You know you’ve really dug into a rabbit hole on the internet as a melomaniac when you start to hear semblances of Salif Keita in Nigerian faith-based (or gospel) music. Also, listening far and wide has a lot of potential, and one of such is appreciating the vast tapestry of sonics that are very indigenous to Africans, especially Nigerians.

For instance, one would realize that within West African musical traditions, percussion has always reigned as one of the chief pillars of African music. Even without chords, we’ve had an entire collection of different drums, drum patterns and their usages, which have helped shape the identity of our music across generations. Interestingly, the Àgbámólè drum is one of such pristine pockets of our heritage that Nigerian percussionist and composer Ayomide Olutomi, professionally known as Tomicks, spotlights in his song, “Ayò ni,” featuring singer Sanmi Michael.

Rooted in Nigeria’s Yoruba musical traditions, the Àgbámólè is a hand-played drum known for its hollow and sticky tones. Historically, it is associated with indigenous genres like apala, and it remains a distinctive part of Yoruba percussion heritage, finding renewed expression in contemporary music.

Tomicks’ “Ayò ni,” celebrates both the church and its musical traditions, drawing inspiration from an indigenous Yoruba praise chorus that has been passed down through generations of worshippers. It is a song that speaks to the grandeur, generosity and kindness of God’s love, as well as the dividends of His goodness.

Tomicks places the composition of the entire record around a midpoint of restraint. Think about Sanmi Michael’s velvety, highly textured, high-pitched voice. He almost sounds like someone singing entirely with vowels, stretching the ends of his phrases into elaborate melismas, with a certain radio-dub feel to his delivery. Now imagine such a bubbly vocal texture sitting within the hallowed and spacious atmosphere of sacred music like this.

From the beginning, the song opens with a very moody piano chord progression, sustained in a rather monotonic fashion until the end. What changes and textures the entire groove are Tomicks’ drums. He keeps the percussion strictly folk, with every bridge and verse carrying the same one-two-three-four-five-six rhythmic pattern. It simply simmers there, flanking the piano and giving the record that melancholy, sacred and intimate feel, which is further powered by Sanmi’s vocals.

However, around the chorus, at the different points where it appears in the song, Tomicks switches up the drum patterns to become more bass-heavy. It almost sounds like there are pot drums or marimbas somewhere in the mix, although it could essentially still be the Àgbámólè drum. And that’s the beauty of African drums, especially the versatility of their tonal properties and the multiplicity of functions they can serve within a composition.

Here, Tomicks creates a different bass-heavy percussion arrangement around the chorus, stamping it with some feeling of regality. It isn’t particularly dramatic or flamboyant. It is calm, heavy and very pronounced. And that’s what gives the song much of its groove.

Another highlight of this particular composition is its transitions. Tomicks understands how to dribble the emotions of his listener, presenting something very linear and slow-paced, with a flamboyant and melodramatic cadence in Sanmi’s vocals. Yet, the melodic sections themselves are largely transitioned by the drums. The drums cue the singer’s vocals, determining where he rises, where he simmers down and where the music takes on a different emotional character.

This is particularly interesting around the chorus, which is very short and carries a rather simple harmony. However, it is also quite profound within African indigenous music, especially considering how popular such choruses are within Yoruba church traditions.

Towards the end of the song, after one of these choruses, Tomicks introduces a very raspy percussion flourish, almost reminiscent of a drum roll on a conventional drum kit. Except here, he appears to be using his hands to create that rapid, textured movement, transitioning into the next verse. It gives the song a new life and a fresh spin of its own, scoring quite highly for shock value at that moment.
From what one can gather, this particular record is both a tribute and an experiment. It pays tribute to the musical traditions from which it draws inspiration, honours the church from which its message originates, and experiments with the possibilities of marrying heritage-driven melodies with powerful, fully Yoruba vocals.

The production itself reflects this blend. There is hardly any clash or unnecessary tension between the different sonic elements. The music has its highs and falls, providing ample opportunities for catharsis, but the piano, drums and vocals remain in a very seamless and harmonious relationship throughout the record.

That is perhaps one of the strongest qualities of Tomicks’ composition. He understands the importance of allowing each instrument to occupy its own space without overwhelming the others. His percussion carries much of the song’s rhythmic and emotional direction, while the piano sustains its melancholic atmosphere and Sanmi’s vocals supply the melodic character.

For anyone who is a music connoisseur, hobbyist, critic or simply a lover of music, it is important to recognise moments like this, where pockets of our past are represented in contemporary compositions. They remind us of the beautiful heritage we have in our music and the possibilities that still exist for experimenting with these traditions today. Tomicks excels in that regard.

Still, “Ayò ni” is a very sentimental and moody song, and it isn’t necessarily one of this writer’s particular favourites for one reason.

While the moodiness helps drive its message, more could have been done with Sanmi’s vocals in terms of expanding the production into something more flamboyant. It takes a lot of expertise and gut feeling to know when to be minimalist and when to stretch that minimalism a little further to accommodate more ideas. Sometimes, a song doesn’t need to be finished immediately. Sometimes, it needs to be recreated as many times as possible until it becomes something larger than was ever imagined.

And that is the feeling one gets after repeated listens to “Ayò ni.” The vocal performance, despite its beautiful textures and impressive melismatic delivery, gradually begins to feel somewhat underwhelming, especially when one considers how much more could have been achieved with the same musical foundation.
Perhaps it would have made a very great filler song on an EP, where a collection of other songs could serenade its atmosphere and give it a stronger contextual purpose. However, as a standalone record, it still makes a compelling impression.

Overall, “Ayò ni” thrives on its composition, harmonies, balance of tensions, catharsis, shock value, replay value and generally well-executed finish, minus a few lags here and there. Tomicks demonstrates a commendable understanding of percussion as both a rhythmic and compositional instrument, particularly in the way he uses the drums to dictate the emotional progression of the music.

It is a record suited to calm, reflective moments, and something that could also be used to purge emotions. When someone needs to feel something and connect with something, this is the type of music to put on during those really cold, lonely days, or simply on days of quiet reflection and gratitude.

And while the composition leaves some room for greater experimentation, it remains a beautiful reminder of the expressive possibilities within our indigenous musical heritage. It sits at 7/10.