“But una know I no dey waste time” is Asake’s pre-written answer to questions bordering around why his sophomore album is out barely 9 months after his scintillating debut. Not that anyone is less than thrilled to see him back so soon, mind, but we are all too familiar with the compromises to the production process that may aid an artist to achieve these hurried release schedules. Asake, however, does not sacrifice quality on the altar of speed, so that what is traditionally a sticky point for establishing artists—the second album slump—is turned into a flamboyant, braggadocious display of his extent of pliability of his Fuji-Amapiano creation, and then some.
Doubts have persisted for nearly as long as he has been mainstream of his ability and/or willingness (or lack thereof) to explore music styles outside his patented scope, but Asake does not intend Work Of Art to be a definitive end to this conversation. So while he does push even further from the conventional in a bid to conquer sonic territory, he plants his base firmly in the music that has brought him thus far—the rhythmic familiarity of log drums and shakers, the ethereal resonance of crowd backup vocals and his own euphonic, Fuji-recalling delivery.
For “Yoga”, his 2023 opener which now closes the album, he sets himself sonically somewhere between Indigenous Egun music of Badagry, Lagos and the Sega genre of Mauritius, weaving together diverse cultures. His message here is clear; he is in his own lane and it would be pointless to try and catch him—but this time he goes for sombre self-identity over overarching superiority. Not to say he does not have some of the latter in his toolbox. On “Lonely At The Top”, the track from which this article’s opening quote was carved, he may appear to get ahead of himself—this is, afterall, only the second year since his proper breakout single, and there are others who have secured and maintained a top-flight status for much longer—but Asake’s time has always run a little faster.
That is the reason why, still struggling to find a footing in music and life in general, he announced himself “Mr Money” in his 2020 single of the same name. On Work Of Art, boastful predictions for his future can carry the extra backing of his conquests from last year, and he knows it. On “I believe”, the optimistically upbeat joint which Magicsticks reworks from Amapiano’s log drums, Asake proclaims “Nitty-gritty of ‘22, I’m the one”, casting back to a year ago when he thrilled the country with a conveyor belt of hit singles before his debut album landed the final blow. He rewords and translates this on “Awodi”, stating “2022 mo gbe wan trabaye”, another claim that can be self-promoting without being exaggerative. On this chiefly Yoruba song, his honours Pasuma both in words and in the Fuji-ogling framework the track is crafted on.
Whether Asake’s outsized self-image is primarily a function of belief in himself or trust in a higher power is debatable, but it certainly is some combination of both. He definitely has the spiritual strength to justify the latter, as he embraces, in the popular Yoruba polytheist ideology, both Christianity and Islam, and delves into African Traditional Religion when the situation requires it, when there is need to tie ese ile bo. But where Mr. Money With The Vibe regarded these religions, like most people do, as a means of covering all bases in the search for material upliftment, Work Of Art has Asake transcend beyond this and ponder on the afterlife.
He weighs in turn a Christian (“Mr. Money with the vibe ‘til the devil say my name”) and then a Muslim (“Koni wa le lai lai till we reach Al Jannah”) aftermath, but reaches a consensus in either case that he will live to the full until that moment arrives. And while these musings might seem somewhat premature for a 28 year old man in apparent robust health, Asake has never faltered in his preference of an impactful existence over a lengthy one. So today he will drown in a variety of substances from alcohol to colorado, before burying his head in the thighs of the woman he loves. “Let’s stay all night looking as the star shines/ Make love till the sunrise” he sings on the now-decadent, now-affecting “Mogbe”.
Romance flickers brightly in other corners, even if it is a rare sight on the album and is often easily contorted into lust. “Remember” has a chorus that wants to negotiate affection with money, not an uncommon love language in a country with so little of it. “I wanna love you forever, baby o/ I just want to spend all my chеddar on you”, he says at first, but what comes next unmasks his carnal intentions. “Sunshine” shares all of this blissful radiance, but, without its romantic overtones, Asake intends it to be a pat on the back to the weary soul, equal parts motivating and reassuring. “Sun’s gon’ shine on everything you do”, he says, and if those words appear familiar it is because they were borrowed from Lighthouse Family’s “Ocean Drive” of 1995, and Asake transports this iconic line across time and genre without losing any bit of its eupeptic essence.
Asake uses himself and his incredible journey, as successful people often do, as a guiding light to those still stuck on the lowest rungs of the ladder, but material success is only a small contributor to his euphoria. For Asake, the process is just as important as the result, and like every true artist he prides himself even more in the art that has brought him thus far.
“Basquiat” throws down the gauntlet with the arrogance of a man that knows it won’t be taken up, and while he is aware of similarly sounding artists that the media will try to force into comparisons with him,— “Studying me is an honour jeun lor/ I get many pages like songs of Solomon”—he will superciliously point out the futility in reading a master’s textbook to try and be better than him. “What’s the chances, what’s the probability/ To see a bеtter version of me with agility”, he asks on the spunky Blaisebeatz-produced “2:30”, but it is only rhetorical. He has his answer.
If he is any worried about deposition, he hardly shows it, and more importantly, he will not let it bog down his brilliant new creation. “Basquiat” is also the closest thing to a titular track on the album, whose cover art is depiction of Jean-Michel Basquiat by Nigerian artist, Ayanfe Olarinde. While Asake sees similarities between himself and the talented, troubled, visual artist, he has long established to have no greater weapon in his arsenal than his individuality and sense of self. A few fans may clamour to see him try on new trends and sounds, but Asake insists that he is the template, the “work of art” that should be studied. And he probably is right. Supreme ability and a unshaking confidence in it are always a devastating match, and his blend of indigenous cultures from fifty years ago and trendsetting house music of the future makes him one of the easiest bets for the next great Nigerian star.
This article was written by Afrobeats City Contributor Ezema Patrick – @ezemapatrick (Twitter)
Afrobeats City doesn’t own the right to the images – image source: Instagram – @Asakemusic
