Before gaining global recognition, Asake was peripatetic; moving tirelessly like a nomad from one lungu (inner street) to another, perfecting his music and striving for a breakthrough. Following a captivating EP, Olalade Asake, which grabbed the ears and hearts of many Nigerians, and two successful features, Mr Money With The Vibe and Work Of Art, which made him a global star, Asake pays homage to the streets that shaped his artistry in his third album, Lungu Boy.
Unlike his previous albums where he his energy comes across, Asake seems to phone it in on this one. His decision to refrain from his energetic style and reliance on the light-hearted Amapiano sounds presents him as languid on most of the songs. After listening to the opening track “Start”, it becomes clear that Asake has taken a sharp turn—a bold but indecisive departure from the sound that had hitherto defined him and his work. The song is an interpolation of Asa’s introspective “Ẹiyẹ Adaba” but it lacks the soulful appeal of “Dull” and the brilliance of “Ọlọrun”, respectively off Mr Money With The Vibe and Work Of Art.
What follows is the sedate “MMS” featuring Wizkid. Blending their distinctive musical identities to create a semi-biographical piece, Asake and Wizkid narrate how they persevered in their nascent days before discovering their unique sounds. They also reflect on the ephemeral nature of life. Wizkid touches on a personal loss, reflecting on his mother’s death, a pivotal moment that led him to a deeper understanding of his purpose.
With the cavalier handling of some of the songs, Asake struggles to create firm connections between himself and the audience. With “Mood,” he strives to convey the same sense of desolation and introspection of “Lonely At The Top” from Work Of Art but falls short of evoking a strong emotional response. The lyrics and Asake’s vocals do not quite capture the depth and emotion needed to effectively convey his intended message, thereby failing to establish the desired mood.
Despite his struggles to impress on quite a few songs, Asake performs excellently on others. “Whine,” featuring Brazilian artist LUDMILLA, is a dancehall anthem that blends West African and Brazilian rhythms to create an infectious, global groove. The chorus is a repetitive and hypnotic invitation to “whine,” a term synonymous with the sensual, rhythmic dance moves that define the dancehall genre. Asake’s lyrics in the chorus emphasise a carefree attitude, encouraging us to let loose. LUDMILLA’s verse injects a burst of Brazilian flavour as she effortlessly switches between Portuguese and English. Her lyrics are bold and unapologetic, asserting her power and independence. The song is a cross-cultural fusion driven by a dancehall rhythm that is impossible to resist.
Lungu is slang for inner city hoods; this time the low-income and clustered neighbourhoods of Isalẹ Èkó (downtown Lagos Island) and the inner streets of Lagos Mainland. In these areas, affordable tenement-style housing facilitates a sense of communal living amid financial struggles, while fostering a strong desire for a brighter future. Fuji is the most preferred music by the people in these inner streets because its interfaith dialogue easily slips into syncretism. Asake is one of the many artists who made it out of these neighbourhoods. That’s why his songs are filled with street lingo and phrases and fuji-rapping techniques common among young people on these streets.
The exciting disco-influenced “Uhh Yeahh”, the soothing “I Swear”, the bouncy “Ligali”, and the thrilling “Fuji Vibe” represent the album’s Fuji syncretic essence by combining fun with prayer and celebration. “Ligali” is inspired by a slang popularised by the Fuji musician, Alabi Pasuma. For the second verse of “Uhh Yeahh”, Asake casually emulates the vocal infection of Alhaji Sikiru Ayinde Barrister on the classic Fuji Garbage Series 1. And on “Fuji Vibe,” he glibly rhymes slang for words that were slang already while cruising to the flowing percussion. Though the instrumentals are not traditional Fuji’s, they are heavily influenced by the genre’s rhetorical harmony and Islamic intonation. Call them Neo-Fuji, the new phase of the ever-evolving genre.
We live in an era defined by artistic collaboration that defy borders. It’s understandable for an artist to seek international collaborations to broaden his horizons but some of the guest artists on Lungu Boy, though talented on their own, can’t seem to connect with Asake’s Lagos street life, especially the Isalẹ Èkó street culture. On “Suru”, Stormzy delivers introspective lyrics with the rhythmic pulse of talking drums. His words are deeply personal and reflective, contrasting his current success with his humble beginnings. Yet, it fails to impress because something tangible is missing: the relatability of street culture. It would have been better had Asake looked homeward to feature artists who understand the Lagos street culture. Imagine an inspired Zlatan Ibile on the song, sharing his grass-to-grace story.
What makes “MMS” work is the relatability of the career struggle between Asake and Wizkid who both ran away from home to pursue their musical dreams.
When an artist decides to step out of their comfort zone and explore new musical territories, the results can be either a triumphant evolution or a misstep that leaves listeners longing for the familiar. Unfortunately, in the case of Lungu Boy, Asake’s departure from his signature dance-driven Amapiano sound has resulted in the latter. The album is a bold attempt at reinvention, but the outcome is wonky, lacking the cohesion and vibrancy Asake is known for. His decision not to be pigeonholed and to break free from Amapiano’s grip on Afrobeats misses the mark and fails to captivate.
**Michael Kolawole is a screenwriter, playwright, poet, and cultural journalist/critic. catch him on X @mkflow
