An evening with Mustafa: tales of love and loss one night in London
Album & Concert Review
Year: 2022
Artist: Mustafa the Poet
Rating: Informative 2/5 | Entertaining 4/5 | Inspiring 5/5
On 31 January 2022, I cleared an evening to hear Mustafa the Poet perform his debut album When Smoke Rises to a small crowd at the Union Chapel in Islington. It was the first concert I attended since the COVID-19 pandemic began. Although I no longer live in London, it felt like a spiritual homecoming of sorts. I’ve always loved live music for its sense of togetherness; hundreds or thousands of souls colliding in one moment. It’s the closest thing to ecstasy I’ve ever experienced. This time, it felt extra special after two years of pandemic restrictions.
The pandemic has brought with it multiple losses, not least the loss of opportunities to gather together in celebration or in mourning. The space Mustafa created in London that January night gave us the chance to do both.
Image credit: Spotify
Mustafa’s debut project is centred around his grief over the loss of his close friends to violence in his neighbourhood of Regent Park, Toronto. In between each song, he spoke of the meaning of his music, whether it’s the plea to his friends to ‘Stay Alive’ in the opening track, the pain of mothers urging their sons to stay at home in ‘Air Forces’, or the rage he felt when burying his friends in ‘The Hearse’. In one particularly poignant moment, he sang ‘Ali’, a song for his deceased friend of the same name. It had been five years since the day that Ali passed. The pain he felt was so tangible, I almost felt like I shouldn’t have been there, as if his heart was being ripped out of his chest on stage for us all to bear witness.
But in many ways, this was part of honouring his friends and making space for grief. By being vulnerable and open with his pain, he invited us to do the same and reflect on our losses. In the past two years, undoubtedly the majority of the audience have lost something. For me most significantly, it was the loss of family members to COVID-19 and other illnesses. But it was also the loss of my youth, the life I thought I would be living in London, the loss of what I thought my twenties would be like, and the friendships I missed out on.
The role of faith in dealing with loss is evident in Mustafa’s album. In his songs, he makes references to his Islamic faith, such as the white shroud used to cover dead bodies before burial. He wonders whether his friends will be forgiven for their sins, and asks those who have passed to “please come back, at least in my dreams” as the appearance of the dead in dreams could signal the meeting of souls under Islamic teachings. During his performance, Mustafa also spoke about the importance of holding onto Islam as the bridge between this world and those he lost. Islam encourages remembering the dead through prayers, extending their memory after they are gone. I myself have been remembering my grandparents, three of whom died before I was born, in my prayers for as long as I can recall. Mustafa’s immortalising of his friends in his songs could be seen as honouring this tradition.
“I’ve always loved live music for its sense of togetherness; hundreds or thousands of souls colliding in one moment”
The opportunity to be together in grief is a significant part of most cultures and religions. The mourning rituals and social support that comes along with collective grieving is known to help in the grieving process. Several studies have shown that these rituals are experienced positively across cultures as a way to honour bonds with the deceased and ease grief. Conversely, being unable to attend funerals is often associated with feelings of distress.
In Islam, the burial of the dead is a collective responsibility (fard kifayah) of the community. Due to COVID-19 restrictions, people’s ability to cope with loss and come to a sense of closure was inhibited to the detriment of the mental health of those left behind. That’s why Mustafa’s concert was almost cathartic by allowing us to be together, mourning our individual losses as a collective.
However, being together in celebration is just as important for our collective health as being together in grief. As I write this, the Eid-al-Fitr celebrations are coming to a close. In the United Kingdom, this is the first time that families and friends have been able to celebrate together for two years. Although COVID-19 restrictions were necessary for public health, the ability to gather together in joy and celebration at concerts or festivals, as well as in grief and mourning at funerals and memorials, are part of what makes life both bearable and worth living. At Mustafa’s show, collective joy and grief combined to form a healing, ethereal space—if only for one night.
