REVIEW | JAZ DHAMI LIGHTS UP SOUTHBANK WITH A CELEBRATION OF PUNJABI IDENTITY AT BAM!

By Rishma • On Reviews , ,

Photo cred­it — Soph­ie Har­bin­son (@sharbinson)

Let’s take it back to 2009. I’m work­ing at B4U, the Bol­ly­wood TV chan­nel, and for the first time, we’re put­ting on a music fest­iv­al in Spit­al­fields Mar­ket, ‘East B4U’. One of the artists on our line-up is a young, slightly shy but incred­ibly gif­ted per­former named Jaz Dhami. He arrives with humil­ity and raw tal­ent, and as he steps on stage, it’s clear this is the begin­ning of some­thing spe­cial. I remem­ber writ­ing about him in the B4U print magazine soon after, call­ing him “one to watch”. From that point on, Jaz became a con­stant pres­ence in the Brit­ish Asi­an music scene, and argu­ably one of its most con­sist­ent and endur­ing voices. B4U fol­lowed him closely – from Desi Beatz gigs to head­line shows – cov­er­ing each step of a career that was only just tak­ing flight.

Jaz Dhami 2009 per­form­ance at East B4U Spit­al­fields Market

Jaz’s music, from Theke Wali to glob­al hits like High Heels, Aitvaar, Bas, Bepar­waiy­an, Teri Ah and Oye Hoye Oye Hoye, earned him a place on every wed­ding playl­ist and club set­l­ist. But behind the dance­floor anthems and inter­na­tion­al recog­ni­tion is a jour­ney marked by far more than music­al suc­cess. It is one that includes pro­found per­son­al loss and a quiet battle with ser­i­ous illness.

Fast for­ward to Fri­day 16 May at the South­bank Centre, and I’m sit­ting among an eager audi­ence for BAM! A Cel­eb­ra­tion of Brit­ish Asi­an Music. Pro­duced by the incred­ibly tal­en­ted Sumeet Chop­ra and hos­ted by Anushka Arora, the night is designed as a trib­ute to the roots and rich­ness of our music. Jaz takes centre stage, har­moni­um in hand, and opens with a haunt­ingly beau­ti­ful rendi­tion of Nus­rat Fateh Ali Khan’s Sajna Tere Bina. From that moment on, I am com­pletely immersed. His har­mon­ies, his range, his abil­ity to bring emo­tion­al depth to every line – this wasn’t just a per­form­ance, it was some­thing far more intim­ate. Jaz made us feel music again.

Hav­ing trained in clas­sic­al Pun­j­abi music from a young age, Jaz trans­itions seam­lessly between vocal styles and lan­guages. His stage pres­ence is con­fid­ent but groun­ded. He wears his Brit­ish Pun­j­abi iden­tity with genu­ine pride. What begins as a seated, reflect­ive con­cert gradu­ally trans­forms. As the tempo lifts and he moves into Theke Wali, the entire hall is on its feet. Bhangra breaks out between the rows. The Queen Eliza­beth Hall becomes a mehfil, a gath­er­ing of joy, rhythm and connection.

But it’s in the slower, more intro­spect­ive moments that Jaz truly shines. When sings Sajna Ve Sajna  by the legendary Gur­das Maan, it is filled with rev­er­ence and warmth. Then comes Mirza – Surinder Shinda’s icon­ic folk bal­lad – a per­son­al favour­ite of mine. Hear­ing Jaz per­form it live is some­thing spe­cial. It’s not just nos­tal­gia, it’s liv­ing her­it­age. Each note car­ries the weight of tra­di­tion, and each word lands with impact.

Photo cred­it — Soph­ie Har­bin­son (@sharbinson)

What makes the per­form­ance even more power­ful is the deep­er story behind it. In recent years, Jaz has endured enorm­ous per­son­al chal­lenges. He lost his broth­er, DJ Har­vey, to a brain tumour. Har­vey wasn’t just fam­ily – he was a music­al part­ner from the very begin­ning. They star­ted out as teen­agers and shared a cre­at­ive bond that shaped both their careers. Har­vey was, in many ways, Jaz’s mir­ror and motiv­at­or – a gif­ted pian­ist and per­fec­tion­ist who believed in push­ing boundaries.

At the same time, Jaz has been facing his own battle with can­cer. This struggle, although private, has deeply influ­enced his recent shift in focus and energy. It led him to embrace a more hol­ist­ic life­style and recon­nect with the roots of Pun­j­abi music and spirituality.

That evol­u­tion was evid­ent through­out the per­form­ance. You could hear it in the way he sang, feel it in the atmo­sphere he cre­ated. This was not just a con­cert, but a moment of reflec­tion, resi­li­ence and rebirth.

A par­tic­u­larly mov­ing high­light was Meh Pan­j­abi Boli Ah. Jaz has often spoken about how per­son­al that song is to him, and live on stage, its mean­ing res­on­ated even more. It was a love let­ter to iden­tity, to lan­guage, and to cul­tur­al pride.

With a live band fea­tur­ing dhol, tabla, drums, keys and flute, the sound­scape was rich and immers­ive. Every musi­cian added a lay­er of tex­ture and feel­ing. This wasn’t just a pol­ished per­form­ance, it was an hon­est one, full of soul and intention.

South Asi­an artists have long had to fight for their space in cul­tur­al insti­tu­tions. On this night, Jaz Dhami didn’t just take up space – he redefined it. With grace, with depth, and with unmatched music­al­ity. A beau­ti­ful trib­ute to the past, a cel­eb­ra­tion of the present, and a beacon for what’s pos­sible in the future.

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Rishma

Edit­or / PR Con­sult­ant at No Bounds
Rishma Dhali­w­al has extens­ive exper­i­ence study­ing and work­ing in the music and media industry. Hav­ing writ­ten a thes­is on how Hip Hop acts as a social move­ment, she has spent years research­ing and con­nect­ing with artists who use the art form as a tool for bring­ing a voice to the voiceless.

About Rishma

Rishma Dhaliwal has extensive experience studying and working in the music and media industry. Having written a thesis on how Hip Hop acts as a social movement, she has spent years researching and connecting with artists who use the art form as a tool for bringing a voice to the voiceless.