Prior to taking a listen, and inferring off his stage name for fun sake, you might predict Dwin, the Stoic to be a typical trap artist, nihilistically mouthing off about money, dracos and hoes, with a slight intellectual edge, though, because “stoic” is (sorta) a big word.
Contrary to what his moniker might suggest, Dwin, the Stoic makes music that’s very much bathed in feelings, reveling in the deep end of vulnerability. True to its title, every song of his recently released debut full-length, Heavy Heart, runs crimson red – plenty touchy feely stuff and little concerning 187’s, more “Marvin’s Room” Drake than a Nigerian version of 21 Savage – it all sounds like the music is directly gushing out of a busted artery.
Heavy Heart opens with “Are You the One?,” an acoustic ballad driven by rippling guitar strings. Punctuated by the pent-up frustration in his voice, Dwin rues being a romantic who tends to enter situations with his heart first, a makeup that has caused more than its fair share of pain on his heart. It’s a watershed moment that leads him to openly question his Creator’s reasons for making him this way (“why did you make my heart like glass/each time I fall in love, it breaks into pieces), down to taking a stab at finding out physical attributes (are you a He?/are you a She?) in order to find a point of entry.
Instead of channeling his sadness with angst or rage, as is many times the case when humans have a gripe with the Higher-ups, there’s a tangible level of clarity that suggests Dwin isn’t as close to doubt as he is to exasperation. And though he’s teetering on the edge of existential dread, “Are You the One?” largely hinges on the belief that the messy cycle will eventually break.
Where “Are You the One?” is more calculated, “Braveheart,” an unbridled melt down accredited to the Ignis Brothers(1*), a 3-man band Dwin is a member of, emerges as its companion piece. The head-heart combination of both songs paint a fuller picture: Dwin has accepted that he’s stuck with luck, but there’s still hope lurking around. When Dwin compares love to “a game of cards” that he’s “bound to lose” on the Davina Oriakhi-assisted, self deprecatory “Loser,” it’s a thinly veiled attempt at pessimism, when in actuality he’s desperate for his series of unfortunate events to turn a positive corner.
Since there’s no projection on when light might come, much of Heavy Heart is entrapped in the tunnel of tormented and failed relationships.
On “Take Flight,” the second single preceding the album (and the first Dwin, the stoic song that graced my ears,) rappers Barelyanyhook and Paybac each drop off lively but remorseful 16’s with Hail Mary attempts at keeping their love interests from slipping away permanently. Where hard hitting drums and frenetic percussions are the springboard to both rapped verses, Dwin’s morose hook is minimally accompanied by staccato piano chords, giving probably the most experimental song on the album a dynamic structure that suits his capabilities.
It’s not hard to clock that Dwin’s instincts as a singer, while adequate here, are a long way from fully formed – most notably, his pitch flails from time to time – coupled with a baritone that simply ranges from hoarse to plain. The effects of these technical blindspots and limitations pop up severally, but Heavy Heart is far from unlistenable. Though it depends on the listener’s tolerance, the raw energy in Dwin’s voice humanizes him even further, making it easier and more feasible to latch unto other positive parts. Probably the worst song on the album, “Pack Your Load” is all over the place, Dwin’s voice jerking incessantly to fit the traditional Igbo folk instrumental is quite grating, but the unknowing element of comic relief grants the song some indulgence.
Over the course of Heavy Heart, Dwin’s strong affinity for guitars (and other relative instruments) is very noticeable, informing the album’s musical choices, thereby planting the album in folk territory – stylings vary from afro-folk to folk-pop to folktronica – and also leaning into influences from hip-hop and EDM on a handful of tracks for grunge and heterogeneity. Dwin’s best performances on Heavy Heart usually happens when the music is sparsely layered and uncomplicated, an easy going combo that exudes endless charm and effectively amplifies his war stories.
Light piano strings and melancholic acoustic guitar chords are the only instruments sharing space with Dwin on “Of Us,” a stellar deep cut on which he laments an exhausting relationship with a girl who might have offered Medusa a stare at her heart. The buoyance with which Dwin’s voice carries the pain is what ultimately sells “Of Us,” the production only offers a floating medium. A similar relationship applies to “Happy Song,” an unlikely dirge backed by a cheerful combination of spry banjo and campfire percussions. The song is initially colorful, but immediately Dwin appears, the scene becomes dour and the script is flipped in an emotionally grabbing manner.
Emoting is Dwin’s first nature as a writer, and it serves him quite well in describing rigors with relationships. But being strongly tethered to this instinct reveals a regular arc: Dwin holds the victim card a little too tightly and uses it with levity.
Valuing emotion over attitude, Dwin is prone to push one side – his side – of a narrative, carrying out fissions that help him stay the protagonist, crossing the line to self involved and balking at fully embracing his own faults/flaws when the scope is turned inwards. Juxtaposing with a precise verse by primary album coconspirator 3rty on “The Lonely,” Dwin’s verse on the same song is covertly dressed in a cloud ambiguity. Of course he comes across as vulnerable, genuinely so if I might add, but the risk of emblematic vulnerability is in not taking proper account of the other party’s feelings. (For reference: Jamalswiss lays down fantastic verse on “End of an Era,” extensively surveying a soured relationship, while taking both parties into account.)
In catching wind of Dwin’s blind spot, it is difficult to shake off the feeling that, even if unknowingly, Dwin is mining his own POV for points, and songs stumble on unintended interpretations in the process; “Happy Song” becomes a rather selfish lamentation that takes little cognizance of a dying/dead partner and/or their memories; innocently recalling the idyll days of yore on final song “Stay the Night,” to get with an old flame one last time loses some of it bashfulness and becomes a well dressed, desperate plea to get some.
Fragmenting a narrative has its consequences. In this case, Heavy Heart runs the risk of being a wearying listen over time. But the allure of Dwin’s open approach is what will eventually keep this album from unraveling, along with added points if future work comes with a much needed improvements.