Radical Acts of Quietness with Navy Blue
Finding stillness...at a rap gig
Welcome to Edition 26 of Laughing Stock, in which Will Palmer finds some quiet time in a most unusual place…
Every Monday I get the dread. I know it’s coming, the fear creeping in like clockwork: my phone’s screen time report for the previous week. It’s rarely been a source of pride, but my New Year’s resolution was to cut this drastically. I hoped to use the time I got back for more wholesome pursuits: reading, writing, running, skateboarding, but that hasn’t always been the case. Weeks fly by unnoticed, the rush of work, socialising, sleeping (or lack thereof), scrolling, scrolling and more scrolling, doing nothing to encroach the march of time. It’ll be of no surprise to hear that it’s increasingly impossible to find a quiet minute for yourself. I crave being able to sit still without my eyes wandering, to exist in the present without thinking about next week’s work deadline, to allow my racing thoughts to abate without getting worried about which social events to attend. So, after a busy weekend and a chaotic start to the work week, I hadn’t expected to find that solace I’d been yearning for at a rap gig on a Monday night.
When Navy Blue (aka Sage Elsesser) asks a doting but fidgety XOYO crowd to take a minute to meditate before his set, there are some nervous giggles, “I want to create a deeper understanding between us,” he implores. Amongst the awkward laughs, Sage opines, “nah, I’m serious", and beyond some late stragglers and the hum of the fridges behind the bar, they oblige. Sage closes his eyes and counts down from 10, the murmurs start to settle, “3…2…1…”, suddenly there’s wall to wall stillness and it’s divinely rejuvenating. “That was 1 minute 30!” Navy exclaims, before excitedly launching into ‘Light’ from 2021’s Navy’s Reprise.
It’s really fucking loud, the best possible loud, the kind of loud that gives you tinnitus for a week. But there’s a stillness in this noise. I can’t speak to my mate next to me. I can’t hear the person rustling in front of me. I don’t notice my phone. Or anyone’s phone. I feel present. It’s pure unadulterated Navy Blue, 100% Sage. I can’t think about anything else as my brain falls quiet, my thoughts calm. It’s meditative and medicinal.
It’s no surprise that Sage asks his audience to reflect. His second album, Song of Sage: Post Panic!, is an introspective contemplation on the ongoing effects of trauma. “I couldn’t go into the new year with that lingering,” he told Pitchfork. Released at the close of 2020, the calm dissection of heavy topics felt like a light through the dark permanence of that third and bleak midwinter shut in. Those lockdown months were collective pauses: there was rumination and reflection, for better or for worse. 2021’s Navy’s Reprise was no less invigorating. Released mere months after Post-Panic, Sage sounds like a man with a weight off his shoulders, but the album’s material remains intimate.
XOYO is a venue not so accustomed to silence. Its cavernous dark corners usually witness the gurns and drones of techno, no less loud nor healing. Mid-set and adorned in a Sol Campbell Euro ‘96 England kit – “I had to be diplomatic for ya’ll” – referencing his public love for Arsenal, Sage calls for another minute’s meditation, sensing that creeping, bouncy apprehension re-emerging. If for some, the opening breather was a novelty, this one was proof that a willing flock were longing to engage with Sage on this journey, obeying his every guidance. This second pause even more tranquil than the first.
It’s fortifying to take a collective breather, to engage in radical acts of quietness. Sage’s contemplative verses demand it, his thoughtfulness needing a willing and considered congregation. I can see how each line takes him; he briefly closes his eyes after each song and he looks moved, almost pained. This sorrow he’s worked through on both albums is still fresh and that can feel refreshing. He’s human. Sage wears his vulnerability on his sleeve and it’s clear this isn’t a standard recycling of lyrics but a therapeutic heart-to-heart with a crowd he clearly cherishes: “I got infinite space for ya’ll” Sage bows. For this to work, there needs to be a respect of that understanding, so the flock can undertake this pilgrimage with him.
Both meditative moments reap rewards: after stunning with Post-Panic’s ‘Heavenly Twin,’ the crowd urge Sage to reload the track. For an already introspective artist, this is one of his most profound tracks, spitting on guardian angels and spiritual guidance. He obliges, a little sheepish. Audiences tend to clamour for the bangers to get encored, but the crowd wanted this; they needed it. Whether it’s expounding the virtues of ‘Heavenly Twin’ and preaching on higher power, or asking the room to chant ‘fuck Winston Churchill’ – “Ugly mother fucker!” – Sage remarks, before launching into Post-Panic’s ‘1491,’ that deeper understanding Sage wanted feels fulfilled.
Those rewards aren’t just confined to Sage. I feel reenergised by the moments of quiet contemplation he gifted me. I walk home through an oddly serene Old Street with a big smile on my face, the anxiety of life having subsided for the time being. By the gig’s conclusion, I can’t help but feel that I wasn’t there to see Sage, he was there to see me, to help quieten the mayhem of the everyday. He’s a spirit guide, a heavenly twin, a wisely Sage.
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