Asake: Mr. Money With The Vibe Is What He Says He Is; A Work of Art
“Conscious lamba” - the genre of music which succinctly combines the melody of dancehall with the precision of soul music e.g Asake is a conscious lamba artiste. - RILWAN BALOGUN
Asake is unstoppable. Is he? It’s at best pretense when one asks what one already knows. It’s mere hypocrisy when one labours to debate what’s by popular opinion, the truth.
Mixing the jamboree feel of 2:30 to the morning drill of Olorun is no mean feat. They will all slap in the wee hours, whether you’re sleeping, and resting on that slow feel or up and praying to God. Or in the club, swirling like a circus and ripping your body apart to reap fun. Asake is a new vehicle for spirit, soul and sound. He takes you wherever you want to go. It’s difficult to find bad music from the mouth of a man born with the gift of sound and words. He came prepared, more than anyone Nigerian music has seen in recent time. His sophomore album wrestled for depth with his first, yet takes the shine and glory of the moment just like its predecessor. We’ve seen artistes come and go on the Nigerian music scene but Asake is a level higher in dominance and diligence.
Music has no language, its medium of communication is sound and melody. That’s why Nigerians can listen to Gangnam style and join dance troupes. It’s easy for a Yorùbá man to enjoy Oliver de Coque despite not understanding Igbo. You don’t have to understand what Salif Keita, Awilo or Koffi Olomide are singing for you to appreciate their music. It’s the nature of sound. More than what language it’s done in, how it makes you feel and what you hear matter the more. This is how Asake makes his rendition in pure, sweet, unadulterated Yorùbá feel. For the local speaker, you barely have a choice but pause, drag back and listen to the depth of his words. Even when you’re shaking on your seat and throwing your legs apart while standing, barely listening to his words but feeling his sound, he’s hitting the depths of pure lyricism.
Àwòdì is one of such journeys. It’s a note to self, and most importantly, a word to his detractors. Stardom and the kind of rise he has enjoyed will always be accompanied by naysayers. It comes with fame and glory and he has carried it with grace so far. Àwòdì is the eagle (in this case, his detractors) and Asake aptly describes its flight as deceiving. The opening trumpet sets a tone that almost makes you think it’s Kwam-1 coming but he has other plans. The trumpet would feature prominently in the song as it coincides with the ease and smoothness of the lyrics. It’s a song that gives a silky feel to consciousness. The truth. Warning. Demystified threats delivered like a marriage vow. His deployment of analogy and employment of metaphor makes it a complete masterstroke and while it may seem ordinary at first, the juice is in the sound and for this, the words and intent.
Everyone loves a sunny day (figuratively). In Sunshine, Asake reminds listeners of the sun that’s coming. He takes it a notch higher in his message. Becoming as rich as Dangote, Africa’s richest man requires going to war, but there’s a reminder about what’s coming after a tough period. Despite the consciousness of the sound, the Lamba doesn’t stop. The delivery barely swayed from its usual masterful appeal and the tone is set just with the energy every message needs. It’s conscious, it’s Lamba, it’s soul-rejiggering and leg-calling. And what followed is a perfect antithesis, delivered in low tones and heavy metal.
Love songs should be mushy. No! Asake thinks otherwise. Mogbé spells doom! It’s a love song delivered by a gentle ‘thug’ inspired his Amapiano underlay. But the mushy part would seep through when Asake switches to complete English Language and becomes Chike or Johnny Drille in a Fuji rhythm. He’s everything he says he is, but with every modicum of street sensation. Mogbé is another meshwork of Asake’s limitless strengths, his boundless ability to blend his usual lamba to whatever pleases the ears. He doesn’t go out of range, nor depth, or style, but revolves every accompanying sound round what brought him this far. Mogbé is an exclamation. And the sound may push you to one.
Jean-Michel Basquiat was famous for his art. One of the finest of his generation and arguably of all time in the United States. Asake is aiming for such heights in his art and perfectly names the song he glowingly sings about his quality “Basquiat”. He goes on a spree of self-adulation, employing a fine use of rhymes that nearly mimics his label boss, Olamide in his big rap years. He describes himself as “cool cat” and stretches the sound further. It’s an undying strength and depth of quality. Asake’s musical life is nine.
And Amapiano is six of them. His touch with the originally South African sound almost gives a sensual appeal. It’s sexy in its most ordinary state and sets the mood at its highest. Olamide delivers like the master he is and strokes around Yorùbá indigenous rap and old school American-Nigerian touch. Both men coming together yet again tells the tale of a match made between the glorious spaces of earth and the vantage seats of heavenly bliss. The arrangement, entry and delivery is a threat to anyone in their league. Asake is Premiership. And he belongs among the best in the league.
Interlude!
No. The interlude is mine. Not Asake. He didn't stop for a moment in this album. But “What's up my G” feels very much like an interlude. Although it represents the usual lamba and oozes everything Asake with no deviation from his core, it's probably the least lyrical song on the album, and a sharp drop from the metallic sharpness of the previous songs. However, it eases out with the supreme gift of the trumpet and it's a perfect closure to what is positioned just at the right place.
Mr. Money With A Vibe was a beautifully arranged album and Work of Art tows the same line. In I Believe, Asake returns to his crescendo and resumes his great lyrical depth. With Amapiano reaching its heights, I Believe makes Asake’s sound believable. A run of rhymes tells a tale of a man who has everything in his armoury. He has an arsenal of divine and supreme musical expression and this city of Nigerian music, and the world is his to conquer. Thankfully, he knows, as his next introduction will prove.
“First of All, Introduction” was how Olamide turned every gathering to a memory of his legend. Asake would take another route in Introduction. He's talking to a girl and goes on a storytelling spree. It's a similar attempt from a different sound appeal. Here, he follows every command as he likes what he sees. It's a naughty command. Remember follows in similar pattern. It's speaking to sex and romance and gets raw in stages, but Asake has been clothless since he burst on to the scene. He's on a romp with his sound, the beats only set the mood. When he talks in the song, you hear where he's coming from, in slangs and lingo. Remedies’ “Sako Mo” almost seeps through in the sound that laps the lyrics but Asake reminds listeners he's in absolute control. It's not the same.
Lonely at the Top insouciantly walks in like a Celestial sound. It feels gospel in its opening, like a Bàbá Àrà but Asake only reminds the world it's lonely at the top. It's humble bravado, and a reminder of what he's focused on. Another slight drop from his usual Amapiano touch, it also blends a highlife Sunny Neji will be proud of. He shows versatility, and style. It's royal. Great Guy is another praise of what and who he is. For those who probably have forgotten what stands him apart, he lets it roll, and his rhyme game stands apart again. It's regular, consistent and simple. Deep lyricism takes the bench but he still has enough seconds to remind listeners that ‘life is a rollercoaster’ and taps it up with excellent Yorùbá finesse. And an entry to Yoga.
Arrangement is one of the greatest qualities of a great album and Yoga is the perfect curtain drop. It's slow, sleek, and sweet. He brings Africa’s widest cultures into his lyrics and from his look to his thought process, it's a story of a man who was ready before his coming. Asake has mastered his art and can go on and on. He's on his way to being in a league of his own, where he determines the pace and takes it one sound at a time. He has waited so long and if Work of Art is anything to take home, Asake’s sound has become our never-leaving tenant. You best live with it.