I. Rage And The Machine
“I have seen Kings not aware of their successors”
– M.I Abaga, “Everything I Have Seen”
If the popular quip suggesting people say exactly what they mean when angry holds any water, it’s only right to assume M.I Abaga meant every word he uttered on last year’s divisive, comeback single “You Rappers Should Fix Up Your Lives.” Sure, we all read it right as a flagrant combo of ego propping and righteous tongue-lashing aimed at Nigerian rappers. But additionally, in the context of Yxng Dxnzl, M.I’s latest album and undoubtedly his most personal body of work till date, “YRSFUYL” is an unbridled piece of catharsis, angst manifested at its most natural—anger.
Since the release of Yxng Dxnzl, many have been quick to point to “YRSFUYL” as the odd piece on an album filled with moments that are rather graceful in comparison. What they aren’t considering is that catharsis doesn’t always unfurl in rainbow colors, sometimes it rages pitch black, which happens to be the case with “YRSFUYL.”
For an artist who’s given the better part of the last decade to Nigerian hip-hop, with the idea of dusk looming in on his career in front of the mic, it’s apt that M.I feels some type of way regarding how a once thriving genre has become a quarterly topic of ridicule on social media. When M.I’s shrink relates to him to that “stepping down is profound” at the tail end of the preceding track “Last Night I Dreamt About A Hummingbird,” mere seconds before “YRSFUYL” rolls in, it’s even more glaring that, underneath the veneer of bravado, fear for the future of hip-hop is the actual driving force here. This is not a man fighting to roll back the years, rather one who sees jeopardy in the future of a genre he helped elevate – no king wants to see his kingdom go to ruins upon departure.
It’s difficult to believe that M.I made an emotion-driven song lacking any ounce of political correctness as an attempted fix-all to Nigerian hip-hop, which is why “YRSFUYL” fits more as a no holds barred rant, with an aura not too dissimilar to a typically unedited Louis Litt opposite Dr. Lipschitz.
The diatribe might have seemed sudden when it landed, but M.I’s ire towards his younger colleagues on “YRSFUYL” is another layer peeled off the big brother shtick he’s been on since 2016’s Illegal Music 3; a tape on which he charged listeners to embrace Nigerian hip-hop via its cover, and nudged Nigerian artists, especially rappers, to push their mode of expression far and beyond on the widely remixed “The Box.” But where “The Box” is a diplomatic pat-on-the-back, M.I opts for provocation on “YRSFUYL.”
Comparing overall responses to both tactics, it’s safe to say it garnered more reactions than the carrot. And although he carelessly indicts himself with the latter approach, there’s no rapper other than M.I currently suited to be the rabble-rouser for Nigerian rap – he hits the longevity, relevance, skill level trifecta required for the role.
M.I’s intention for a rejuvenated hip-hop scene has only gotten clearer recently, being key to the other two releases making up the just concluded trio of the well hyped LAMBaugust albums, and also the central figure of the upcoming hip-hop centric WAHA festival. At that, it’s still difficult to ignore the subtle imperialism peeking out of his apparent benevolence. On “Another Thing! Do not be a Groupie,” a delightful cut off Yxng Dxnzl, M.I dedicates a few bars, in between brags, to sneer at upcoming artists who dip in search of greener pastures when he’s not as forthcoming as they want him to be. While this doesn’t expressly connote despotism on M.I’s path, there’s a sly nod to control, at least in the sense that the dreams of younger artists who approach him should align with his own vision—more guardian angel than gatekeeper, even if the difference can be blurry.
For some odd reason, hip-hop is always looking for a transcendent figure—M.I has been those shoes since he proclaimed himself “naija’s rap messiah” on his scale breaking single “Safe,” over a decade ago—which hints at M.I’s autocratic tendencies stemming from an ensuing messiah complex. No matter how well rappers like Falz, Reminisce, Boogey and a couple other rappers are representing hip-hop, the idea of one or more emergent heirs to fill the void on a similar, proclaimed level is why open letters concerning the (supposedly ailing) state of Nigerian hip-hop are being addressed to the Short Black Boy in 2018. Power and responsibility are a package deal, but there’s no perfect manual on how to handle the former and/or dispense the latter.
II. Everything Is Grey
“So much to do. So much to learn. So much I don’t know about my own life.”
– Phil Knight, ‘Shoe Dog’
The term “messiah of rap” and other such iterations might be looked on as the highest form of adulation, but it becomes reductive with time because it can become a subconscious route to dehumanizing the artist. It’s easy to forget that, behind all the regalia and celebrity worship, the artist is essentially a person. With time, the crown gets heavier, and the superhero cape becomes a crushing boulder to bear. We could use a reminder of their vincibility from time to time.
M.I has never been one to shy away from reminding listeners that he is made of flesh and blood, often tapping into his foibles to fuel standout deep cuts – even the ego driven The Chairman houses “Brother” and “Human Being,” two of the most affecting songs in M.I’s catalog. M.I has shown introspection to be his métier, albeit in doses, it’s becomes even more prominent on Yxng Dxnzl. The usually boisterous persona that rules his previous works remains vivid, but it’s remodeled to play off and directly into M.I’s commitment to self-consciousness. Since Yxng Dxnzl is a pivot swap, it seems fitting to tag it a coming of age album.
