Mustafa brings his stunning inner-city folk to Roy Thomson Hall

As a hush descends over Roy Thomson Hall, Mustafa stands stoutly behind a black microphone on a dimly lit stage. His words are like brown bricks, the same colour as the project houses in Regent Park, where he is from — each of them piled on top of the laps of the seated attendees watching him in the dark, round theatre.
The silence is thick. And it has been thickening like this for the last half-hour as Mustafa sings and then pauses to convey a profound message after each song.
“I want you to feel the colossal weight of what I am about to say,” Mustafa says about a quarter of a way through his sold-out show.
He is wearing his signature white robe and bulletproof vest, with “poet” written in white in the middle.
Onstage, there is a shadowy man behind a grand piano, a drummer and a guitarist. From the floor level you can’t see their faces clearly, although the stage has been appointed with beautiful gold decor, lush greenery and red prayer carpets.
“I am only going to say this once,” Mustafa continues.
“The last time I performed a headlining show in Toronto, my older brother sat in the crowd with the person that killed him.”
After he concludes this statement, the musicians begin playing “What About Heaven” from the artist’s Juno-winning first album, “When Smoke Rises.” 
Mustafa also looks as if he is carrying a pile of bricks. Watching him perform may be a beautiful experience, but you wouldn’t say he’s enjoying himself. He seems alternately steadfast and undergoing catharsis as the song goes on.
Mustafa’s sold-out show on Thursday night was a homecoming for the 28-year-old singer-songwriter. In the lead-up to the release of his second studio album, “Dunya” — Arabic for the physical world and material possessions — the self-described inner-city folk singer had made his disdain for Toronto very clear.
A year ago, the performer lost his older brother to gun violence and took to Instagram to express both his pain and his disappointment over the lack of coverage the shooting received. In a series of stories, he wrote, “They killed my brother in the very community I gave my life to; here’s my faith on a platter; it won’t return.”
He ended the posts with, “I hate this city … I’ll leave now.”
He did in fact leave Toronto and travelled around the world to record “Dunya,” a record that effortlessly fuses traditional Sudanese strings, Egyptian oud, and Arabic melodies with R&B and American folk.
More a storyteller than a balladeer, Mustafa has dedicated his entire career to immortalizing his friends and family, many of whom have died by violence. Throughout the show, he tells anecdotes about the real people and situations that inspire his music. 
“When I wrote these songs, I didn’t think I would be in rooms like this. I was looking for an outlet for the pain. I pray to God we can find an outlet together,” Mustafa says before singing “Imaan,” a love song about two Muslims navigating their intimate relationship through their religion.
Before singing “SNL,” about finding and building friendships while living in a neighbourhood impacted by gun violence, he talks about his friend Puffy, whom he describes as the “mood ring of the hood.” Puffy is someone he can talk to whenever he wants to know the emotional state of his neighbourhood. “Puffy” then joins Mustafa onstage to humorously ad lib to the quiet folk song.
Before launching into “Gaza Is Calling,” Mustafa calls for a ceasefire and mourned the men, women and children killed in the Mideast conflict.
Before performing “Leaving Toronto,” he again speaks of losing his brother, telling the crowd his parents were not in the audience  because he did not believe he could bear to perform in front of them.
As the show concludes, a troupe of dancers dressed in white robes join Mustafa onstage as he performes “Name of God.” As Mustafa dances with them and the crowd claps along, the thickness in the room lifts and is replaced with cheers and gratitude. Mustafa then performs the song again to a standing ovation.
The dancers remain on stage, and the lights brighten as Mustafa joyfully perform the last few songs of the set.
Looking nimbler for his final message, he thanks Regent Park, admitting he might never be emotionally able to return to the area, but grateful that it instilled resilience in him.
As he says that, you can feel his love-hate relationship with Toronto shifting perhaps toward love.
He then sings “Name of God” one last time.