October 22, 2022
Everyone was a documentarian at papa mbye’s Friday night 7th St Entry show — an omnipresent GoPro swung across the masses, photographers crowded the outskirts, and concertgoers pushed up against the stage as if by magnetic pull, phones aglow. It was a night well worth remembering.
Openers Riotgrrrldarko and Mike Kota kicked off the evening’s festivities with powerhouse performances. Packed in close, sweltering quarters, little of the audience was fazed, honed in as Riotgrrrldarko tore through a fiery, all-too-short set. Adorned with silver and decked out in black mesh and army green, both the local rapper’s look and sound recall early aughts emo and punk, especially with cuts like “DOGPILE SKIRT” and “LOLITA.” The self-proclaimed Lady Rager rapped with genuine vim, punctuating lines with theatrical eye rolls and jagged enunciation amidst the guttural bass and crunchy guitar samples.
Minneapolis-based artist Mike Kota took a more lowkey approach, serving as her own DJ, audio technician, and guitarist. With solely Kota onstage, the room fell into a hushed lull with stripped-down tracks “Corner” and “Selfish” reverberating into the rafters. Using her rounded contralto to full advantage, Kota’s multi-tracked vocals echoed the likes of Bon Iver and Fleet Foxes, atmospheric and chilling as the lights faded to dull red. “Every Damn Day” struck particularly poignant: “Every damn day I’m in love with the love that I got/Still find a way to hate myself for everything that I’m not.”
Enveloped by deafening cheers, headliner papa mbye bound into the spotlight with an irrepressible smile. With a crowd eager to rage and the star just as willing to reciprocate, papa and his six-piece backing band launched into the excellent, stadium-ready opener “WONDERINWHY” with little introduction.
Though a goofy, charismatic presence in between songs, be it grabbing the aforementioned GoPro for selfies or cracking easy jokes, papa proved a hyper-focused, intense performer. Energy abound, papa head-thrashed, leapt, and crowd-surfed his way through the 90-minute show, and the crowd responded in kind, alternately dancing for their lives or jostling for space. His accompanists, with notable inclusions Ben Farmer and Zak Khan, frequent collaborators and producers, were just as exhilarating, with dreamy synths and punchy, intricate guitar lines. Despite his work as a self-professed pop artist, papa and the group leaned into a heavier sound, with punk-adjacent tracks like “Ladybug” and “Cool Maybe,” as well as usually-sung choruses dissolving into screams, shouts, and raps. “PASSENGER,” a personal favorite, gave way to throttling drums and bass, with a clamorous audience call and response.
Despite the joyful thrashing of the audience, the vibe was largely familial. In breaks between openers, friends embraced each other and made introductions. Shouting out brothers, cousins, and friends proved papa’s through line (a Huhroon mention, in particular, garnered massive cheers), papa even going so far as to pull friend and community organizer Philli Irvin onstage to rap electrified verses for the encore, “NOFOODINMYTUMMY.” “Papa, my boy, I love you!” an audience member shouted in the midst of the set, then turned to a friend and said, “We went to high school together. I’ve known him forever.”
But what truly marks a fantastic concert? The back of my hair lay in stiff peaks, which I only managed to register when I returned home. Someone spilled their drink down my back sometime in the night, and I barely noticed, too enveloped in the spectacle.
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