I knew Kae Tempest was a big name, but I didn’t expect their show to have such an impact on me. Their new album ‘The Line Is A Curve’ dropped just last month: a moving, searing record that I wish I had listened to before the show, but am so glad to have found now. Tempest is a distinguished poet, having won the Ted Hughes award and supported the likes of Benjamin Jephaniah and John Cooper Clarke. Their music is the kind to have listeners hanging on every word, dissecting and revisiting each lyric, making for a night of spoken word at its best. 

Shungudzo, Zimbabwean gymnast, TV personality and politically voiced artist, is a support act with enough energy to fill a stadium. Dressed in a long pink ruffled dress, Shungudzo leaves her macbook propped on the side of the stage, while she jumps and skips across the stage of Stylus like a child on a sunny day. She exudates a beautiful energy, her no bullshit statement lyrics received with glee from the Stylus audience; rather than hiding behind metaphors, Shungudzo says exactly what she means. Our generation is the one to make change, she voices near the end of her set: and in her demeanour is bold resilience as well as sunshiny positivity. Tempest’s and Shungudzo’s musical styles may be different, but they have in common a political fury. 

Kae enters the stage, and after yells of awe and appreciation have died down, they address us before they begin playing. ‘The Line Is A Curve’ will be played in its entirety, they tell us, and there will be no breaks between any of the tracks. A buzz fills the room; the anticipation of such an immersive album experience is palpable. ‘Speaking between songs cringes me out’, they joke, but there’s something so thrilling about this prospect: immediately the separation between audience and artist feels smaller, somehow, like we’re about to go through something not just standing in front of them, but with them.

Sound engineer for their tour, Hinako Omori accompanies Kae on synths, the sound waves rolling underneath Tempest’s cutting words. Like so many hip-hop artists, Tempest tows the line between rap and poetry. Something feels different about them, though. Their lyricism takes precedent over the fairly sparse production of their tracks, but they pull from the wide scope of sound: the featured artists on ‘The Line Is A Curve’ include Lianne La Havas, Kevin Abstract and Grian Chatten, to name a few, which together stretch out from the genre of hip-hop and bring known but surprising voices to each track. Tempest’s spoken delivery also sets them apart, of course, and their attention to detail is evident: there something that is needed to be said in their lyrics. 

And it’s their lyricism that is the main gift of the night, masterfully painting images with their words. In ‘Salt Coast’ we’re pulled into a tempestuous landscape: “soaked coast, foul wind, old ghosts, scrap tin”. Standing in pulsing golden light, the image of a twisted tree behind them, they personify nature – “the browning of your leaves” – and politicise it too – “the tyranny and hate of Britannia rules the waves”. Track ‘Smoking’ follows soon after, a commemoration to their past self. Having come out as non-binary in 2020, Tempest’s nods to their past female identity, “that girl from the past that laid the foundation stones”. They repeat, “there can’t be healing until it’s all broken, watch me break”. It feels like a celebration and separation, like a coming apart of something that once existed but no longer does. Kae’s recognition of her former identity feels like this throughout the new album, never taking over the tracks completely, but colouring them. 

It’s ‘Grace’, the album’s closing track, that brings me to tears. Ending ‘The Line Is A Curve’ section of the gig, Tempest’s voice rings clear over a simple guitar melody: “there are things I have to say about the fullness and the blaze of this beautiful life.” In all its unassuming nature, the track is breath-taking.

Kae Tempest’s set at Stylus was unlike any gig I’ve been to before. Performing their 2019 track ‘People’s Faces’ at the end of their set, they gesture to us, the audience: ‘My sanity’s saved, ‘Cause I can see your faces’. And every face is beaming up at them. You might already be a fan of poetry, or you might think spoken word is pretentious and underwhelming. I urge you to stick on a track of theirs, or better yet, buy a ticket to a show, and experience for yourself their brilliance.