Billed as “A Study On Self Worth,” M.I takes an open book approach, owning up to his flaws in a concerted effort to know himself better, also reconciling his public image with the developing person that he is, in the process. Featuring yard length song titles, unprecedented levels of vulnerability and reexaminations of societal standards, Yxng Dxnzl is dually therapeutic and exploratory for the “Anoti” rapper.
Similar the case of “YRSFUYL,” the necessity for transparence in music as a vessel to convey personal growth also took root on IM3. But where IM3’s moments of profundity jostled for space between self-aggrandizing quips and unearned anger at critics, Yxng Dxnzl finds a far more pliable M.I willing to embrace the turbulence that accompanies creating from realest parts of himself. Afforded context via frequent additions of soundbites, most of them culled from an actual session between M.I and therapist Coryn Solomon, Yxng Dxnzl offers an intimate, often striking look into at the rapper’s attempt at reconstructing his values. With each listen, songs read more like they were fleshed out of diary entries. Inevitably, this outlook helps in conflating the few flaws into the wistful but dynamic big picture: Yxng Dxnzl is the representation of someone who’s a work in progress.
Dissociating individual songs from the introspective core to which they are tethered is impossible. Individual tracks can be enjoyed without baggage, but songs are pieces that make more sense within an intended bubble, it’s why I couldn’t help but catch that “YRSFUYL” translation on 3rd listen. Pathos being highly proclaimed is as a result of the most consistent, poignant pen, while operating in a span, M.I has ever wielded—even when strident, he can be just as affecting (“I Believe In You”). While he’s still a colorful writer (“You’re Like Melody” “+-”), it’s M.I’s ability to embellish that he uses in carrying Yxng Dxnzxl. On the Tay Iwar assisted “Do You Know Who You Are?,” M.I relies on a lopsided bar structure, relentlessly stacking lines ending with multisyllabic end rhymes as a delightful tool to sear in his pro-black mural. Nothing is subversive; if you look, you must see.
In all of this “conceptual thoughtfulness,” what happens to those who don’t care for nuggets and/or about M.I’s life? The answer is on “+-,” somewhere between M.I rapping “I know niggas repetitive with that competitive shit/ma nigga, let me live” and “don’t like the flow?/ Skip to the next song.” M.I can (and will most likely) still make music with a grungy pulse – Rendezvous is a “smoke, fuck, drink, party” playlist after all, but his candor on Yxng Dxnzl is that of a man who is intent on revealing, unpacking and resolving his way into personal growth. Besides, artists have the license to use the same medium they use in thrilling us to walk us through their truths.
The other side of understanding Yxng Dxnzl is the high possibility of resonance. Through efforts at soul searching, M.I reciprocates with soul reaching on a horizontal level, sounding more peer-like than peerless. The poetry slam cadence adopted on “Last Night I Saw A Hummingbird” is innately preachy without being condescending because it feels like M.I is giving himself the pep talk as much as he is addressing the listener, sorta like an Issa Rae mirror freestyle.
Even the gender-specific “Stop! Never Second Guess Yourself” has an endearing quality that makes it less restrictive in translation. Obviously, the silliness of lines like “you your own precipitation/you should wet yourself” has a disarming tenderness more fitting for the fairer sex, but the idea of boosting self-esteem using physical qualities as the chosen point of contact is not limited to women, we’re in the glow up, Denola Grey era after all. Maybe this inference is hogwash, but an important tenet of Yxng Dxnzl is how men could use some affection and also extra leeway to express emotions without it being tagged effeminate.
The societal, straitjacket idea that men ought to be buttoned up is gracefully given the middle finger in the dying moments of the intro track “Do You Know Who You Are?,” where the therapist plainly states “some of you is strong, some of you is weak.” This duplicity obviously influences Yxng Dxnzl, which is why validatory and watershed moments can be two sides to a coin without dissonance. (Case in point: “I Believe in You,” a gleaming cut teeming with self-exhorting raps ends with self-effacing admissions of abandonment, before seguing into the rubberneck inducing, emotional centerpiece that is “The Self Evaluation Of Yxng Dxnzl.”) On Yxng Dxnzl, M.I doesn’t skate between these polarities as much as he embodies them jointly, unburdening and fully embracing himself in the process.
The popular quote by Buddhist philosopher Dogen Zen-Ji, “To know the self is to forget the self,” has an ironic ring to it until the realization that self-mastery, as a concerted effort to become the best versions of ourselves, requires constant fine-tuning. In this cyclical situation, forgetting functions as the locus to remembering—as in taking one’s self apart to continually examine and tweak. Since personal growth is a lifelong process, the true measure of the potency of M.I’s 4th studio album will be how it will affects listeners who plan to grow with and into it, and also how it influences M.I’s next steps. For now, though, Yxng Dxnzl is a timely album with high chances of being regarded as timeless.