Viggy and I are screaming this the second we hear the kick and claps of the drumbeat, now thunderous and grand on Radio City’s mic’d drum set. Two and a half years ago in his much-loved Toyota Corolla, he introduced me to Tems, a killer Nigerian singer-songwriter-producer. This was same day we became true friends.
Tems’s presence and lyrics are all about sitting in your feelings and declaring it with your chest, no shame. This grounds her music, otherwise classified as Afro-pop, R&B, dancehall, and soul, in a felt wisdom. I love all of Tems’s songs, but “Ice T” has been in my top 10 two years in a row.
It was her first world tour. The crowd was surprisingly mixed age-wise, but it was definitely a largely Black audience. It felt wonderful to be in a space with that many people of color who were moved by this groundbreaking force in music, the first African woman artist to reach No. 1 on Apple Music’s chart in the United States.
Stage lights in gradations of orange (a through line color in her album art) put the musicians in a soft focus, deep blue light providing electric contrast, together creating a kind of otherworldly sunset. Tems is relaxed and belting from somewhere deep down, motioning to her core. It’s just her and her plaintive eye contact, which makes the four-tiered auditorium feel as intimate as a living room.
Tems is enjoying herself, doing playful runs on certain words, her hair fanning wildly behind her. Viggy said afterward she seemed to be on the verge of shaking ass but held back, but I disagree—I think she held herself still on purpose, letting her deep, textured voice swaddle the 5,000 seats in the orchestra hall. Journalists have described her sound as “velvety” and “androgynous,” but I like Viggy’s description best: “It’s like honey, it’s like honey slipping down a log of wood—like tree sap,” he said to me on the train, after the show. “It’s like the rugged quality of a tree trunk and the gooey, smooth quality of sap. Why would those two things go together? But they do!”
To me “Ice T” is about letting yourself go in a relationship, describing the tenderness of the moments you quit performing. You’ve built the house—now you can sit back and relax in it. To make iced tea, and to “make it with your lemons” is a surprising metaphor. She describes the process in detail: squeezing the lemons, stirring, creating a drink and a vibe, getting into it, getting comfortable. The song ended and I felt a camaraderie with not just Viggy, but my section of strangers. When the stage lights flashed on, everyone laughed a bit, awash and at peace.