It’s impossible to walk away from an experience with Mustafa the Poet without feeling intensely inspired. On Sunday, February 16, his sold-out show at The Old Town School of Folk Music was more than live music, it was an evening of bared souls.
Despite freezing temperatures outside, an enthusiastic audience shuffled into the packed auditorium. Mustafa’s backing band arranged themselves in a semicircle onstage, with Fletcher Milloy on guitar/backing vocals and Yunus Iyriboz on guitar/oud. As Mustafa entered the stage, white letters spelling “Poet” gleamed from his chest. The band launched into “Imaan,” a touching song from his latest album Dunya. Mustafa’s voice echoed throughout the room, “I know you can’t hold me, but just hold me in some way.”
I was struck by the gracefulness Mustafa maintained onstage. At first he spoke with intention, pausing often to gather his thoughts. The audience clung to every word, completely still and silent. As the night went on, Mustafa debuted a lighter side as well, making jokes and interacting with the audience. He laughed, joking that he often oscillated between being funny and becoming very serious. At this point, the audience began to soften. It seemed to open a two-way conversation between us and the music. Bouncing between themes of grief in “SNL” to the topical “Gaza is Calling,” Mustafa’s music is poignant and electrifying.
Working his way through Dunya, Mustafa revealed his songs were both cathartic and intensely emotional to perform. “Some stories you can tell in autopilot, but not these.” Growing up in Toronto’s first housing project, Regent Park, Mustafa recalled the strength it took to maintain his softness. He utilized this feeling as a tool for community and creation.
I was especially moved by his story about the song “Leaving Toronto.” Mustafa described hating his hometown, feeling like it had become a graveyard. But even as these painful memories persist, Mustafa carries a fondness for it. He explained that Toronto was the first place he had ever seen the stars, felt the wind, touched the water. No matter how hard he tries to forget, everything in his life will forever be compared to those first experiences in Toronto. We can not fully escape the place we grew up, even if it hurts. “I’m leaving Toronto, if it ever lets me go.”
At the final song, the audience rose to their feet. Mustafa and his band started “Name of God” a second time, playing out the encore as we stomped and cheered and clapped along. Although perhaps the most upbeat song on the album, its content is far from light. About “Name of God,” Mustafa wrote:
“When my big brother was killed in what will always feel like yesterday, knowing the suspected murderer was someone he held as a friend, someone he prayed with – it led me to believe that maybe love was his end? Maybe when there is no love, parting from love keeps us alive? Maybe ending in love is the only way to begin? I don’t know. The only clear memory from the days of his death were my parents reciting in unison, ‘oh Allah, we accept his passing, we accept what you ordained.’ I’m desperate to love God like them.”
Mustafa can’t help but be profound (he is a poet, after all). His words leave an impact, open an opportunity for conversation. Onstage Mustafa radiated warmth, inviting the audience to find their softness and heal alongside him.