REVIEW: Kokoroko - Tuff Times Never Last

Sweetie makes my heartbeat bounce

49:38 // July 2025 // Brownswood Recordings

The London jazz scene has spent nearly a decade redefining what "jazz" even means in the UK. No longer limited to ECM’s cool or Matthew Halsall’s spiritual serenity, it now pulses with energy that draws as much from Afrobeat, highlife, and Caribbean rhythms as from John Coltrane or Miles Davis. Forget chin-stroking purism: the new wave is loud, rhythmic, and political. It’s the scene that birthed Moses Boyd’s Afro-futurist drumming, Shabaka Hutchings’ wide array of Afro-influenced jazz, and the Afro-Caribbean pulse of Ezra Collective. Kokoroko share in that Fela Kuti worship, but favour an introspective, slow-burning style, reminiscent of a smoky afterparty over street party.

Kokoroko began shaping their unique sound after releasing “Abusey Junction” on Brownswood’s We Out Here compilation in 2018. Blending Afrobeat’s polyrhythmic drive with mellow soul jazz and the sun-dappled sweetness of West African highlife, their 2019 self-titled EP introduced sunlit horn harmonies and lethargic grooves. By 2022’s Could We Be More, they deepened this sound with layered vocals and richer textures, letting joy and melancholy coexist in each bar. While Tuff Times Never Last doesn't radically shift their sound, it builds on this foundation, sinking even deeper into vibe rather than chasing a climax.

The Afro-jazz backbone is still there - Tony Allen’s ghost still tapping out the polyrhythms - but Tuff Times Never Last main innovation lies in how it foregrounds warmth and structure over exuberant improvisation. Instead of pursuing the high-energy, jam-oriented routes of their peers, Kokoroko introduces a notably song-driven approach, featuring verse-chorus forms and clear hooks, as well as vocals designed as emotional anchors rather than decorative flourishes. This deliberate shift to concise songwriting, subtle R&B grooves, and a focus on melodic intimacy marks a significant evolution within the London jazz scene, offering a listening experience defined by focused compositions and accessibility.

Sheila Maurice-Grey’s trumpet still leads the charge melodically, but more often it blends into a collective voice rather than soaring above it - a direct reflection of the album’s main innovation: prioritizing group cohesion and songcraft over individual virtuosity. On tracks like “Together We Are,” the brass section engages in a kind of gentle jostling - a jolly exchange played out in melody, ending not with resolution but with a rising crescendo. Likewise, guest vocalist Demae doesn’t rise above the rhythm but melts into it on the infectious “Time and Time”. Elsewhere, the bubbling synth-funk of “Just Can’t Wait” and the disco-soul shimmer of “Da Du Dah” channel ‘80s gloss without falling into kitsch, while “Idea 5 (Call My Name)” adds a sensual, slow-burning touch. Time and again, Kokoroko opts for cohesion over flamboyance, and in doing so, successfully shift the focus from the dynamics of jazz to an enhanced focus on substantial songwriting.

Still, this shift in tone comes with trade-offs, and there are times when Tuff Times Never Last dwells in a kind of mellow uniformity. Sure, the grooves are smooth, and the vibe is unfailingly polished - but perhaps it’s all a little too polished? Without the rhythmic detours or tonal surprises that animate their previous work, the band occasionally sounds like it’s running on cruise control: “My Father in Heaven” drifts by almost too gently, while “Closer to Me” just about earns its place through its mantra-like refrain. For a record that stretches to nearly fifty minutes, a tad more dynamism wouldn’t have hurt.

So, yeah, Kokoroko may not be the most radical voice in modern London jazz, but that doesn’t mean Tuff Times Never Last lacks power - its force rather comes from its restraint. In a scene often defined by urgency and improvisational fire, they choose patience, softness, and structure - and in doing so, make their boldest statement yet. In an age of doomism caused by climate anxiety and rising far-right politics, Kokoroko - meaning “be strong” in Nigerian Urhobo - remind us that optimism doesn’t have to shout to be heard. Sometimes, joy itself can be an act of resistance. No manifestos, no musical fireworks - just songs to hold onto, and to hold each other through. And in 2025, that might be the most radical act of all.

7/10

Vibe: Sunny & chill days
PokeVibe: Sunflora

Further Listening

the rest of their discog

where it all started: Brownswood Recording - We Out Here

personal fav of this whole new london jazz thing: Ezra Collective - Where I'm Meant to Be

more enraged/less chill? Sons of Kemet - Your Queen Is a Reptile

swap weed for LSD? The Comet Is Coming - Trust in the Lifeforce of the Deep Mystery