Toronto could not have been more ready for Mustafa's return. Decked out in all the colours of the keffiyeh and limited edition merch, the crowd at Roy Thomson Hall featured everyone from young children to African aunties in their Sunday-best. As we settled into our seats, friends found each other and soft music — some of Mustafa's favourites, like Sufjan Stevens and Fairuz — wafted through the room. The stage was a cross between a prayer room and a Moroccan tea room, decked out with ornate gold candle holders, poufs and gorgeous red carpeting. Mustafa has long been vocally anti-celebrity, but that didn't stop his famous friends from rallying their support from the front row, including Ramy Youssef, Anok Yai and Nelly Furtado.
The mood remained expectant as the opening act, Toronto's Mah Moud took the stage. He didn't tell us his name initially, but he definitely made an impression. His impressive folk-soul sensibilities were accompanied by two band members and his own kick drum and synth set up before making a sharp turn into electronic rock and country music. Impassioned, insistent and sometimes clumsy, Mah Moud gave everything, especially when performing a crashing cover of Frank Sinatra's "My Way." He set the tone for an already intimate night by riffing with the crowd and solidified me as a new fan, though he had several in the audience, old and new. "My name is Mah Moud. You can catch me on the streetcar or something," he said before thanking Mustafa and departing the stage.
The lights dimmed to signal Mustafa's entrance and only the lit candles surrounding the stage remained. The very antsy crowd momentarily fell silent until Mustafa approached the stage, dressed in a white durag and a long white caftan under his signature weighted vest, reading "POET." As the crowd roared their approval, he took off his durag, tied it to the mic stand and launched into "Beauty, end" from this year's debut Dunya. His first address to the crowd began with one of the du'as of Prophet Muhammed (PBUH), a prayer he said has saved him countlessly. "I didn't imagine when I was writing these songs that I'd be in rooms like these, but I was looking for an outlet for the pain. I pray tonight we find one together." Eyes closed, arms wide and head bouncing to the music, the gratitude shone clear on his face throughout the night.
A core tenet of Mustafa's music, and maybe Mustafa himself, is grief — a haunting ache for the ones he's lost both near and far. Last night, he cut himself open and laid out all his wounds, often between songs, poetically describing what brought him to that feeling and ultimately, this stage. The second before performing "What About Heaven," from his last EP When Smoke Rises, he said, "The last time I performed a headline show, my older brother sat in the crowd with the person who killed him." He gave a preface before, telling us not to ask questions, but what question or explanation could suffice anyway?
Haunted he may be, but Mustafa's not giving up on those who are here, especially not in times like these. "In losing so many people I realized I had a responsibility to the living," he said, starting with the audience, nay, community that showed out for him at this show. Many East Africans were present and not afraid to show their support with joyful ululations, flashlights on whenever they felt he needed it, and loud compliments thrown out in both English and Arabic. Mustafa rewarded their openness with heartfelt thank yous and anecdotes about family and home that felt like inside jokes between us. His Sudanese pride is clear throughout his discography but especially on Dunya, where he features traditional Sudanese instruments like the oud which also accompanied him on stage.
The night's topics swiftly turned to Regent Park, the community where Mustafa was raised. He recognized the complexities of his relationship with the community and the city itself given those he's lost to violence, but also acknowledged the environmental racism and othering the community has faced. Mustafa thanked certain teachers and community members who have been impactful on his journey, including childhood friend Ali, whose death inspired the song of the same name. When he performed that song, he elected to sing acappella. Another highlight was during the performance of "SNL" where Mustafa brought out longtime friend and collaborator Puffy, who he affectionately called the "mood ring of Regent Park." Over the soulful folk melodies of "SNL," Puffy provided some classic street ad-libs including, "Wallahi first trenches!" and "Cmon cuzzy!" The crowd laughed and gleefully sang along, happy like me to see the goodness Mustafa still contains.
Toward the end of the night, Mustafa pulled out "Name of God," the first single from Dunya and a crowd favourite —maybe even Mustafa's favourite. It got not one, not two, but three encores. Accompanied by dancers from the music video, Mustafa performed traditional Sudanese dances including the popular neck-centric Hadandawa dance. The crowd joined in with lights up and a resonant singalong that became a standing ovation. Before Mah Moud left the stage at the top of the night, he said, "[Mustafa] is undeniably the mountain of our city," and I have to agree. Amidst grief and hard truths, the hope and love in the room was still palpable.
I'd like to say I was strong, but to be honest, my heart hurt most of the night. Mustafa's music doesn't let you push away grief; it doesn't let you other those forgotten by society whether in genocide or racism or the criminal justice system; it doesn't let you forget about the people you love and loved; it doesn't let you forget that we're all connected and it doesn't let you hold yourself close. When you listen to Mustafa, you're exposed, and I think we all need to embrace that vulnerability, to remember that we're still in this fight for freedom together. We may be lost in the dunya but this night felt like a step toward something better.