Jamali return with Ohema. Not to relive the past, but to continue the conversation.

Every comeback asks a question.

Not whether the artist can still sing.

Not whether they can still perform.

But whether they still have something to say.

Twenty-three years have passed since Jacqui Carpede, Mariechan Luiters and Liesl Penniken first walked into South African homes through Coca-Cola Popstars. Although they finished as runners-up, they quickly became one of the country's defining female vocal groups, leaving behind songs that comfortably outlived their moment. Love Me For Me, written by Diane Warren, remains one of them.

For those of us who come from Eldorado Park, this isn't simply another release.

It's one of our own returning with something new to say.

It's a homecoming.

Not because Jamali have come back.

Because they never really left.

Their songs simply waited for another chapter.

First impressions

The first thing I noticed wasn't nostalgia.

It was restraint.

Ohema doesn't spend four minutes reminding us who Jamali used to be.

It quietly introduces us to who they are now.

The production is polished without becoming sterile. The mix is clean, the harmonies remain effortless and, perhaps most importantly, Jamali still sound unmistakably like Jamali.

That shouldn't be underestimated.

In a musical landscape where so many productions borrow the same textures, the same vocal treatments and the same stylistic habits, preserving your own musical identity has become surprisingly uncommon.

There are moments where Ohema comfortably shares the same contemporary Afro-pop landscape as artists like Tyla.

It never feels derivative.

It feels informed.

There is a difference.

The beauty of maturity

Perhaps the biggest surprise isn't the music.

It's the women themselves.

Jacqui, Mariechan and Liesl look exceptional.

Not because they've somehow escaped time.

Because they've allowed time to become part of who they are.

There is a confidence in their presentation that cannot be manufactured.

Nothing feels forced.

Nothing feels performed.

The visuals communicate something every comeback hopes to achieve.

Three women completely comfortable in their own skin.

Oddly enough, that confidence becomes part of the music itself.

The songwriting

The title immediately intrigued me.

Ohema.

Derived from the Akan language of Ghana, it means Queen.

That's a word carrying considerable weight.

Naturally, it raises expectation.

The song itself chooses a lighter path than I anticipated.

Rather than becoming a grand statement about feminine strength or identity, it settles into a playful conversation built around admiration, attraction and romance.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

Accessibility has value.

Sometimes the simplest songs become the ones people carry longest.

Yet I couldn't help feeling that three women capable of carrying a title like Queen are also capable of writing something that reaches even deeper.

The title promises majesty.

The lyric chooses familiarity.

That's a creative decision.

Not a mistake.

Still...

One more verse.

One unexpected bridge.

One lyrical turn that only Jamali could have written.

The chemistry is already there.

The songwriting simply has to catch up to it.

Production

Technically, Ohema is an accomplished record.

The groove settles in naturally.

The arrangement breathes.

Nothing feels overcrowded.

Nothing feels neglected.

Yet somewhere during the song I realised I was listening for something else.

Perhaps that's simply where I've arrived as a listener.

These days I find myself listening almost as carefully for the hands behind a record as I do for the voices in front of it.

Not because perfection no longer impresses me.

Because personality does.

A guitarist lingering just a little longer than expected.

Hand percussion responding instinctively.

A keyboard player making a decision no machine would ever think to make.

Something imperfect.

Something that leaves fingerprints.

Somewhere between precision and personality, I'll almost always choose personality.

Perfection has become surprisingly common.

Character remains considerably rarer.

I suspect we'll spend the next decade rediscovering just how valuable fingerprints really are.

Looking towards Full Circle

If Ohema is the invitation, then Full Circle has the opportunity to become the conversation.

This single feels intentionally accessible, which only makes me more curious about what's still to come.

If this is simply the introduction, then perhaps the EP is where we'll meet the women behind the voices.

Jamali have nothing left to prove by recreating yesterday.

What interests me now is hearing what only Jacqui, Mariechan and Liesl can create today.

Life has happened.

Families.

Victories.

Disappointments.

Growth.

Perspective.

Those experiences eventually find their way into great songs.

When they do, they often become the songs that last.

Final thoughts

I don't hand out high ratings easily.

Three stars from Bronze Street isn't average.

It's a recommendation.

Ohema succeeds.

It earns its place.

More importantly...

It earns another listen.

Could the writing have reached further?

I believe so.

Would I have welcomed a little more unmistakable human texture inside the production?

Absolutely.

Did I enjoy hearing Jamali together again?

Without question.

This doesn't feel like artists revisiting yesterday.

It feels like artists introducing themselves again.