By Michael Kolawole
Under bright white lights cast over an azure stage, Abidemi Sax stepped into a space carefully designed for sound and memory.
Dressed in rich blue Nigerian native wear, he was surrounded by eight instrumentalists, composed of four hornsmen—Tenor Saxophone, Alto Saxophone, Baritone Saxophone, and Trumpet. Two guitarists and a drummer perched behind a drum set surround the saxophonists. On the right side of the stage, a white man sporting a pink polo, sitting behind the Nord Keyboard is a pleasant addition.
His grasp of African grooves and tonal textures gives the performance an added warmth and character. Together, their pristine interplay and lustrous harmony bring a unique mood to the stage.
Like an unused ornament, a grand piano stand nearby the White man playing the upright piano. The grand piano isn’t the only aesthetic flourish: Conga drums sit to one side, never touched, adding to the textured visual of a well-appointed bandstand.
The performance, stretching 14 minutes and 27 seconds, is an ode to African folk music. Not as a museum piece, but as a living, breathing musical genre peculiar to Africa but now globally recognised.
Reharmonizing classic Afrobeat, traditional Kenyan Folk Song, and highlife, Abidemi Sax’s playing is gentle, assured, and unhurried. He began with Lagbaja’s “Coolu Temper”.
The song’s familiar melody slips easily from Abidemi Sax’s saxophone and is met by tight, silken harmonies from the four hornsmen. The guitars chime in with warm, looping chords, while the drummer keeps a light but steady pulse. The upright piano adds an elegant shimmer now and then, though its nearby grand counterpart remained untouched, perhaps a deliberate set piece, contributing to the stage’s stately ambience.
“Malaika” by Miriam Makeba follows without fuss or announcement, its arrival is marked only by a shift in the groove. The musicians played with discipline, no one rushing for the spotlight, no notes wasted. It feels like a conversation between players who know when to speak and when to let the music hang in the air.
Up until the 9:19 mark, the audience might as well have been absent. The camera never cut to them, no stray applause or background chatter leaked into the mix. It created a strange, almost meditative distance. The music becomes void until Abidemi Sax raises his hand and slows the tempo. He steps forward, rests his saxophone by his side and addresses the unseen listeners with quiet authority.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Let’s try and do some exercise,” Abidemi Sax says to the audience (not visible to us). “I will call with my saxophone and your response will be: Joromi o, Jo mi Jo.”
The command is an instruction and invocation that summons the audience into existence. From that moment, their presence could be heard, even if not seen. The band, responding to this new energy, picked up again, and the performance found an extra layer of warmth. The call-and-response with “Joromi” gives the set its most homely moment, a reference to highlife as communal music, meant for jolly bodies in a room.
Throughout, Abidemi’s movements are unhurried. He dances in the way people do when they don’t care to be watched, swaying lightly, shoulders rising with notes, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It is a calm, rooted kind of joy.
Joromi, with an improvised bridge, continues the session. When the final note fades, there is no dramatic ending, no emphatic pose. Just a lingering warmth, and a stage still bathed in white light, the unused grand piano and congas quietly holding their places in the room’s story. What remained is a reaffirmation: in Abidemi Sax’s hands, African folk music isn’t a relic. It’s an inheritance being gently, faithfully carried forward.