”.


The last year of high school was the one where my classmates wanted to make memories. Selfies and group pictures were taken nearly constantly. I felt disconnected. It was a struggle between wanting to fit into a community and knowing that this community was not meant for me to fit into anyway. There were many pictures. For the most part, I wasn’t in the pictures: “IWITP“.


Outside of the math classroom was the balcony. The classroom was on the second floor. I stood there and looked down at the mostly-empty car park. A classmate of mine was standing next to me. “If I jumped from here, do you think I’d die?” I asked.

“Yes,” he responded. And maybe he told me something along the lines of “don’t do it”; but by that time I wasn’t listening anymore. God, I had questions. God, I needed answers.

Dear God, I began to write, as I sat in a teacher’s office perhaps a few minutes later. I did not want to be in school. I did not feel like doing life. What did all of this mean? What did God want from me?

With a backlog of homework, a bucketload of tears and a series of abysmal scores on tests, I found myself in the wardrobe room of my dorm some time later. It was small and cramped, and there were no chairs. My heart was extra-heavy and I plopped down on the floor. There was no one to talk to. No one but God. There, on the floor, at my lowest, I continued my letter to Him: “Dear God”.


I walked into the dining hall, went in line for my food and sat down at an empty table to eat. As I observed the woefully microcosmic world around me, I wondered when I’d become so comfortable with this phenomenon of eating alone. I watched others freshly out of the food line looking nervously around the hall for familiar faces that would welcome them to the hopefully empty seats at their tables. I genuinely wondered how come they weren’t as comfortable as I was with eating alone. Did they not see the liberation in it? What was all this anxiety about being seen as solitary in room full of people? Maybe the experiences that had forced me to be an hardened outsider had simply led me, after all these years, to become an expert in keeping myself company: “To Be.”


Every time I performed Solitaire, at least one person would ask me one of two questions:

  1. How do you memorize all that?
  2. Where can I find a recording of Solitaire?

The answer to the first question was: it’s easy. It follows a sequence, and it has moments of rhyme. If you know what a pack of cards looks like, Solitaire’s lyrics are easily crammed.

The answer to the second question was always: nowhere. (Until now.)

I present to you my spoken word project, Solitaire, on 19th December 2016.


The Spiritual Journey of Gallant (@SoGallant)

Disclaimer: Anything I say as part of my interpretations could possibly be partially to entirely wrong.

As I write this, I must admit I have known of Gallant, the RnB singer, for just about a month or so (note: I wrote this way earlier than I am posting this). But I haven’t fully fallen into obsession this fast since Jon Bellion. I legit spend a significant amount of time watching just about any Gallant interview or documentary I can find, and I memorize his lyrics and decode them at my leisure.

I am glad that, after watching some of those documentaries/interviews, I can say that Gallant is human. I had my doubts when I listened to his album Ology (the only body of work of his I have heard. He released an EP or something before these but I haven’t looked for it). I doubted he was human because he writes nearly exclusively in imagery and metaphor, and his trademark is a yellow sadface! I honestly started to fear that sadness and stone-facedness were his only emotions. (And yes, I will insist right now that the latter qualifies as an emotion. Don’t tell a lexivist what to do with words.) But in his interviews, I think I’ve seen him smile twice and laugh twice so I can sort of breathe now and let go of the fear that he’s going to kill himself any second.


I remember, many months ago, something or the other (I think it was Kanye West) triggered a social media rant from Andy Mineo, who made very valid points about the way the world, especially including Christians, don’t like to accept the spiritual status of someone who is searching, as “searching”. We like to limit ourselves to understandings of “Okay, they’re in. Or they’re out.” No in-between period. So what I love about Gallant’s Ology album is that the whole project feels like that in-between period, which so many people are scared to display, for fear of condemnation – presented marvelously in metaphor. And I love Gallant for it.

Ology means knowledge. Technically, science – and I choose to pronounce that as “shee-ence” as in omniscience and conscience. Ology seems to be an exploration of science – what “it” means. Where “it” is absolutely everything. I think it goes as far as the question of bare existence. And Gallant makes it clear that he and his mind are out of this world. A large percentage of Ology’s imagery is extra-terrestrial; that is, goes beyond earth, to the moon, other planets, the galaxy, the gods. The scope is as wide as he could help. And of course it only makes sense that in an exploration of science and meaning, spirituality will be a frequent stop – like a popular company that has gas stations planted every few kilometers.

My focus on what I assume to be his spiritual journey will focus on 3 songs that stood out to me. In chronological order as they appear on the album, they are: Bourbon (4), Bone + Tissue (5), and Chandra (15).

So we begin with Bourbon.

Imagine how shocked I was to find out Bourbon was an alcohol, as opposed to the supposedly innocent chocolate biscuits I know from Ghana. =(

Bourbon sounds to me like it’s by a speaker who struggles with his attachment to atheism/agnosticism/rejection of the faith. (Side note: if you try to cross-check my analyses using Genius.com, you will probably find that they correspond…because I annotated this song. And a little bit of Bone + Tissue. And I think all that’s on Chandra so far is mine as well.) It’s like an addiction to unbelief. And for addiction, he uses bourbon, a metaphor for the metaphor of alcoholism; addiction in all its glorious absurdity. “Bourbon in my coffee cup”? As in, you have alcohol for breakfast? Or perhaps, does it also double as a vessel that contains something it shouldn’t? But let’s backtrack to the beginning.

