Walking into Clout Africa’s Studio, the room is welcoming with its burst of warm red disco lights, the sight of a seemingly prepared live band, air charged as the amiable host FayFay gives an interactive preamble to the masterpiece to come while the audience beamed with anticipation for Skinny Skater’s entrance to the very first edition of Many Kilometers: the live show.
During this brief and very interesting bonding session, the host asks the audience to describe Skinny Skater’s music and his personality. Various words of appraisal fly around with each person attempting to express the depth of what his music meant to them. Some of the words used were: Amazing. Different. Distinct. Unique. Truthfully, these words are believable and not just a fluke for this core audience who, despite the discrepancy of the heavy and unending rainfall that threatened the day, still found their way to share such an intimate moment with an artist who has captured the very essence of their hearts.
When Skinny Skater saunters in, FayFay raises the energy with a head-swelling hype, more like a chant. Drum rolls and the audience cheerfully receive his presence. So many emotions could be felt at that particular moment. One is an appreciation for his style. He was dressed in a black see-through shirt and orange leather pants, which fit his persona. He looks exactly like one would expect when listening to his music. The show commences with his appreciation to everyone who found their way to him against all odds.
He opens the set with “Irreplaceable,” a song rooted in personal experience about an ex he admits to mistreating, who eventually moved on and married someone else. It’s an honest record, and that honesty cuts through from the very beginning. There’s something weighty yet freeing about the way he sings it. The speakers blare without restraint, the lyrics are emotive, reverberating through the room as he begins to loosen up, gradually shedding the nerves he quietly confessed to having before the show. The energy in the room softens as “Cry For Help” begins. You can feel the desolation which shifts the room’s energy completely. It’s slower, darker, centred around addiction, depression, and the kind of emotions that rarely get spoken about. The crowd is still, reflective, as if holding space for the ponderous effects of the lyrics as he croons passionately.
With “Sometimes,” the mood lifts just slightly. The backup vocals come in first, light and ethereal, before the rhythm takes shape. He settles into the performance more, becoming almost theatrical with his gestures. The drums feel intentional, grounding the performance even as the song floats. “R. Kelly” follows next. There’s a lot of introspection and betrayal, and it isn’t subtle. The band gives a stellar instrumental immediately his voice drops.
Midway through the set, Skinny Skater performs “Casanova,” an unreleased track laced with vulnerability but also a cheeky core. He plays the man who spends on a woman who inevitably leaves. It’s a classic heartbreak story, but with a Skinny spin; self-aware, playful, and layered with narrative and notable beats.” The energy changes again when “Birkin Baby” starts. He mentions it was created deliberately to be mainstream and is exactly reflective of the momentum it builds among the audience, with everyone singing along while he performs. Somewhere mid-performance, his vocal coach, who is watching with pride, offers a warm, affirming cheer. It’s a teacher’s joy at witnessing the magic of what they helped build unfold before their eyes.
“No Love in Lagos” follows. The intro is gripping, quiet at first, then textured. There’s something undeniably captivating about the way the chords creep in before the beat drops. It’s one of those songs that holds your attention before the lyrics even begin. By the time Ghana Must Go comes on, the energy has picked up again. It’s electrifying, especially when the trumpet and saxophone combo kicks in. The atmosphere lifts. People sway. Skinny Skater’s self-declared favourite, “Ozempic, ” is the last song from this set and from the first beat, it’s obvious why. The performance is bold, feisty and full of movement. The audience responds accordingly, dancing, nodding, and feeding off the band’s energy. Everyone’s in sync. You can feel it: the band’s synergy, how the beat and vocals feed off each other harmoniously. It’s one of those rare live moments where everything clicks.
Skinny, now fully in his element, takes a moment to reflect. He shares that this was his first time performing on the Many Kilometers stage and that he’d been incredibly nervous. But his joy is visible now, palpable even. He beams, eyes scanning the crowd, grateful. It’s clear this moment meant something deeply personal. The rehearsals, the doubts, and the hours of preparation all paid off. As the show winds down, someone in the crowd asks where his name comes from. He laughs, full-bodied and nostalgic, and begins to tell the story of being a skinny kid and how his parents would always layer his clothes to accentuate his appearance. Somewhere along the way, he picked up skateboarding, and the name stuck.
“Skinny Skater” became part of who he was, and now, who he is becoming. And maybe that’s what the event captured most. Not just a performance, but the arc of someone steadily growing into themselves one song at a time. Skinny Skater is no longer just a name. It’s a reclamation, a signature, and a promise of a legacy in the making.
