One-Listen Review: Omah Lay’s CLARITY OF MIND (EXTENDED)

There is no clarity of mind on Omah Lay’s sophomore, CLARITY OF MIND. That much has been established in the months since we first communed on dance floors, grooving along to the hedonistic anthems of Port-Harcourt’s son. And even though the singer has opted for minimal promotion—prompting more accusations of gimmick-abuse—this silence hasn’t taken away from the album’s critical and commercial reception. A touchstone LP in a year of outstanding releases that’s bound to retain its place atop year-end lists, in alignment with the wave of South African-influenced production sweeping the mainstream and underground. One for which a deluxe is much welcome. 

The weeks leading up to this release saw Omah Lay exploring the album’s visual world, releasing music videos for ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE and CANADA BREEZE, a lyric video for JAH JAH, and a short film, CLARITY OF MIND: STORY OF ANGEL, where he speaks about visuals as a way to make fans see into his headspace, and also preparation for a forthcoming tour. All of that alongside renewed activity on social media, meant the Extended version’s announcement stirred a considerable level of interest. Then again, it’s Omah Lay. He occupies a rarified air that’s a product of carefully crafted mystique and sublime escapist music. Capable of missteps, but more easily forgiven than most. 

In typical one-listen fashion, there were no skips, rewinds, fast-forwards, or pauses. Certain reactions have been edited for appropriate language. All opinions expressed are those of the writer as parsed in real time. 

“If we just keep going, it will get somewhere” Clearly, Omah Stanley Didia’s preoccupation with movement, raging against unseeable forces that be, is far from over. He sounds lightened, a few burdens shy of being atmospheric. On KEEP GOING, there’s a sense that we’re still Moving, only now he doesn’t think himself human, and the colours seem to fly along on this journey of psychedelia. Production is a minimalist landscape that’s somewhere between Amapiano and Afro-House, kicks at the fore, and a faint piano running through, just barely. The whispers are back too. As is a nasal, rock-wannabe delivery in a second verse where he contemplates beautiful emotions.  One could say that KEEP GOING is hopeful, even when xylophone notes evoke feelings of one being isolated in their hearing. One could say that and one wouldn’t be wrong. But one would also have to contend with what one was listening for in the first place. It’s somewhat fast-paced and one can only take in so much information at a time. 

There’s no chance to dwell on this when BACK TO LAGOS comes up. Given the singer’s past dalliances with geography—think Adamawa on how to love—along with his extended stay abroad and history with Lagos, a title telling of a return bore some promise. In what has been a recurring trend all year, the track begins with chipmunk vocals, then characteristic hums. Melancholy finds her way home. “I’m going back to Lagos…1,000 acres, still close to the neighbours.” A desire for isolation, acknowledgement of intentional loneliness even when not alone. Marijuana has cast its leafy shadow all over the walls of Omah Lay’s mind. To be fair, igbo ‘telling on him’ was our introduction to this era devoid of clarity. Guest star Gunna bares himself a little too, rapping about hiding behind Rosewood apartments and Bentleys a la Future. It’s not so much entrancing as it is stabbing. With so much heaviness implied, it’s clear why there’s a desire to return to Lagos, a land attuned to delivering escapist dreams if you have enough bezels. 

Mournful bass lines give way to upbeat, rolling kicks as we approach the end. On TAKE, Omah Lay leads us yet again to his debut, sprinkling incoherent mutterings and parsable lyrics that worryingly suggest there was never any change in his person to begin with. Water, that most beloved Port-Harcourt motif, ripples along, as he sings “3 days for Elegushi, so, so water,” and compares his romantic interest to—of all things under heaven—a washing machine. Nigerian artists really do need to pick their metaphors more delicately. 

There’s fire burning in the morning. And this mystery lover, an ogbanje to whom he pleads mercy, doesn’t care to take it easy. There’s something hilarious about how much more nasal he sounds here. As if compensating for strained singing in an attempt to portray yearning.

Tiakola comes on and the gulf in pipes is glaring—ignore those keyboard notes in the background. On the chorus, Omah Lay intones “Come and take my money,” forerunner to a delicious octave climb by the French star on the outro. No surprise when producer Lekaa Beats’ tag comes up, since his fingerprints are all over a couple records on the main LP (The only other producer who captures Mr. I AM’s inner conflict this well is Tempoe).

Bringing up the rear, we’re offered HOLY GHOST FIRE. Yes, it’s connected to HOLY GHOST. No, it’s not a new song. Yes, it’s a remix of the original; more accurately a slowed-down, acoustic(?) version with a thrilling harpsichord. It’s the fourth straight song on the extended version with a sparse soundscape, with stabbing grand piano chords, and barely any drums. It’s also the song that exhibits Omah Lay’s limited vocal dexterity and how that tenor holds strong, regardless. “Get up and dance” is delivered with less conviction, and more like an appeal to mobility. “Tequila done dey hit me for liquor” is musky. A rather enjoyable subversion of the original arrangement emerges two-thirds of the way through, where he wistfully drones about “these girls.” And knowing his history as a producer we cannot put past his team the possibility of a Ray Charles-esque performance, sometime in the future. HOLY GHOST FIRE crackles gently to a close with a warm refrain of four consecutive chords. No movement, just well-earned rest. 

While not as high-octane as the main album, the additional songs on CLARITY OF MIND (EXTENDED), shape this world of colorfully chaotic hedonism further. They are every bit as despondent, every bit as disturbing, and every bit as questioning of who Omah Lay wants to be. ‘Extended’ here makes more sense. It’s the same world. The horrors persist, even though they haven’t multiplied. He’s still finding escape in weed, women, and wealth. There are no risks, no attempts to execute sounds we haven’t heard before. He even returns to the monochromatic purple fields of his first LP. This writer finds the choice of sparse production telling of what he does next, especially as many other projects this year have explored dance extensively. 

Listening through initial outro, AMEN, to these four tracks, CLARITY OF MIND undergoes a second sequencing descent that’s surprisingly befitting—appreciable when you think about how disconnected most deluxe drops are.  Needless to say that the album is all the better for it. Heil Omah!