“I’m a headless horseman

On quilted sand dunes

With my neck wide open

I pray for refuge”

Aside the tone of vulnerability, I see a slight allusion to the horsemen of the apocalypse. Aside that also, there is an imagery paradox. “Sand dunes” are symbols of isolation in a desert; but they are lyrically painted here with beauty, so much as to be “quilted”. There’s a consistent attempt to paint something ordinarily bad as attractive.

The pre-chorus for me put things into perspective:

“Cause since I’ve been found, I’ve been living a life in cages

Withering down to the champagne quicksand

Wrestling doubt I’ve been dragging around for ages

I tried to let it drain, but my veins are hopeless”

I think this speaks to his relationship with a faith, and I assume without basis that it is Christianity. I associate being “found” to symbolically speak of his integration into a/the church. So why does it feel like a cage to him? Are there too many religious restrictions he can’t handle? Is he so uncomfortable that he feels like a spectacle? Like an animal behind bars? Again, the paradox of an enjoyable danger in “champagne quicksand”. Curiously, even his integration into faith couldn’t cure him of his doubt. Maybe it’s because he feels pretentious that he feels like he’s been caged.

The 2 lines in the chorus that get to me are:

“Angels say trust the detox

But I’m shaking, I need it like bourbon in my coffee cup”

Whichever “angels” he has encountered keep trying to detoxify him of perhaps his agnosticism – but he can’t let go. He’s like an alcoholic; an addict experiencing withdrawal symptoms. Why is there bourbon, rather than coffee in his coffee cup?

The album takes us from one wrestle directly to another. Bone + Tissue comes right after this, and I personally feel like the lyrics are so wishy-washy that it’s nearly impossible to understand exactly what he’s saying. But I’m fine with the idea of finding more questions in other people’s art than answers.

All the verses scream entirely of dissatisfaction. I actually recognize Gallant’s writing pattern from listening and turning over in my mind so much. He has a formula where both verses and sometimes bridge say the same thing with different imagery.

He wants “more than God in a courtroom”; is the concept of God as a judge of man not acceptable for some reason? And what’s up with all the pain and destruction imagery? “broken glass in my house shoes”; “rocks in a windshield”; “kerosene in a minefield” etc. Is faith painful? I don’t know what it was about it that essentially sets him off.

And as for the people who are apparently giving him all these things, and making him experience all this pain, they seem to be doing pretty illogical, self-deluding things to themselves as well, like “spending all your days making days feel shorter” – a comment on the belief in eternity, perhaps? – and “taking your time making time feel better” – which sounds like a similar thing but maybe this alludes more to the idea of convincing ourselves there is a purpose to the life/time we spend on earth, an opinion that Gallant in this song doesn’t seem to share.

But then it all goes back to apparent feelings of (Gallant’s) worthlessness and obvious skepticism. The entire chorus sounds like sarcastic snark with an undertone of desperation.

“Sell me something I can use to catapult my value

Treat me like the cardinal anointed in my vessels

And anytime I bite the hand that feeds

Won’t you lie through your teeth and

Tell me I’m a monument to more than bone and tissue”

I can’t understand how anyone would readily believe that their soul and spirit are lies, that there is nothing more to them than the physical. But maybe this is a way for Gallant to present our fallible humanness in a raw but exaggerated form. And again, the sarcastic emphasis on humanity and our flaws, somehow trying to prove we are also (connected to) divine beings.

“If I falter on my oaths, will it prove I’m more than skin and bone?”

I don’t think so. =(

But then, the possibility…maybe it isn’t to be entirely ruled out. Chandra. Chandra is the “maybe” song. It’s the closes thing you’re going to get to an “I believe” on the album. It’s also the last song.

When he opens with “Are the chemicals controlled?”, I’m hearing two things. One is a question of depression; the kind which can be clinically defined as chemical imbalances in the brain. The second is a question of whether there is a force behind the physical world of natural science/phenomena. AKA – is there a transcendental being controlling all this?

The computer science imagery kind of stumped me for a while, really.

“Are they written in my native tongue

Open-ended cosmic code”

So, if the universe is programmed, does it run on an open-source software, whose code is accessible and comprehensible to us? For example, if the Designer/Programmer is God (tell me you didn’t just start singing either Panda or Tiimmy Turner and I won’t believe you), who made the cosmic universe, has he truly given us the “code” to this creation of His in the Bible?

When he says he has “felt vibrations across a burgundy sea”, I can’t imagine what the sea could be, other than his own blood. An instinctual feeling from within, from everywhere. To have “bent my head on a mission I couldn’t lead” seems like an acknowledgement of one’s lack of complete autocracy. I think it begs the question of who is leading, then, if not oneself.

Then comes a string of more mystical, hopeful, possibly begrudging “maybe”s.

“Maybe there’s a moon behind these lines

Habitable and chosen

Maybe there’s a home behind these eyes

Waiting until my logic falters and I’m losing hope

Who knows?”

The part about hope appearing when the senses and one’s own logic fail, is probably my favorite thing about the whole album. It echoes of something transcendental, past all the qualities of mankind, past the limits of our knowledge, our “Ology”.

As inconclusive a journey as this is, I don’t think an album of “searching” could have ended any better. Christopher Gallant, I am waiting with bated breath for your next album. =)

Also, I love you. Let’s be besties. ❤