I’m not old enough to remember when mainstream rap was a vessel for Black collectivism and neither are the budding emcees of today. The hip-hop we fell in love with was predicated on the self: self-preservation, self-aggrandizement, self-promotion. If you, like me, were really young and impressionable in the late 2000s, all it took was a maniac screaming ’bout Winn-Dixie bags full of money to become a devotee. I mean, who cares what the message is if you don’t sound cool as shit on wax? All you need from hip-hop is something that affirms your ego. Something you can play loudly as you look in the mirror and tell yourself, I’m like that. Right?
kwes e, a Ghanian British twentysomething, fuses jerk rap, R&B, and alté with this in mind. His new album, fingers crossed, also positions itself as motivational—inspiring, even. He’s made it now, so he reflects on his past and celebrates the present: Day trips to Paris, money spreads at the mall, blood diamonds on his skin. But he’s at his best when he’s just tryna tear the roof off the place. kwes e’s Afrobeats-inflected smash “lyk” is what happens when liquid courage pays off in a room full of gyrating waists. To call it “electric” would be like calling a gun “lethal”; kwes e’s tequila-drenched, diasporic twang makes dancing with a baddie sound like gripping lightning with your hands. With a murky synth line cribbed from “Lollipop,” “lyk” erupts with galloping kicks, jubilant claps, and a bassline that hums like a generator. But as much as I enjoy this song, it’s fingers crossed’s centerpiece that holds my attention even longer with a simple piece of ancestral homage: “Ro-ro-ro-rock star like Fela/Rock star, rock star/Finna blow like Fela,” kwes raps as a G-funk lead whines in the foreground.
