Trips Through Consciousness: Review of Davido’s ‘Gbagbe Oshi’ Video

Davido’s ‘Gbagbe Oshi’ video is a break from the norm. After the assumptions of his gradual decline, Davido bounced back with a banger! ‘Well upon the time we come upon the arena/ you know sey we never test/ no baga could’ve take off the area,’ he croons. After all the titled could arguably be interpreted as ‘forget rubbish’ or small talk. And what other way than with a dancehall influenced party track? While talks about losing influence among A-list artists especially those abandoning their labels and those grinding the axe of irreconcilable differences are taking their tolls; DMW boss proved himself and once again reminded the industry that hit-making is something he could sling at will. Little wonder he says each time he jumps on stage, he breaks the speakers and still forgives his haters.

The cinematic prowess of music-video director Slash is one of a kind. The symbolic smoke-exhalation at the beginning of the video transports us into the thought-process of Davido. It is a well captured stream-of-consciousness technique: we are made to see and hear what the Davido is thinking through three stages.

Morning: we see Davido’s crew chilling at their hideout after a previous day’s activities. Then Davido steals away from his crew through the backdoor but was ambushed by a bunch of paparazzi. ‘Don’t press me button,’ he warns. It’s a daring track that warns player-haters not to get him started. The hood-feel of the video as depicted by power-bike riding stunts, a convoy of gold-plated jeeps and other pimped-out rides portray suburban success as well as being ghetto-fabulous.

Day: of course its a bold track with knock-out drum kicks. Shout out to Shizzy – he done did it again! We have a lot of b-boying, street-swaggering and chest-beating lyrics. It could easily be argued that Davido is king-kong-ing on the track. The patois intonation gives the track that dancehall appeal. And the green-white-green flying reminds we are in October.

Night: The metaphoric flow of the third verse compliments the bumpy baseline: ‘Man don’t care if you no speak English/…I love my thing like satellite dish/ I love it when you wind it, like this.’ The vixens dressed as if to a Caribbean festival, the circus fire-jiggling con-artists, traditional dancers against the backdrop of a graffiti gives the video a pictorial Mardi Gras. The violin fused with Afro-pop beats is a killer – its bother modern and traditional (Nigerianized) appeal would always summon shoes to the floor.