#Throwback: Illy Bomaye is Mostly a Triumph – Dami Ajayi
In the fashion of self-referential album
titles, Illy Bomaye, Ill Bliss’s fifth studio album sticks to tradition.
Cutting a new facet of realities in the life of the self-styled Coal City’s
finest rapper, at 26 minutes and 9 tracks, this album is a tad short but fresh.
Between this project and his last, a lot
has happened to Ill Bliss. Amongst other matters (including an early
retirement) he recently became a father. Trust a street poet to articulate his
latest experience in rhymes because this is exactly what Ill Bliss does.
The album starts with baby cries. On the
ultra-short ‘DaddyLuvsYou’, Bliss appears vulnerable and lovingly so, pouring
adulations on the memories of cyesis and sonogram, watching his baby grow by way
of his wife’s baby bump and the overwhelming reality of holding his daughter in
With Suspect at the sonic helms of affairs,
Clarence Peters for visual percepts and Ill Bliss spewing rhymes, an
entrepreneurial trinity is formed as per usual. Illy Bomaye is just another
product from ‘these usual suspects’. Bliss hardly varies his rap aesthetics or
rhyme techniques on this album. He retains his wooden repetitive hooks and heavy-handed
percussion. Even if this album is a bit more reflective, a Bliss non-fan will
neither be pleased or persuaded.
He recruits the mellifluent Praiz to assist
with hook on ‘God of Wonders’ where he laments the difficulties of being rich
and famous, especially what it means to not have a private life any more. If a
listener imagines that this album is a paradigm shift in terms of poetic
concerns, tracks like ‘Iteriba’ and ‘Fireworks’, Illy Bomaye soon set you back
into familiar territory. The good old brag is not lost on this one. On ‘Buba’,
Ill Bliss acknowledges his new ‘Trillionaire’ status while the music courses
with assertive piano keys. Even if Cynthia Morgan’s staccato hook on ‘Iteriba’
lacks clarity, the essence is not lost on Bliss’s verse—he insists that his
fellow rap comrades should take a bow.
We may agree that Bliss has earned his
bragging rights even if bowing is another kettle of fish. We may also agree
that cutting an extended play album is a rather apt business decision, a
fitting compromise for the long play album in the light of our collective short
attention span. This album is perhaps sweet because it can be experienced in
less than half an hour.
On ‘Be Yourself’, Ill Bliss goes
motivational to young rappers while stylishly addressing the drug epidemic. Be
sure that he finds use for Igbo at every moment that presents itself on this
album. The code-switching is a bit extreme, especially how easily an American
and B.I.G sounding rapper becomes an Igbo dibia in the next breath.
‘Over and Over’ is a love song or, more fittingly, a promenade. Perhaps Bliss’s best in recent times, he rhymes lucidly about taking a woman out of her clueless lover’s hand over a candle-lit dinner. It may appear contradictory for this song to end an album that starts with praying for one’s puerperal wife but Bliss slips into and out of character as often as he has licensed himself to. One moment he is a loving father and a doting husband, the next he is a hippy braggart before he assumes the role of self-appointed counselor and then, a lothario.
Perhaps these are the phases (and faces) of the hip-hop persona and if Ill Bliss is able to take us through the motion so quickly and effectively within an album, then Illy Bomaye is a triumph. But what do we then say about radio rotation, cultural relevance and ground-breaking acoustic innovations? Did your favourite Coal City rapper bring new insights into his new realities as a father and man in his latest album? Is he becoming a trend or signing into a trend?
These questions are best answered after an umpteenth listen to the album.