The most instantly captivating thing about this Daudi Matsiko gig is Daudi Matsiko himself. Stepping onto stage wearing a boiler suit and a broad smile, he sits down to tune his guitar as the audience fall silent – and as soon as he speaks, you can sense something in him. Daudi seems somewhat bemused, almost awestruck, that such a full room is here to see him and his sad songs. He talks with a mix of humility, humour, and honesty that means I could go and listen to him on stage not playing any songs and still come away happy with my night. The way he explains his songs, opens up about his mental health, and gives an insight into experiences of racism, makes it feel like you are in a room with a friend and they are talking just to you.
But obviously, as much as it is a joy to feel that connection with an artist on stage, the gig would have still been a failure if the songs and performance were crap. Luckily, they weren’t. Announcing early that he had decided to play album The King Of Misery for us in full, there was a nice sense of security and safety in knowing that all of the best songs from this cracking debut were definitely going to get a play through. One of them, ‘oMo (Man)’, is only the second song on the LP so, coming so early in the set, it was a good introduction to everything that makes this artist so special. The beautiful guitar playing, the gorgeous voice, and the great intriguing lyrics. Being in such a small room meant that it was easy to see the work his fingers does on those guitar strings. He’s got some skill.
There were two other great songs that really benefited from Daudi’s openness as a performer. Before ‘Falling’ he told us a tale of a party in the building that used to host his recording studio; a night when someone had fallen down the stairs and injured themselves. Daudi was unable to get this image out of his head, picturing himself falling every time he passed the stairs – eventually having to move out of the studio to escape the feeling. Listening to him talk about this incident, you couldn’t help but then feel the emotion and power that it led to in the song. ‘Derby’s Dose’, which was already my favourite album track, took on a whole new meaning after Daudi explained it’s origin. He told a long, intense story about the murder and beating of a slave called Derby by their slavemaster – a story he was so affected by when he read it that he had to write something to express those feelings. This story might have been a lot for some audience members to hear, but I for one felt grateful and impressed to hear someone showing their emotions about such an incident and giving us an insight into how that influenced their music.
In my review of the album earlier this year, I questioned whether Daudi was as much a ‘king of misery’ as the album title suggested. At times, tonight, the answer might lean towards a yes. But finishing the main set with ‘King of Misery’, ‘Hymn’, and ‘I Am Grateful For My Friends’ gives us not only three beautifully performed, stunning tracks – but also a chance to see the ways that this musician copes with the struggles they face in life. These songs use humour, honesty, and an acceptance of the importance of other people to really put the personality of their performer on show.
The encore isn’t really an encore. Daudi doesn’t leave his chair and has already indicated earlier in the evening that he will be sticking around for a couple more songs. But having played through the album, he finishes with two earlier songs that I hadn’t heard (and whose names I have already forgotten. Sorry). Both are gorgeous. The last one in particular brings the show to close in the way such an enthralling show deserves to end. Leaving the room after watching this hour long set, it felt like I’d learnt something – about Daudi, about music, about mental health, and even about history. The personality that had already been apparent in the album was brought to powerful life on stage, and each time I have played the album through again it has meant more to me than before. That’s quite an accomplishment for a man in a boiler suit.
Words by Fran Slater
Picky Bastards 