REVIEW: Masicka – Forever Reign

    Masicka – Forever Reign

    Def Jam Recordings, a division of UMG Recordings, Inc.

    Text: Davide Bor­tot

    If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a ”well-round­ed” album that ”has some­thing for every­one”, with an artist ”show­ing their ver­sa­til­i­ty,” as if it were a god­damn decathlon or some­thing.

    It says a lot about Masic­ka that For­ev­er Reign – his first album in three years and hence his rise from gen­er­a­tional tal­ent to gold stan­dard – is, ulti­mate­ly, exact­ly that, and still only allows for one con­clu­sion: he is HIM. The youn­gins can out­gore and out­kink each oth­er all they want; Kar­tel and Mava­do can keep muse­u­miz­ing their mer­its with all the busi­ness savvy they can muster. Masic­ka is the king of dance­hall. We can skip the debate; this case may be con­sid­ered closed for the time being.

    Adver­tise­ment:

    For­ev­er Reign does­n’t deliv­er any dra­mat­ic twists in those pro­ceed­ings, but it deliv­ers plen­ty of fur­ther evi­dence. Masic­ka does Masic­ka things, across 17 tracks – con­sis­tent, smooth, and with exact­ly the right mix of cool head and warm heart, humil­i­ty and the occa­sion­al flash of cheek. Whether feel-good folk­lore like ”Slip & Slide” or sad­boy core like ”Boasty” (both mon­ster tunes of the past few months fea­ture on the album, of course); whether boast­ful bangers with a Y2K rap edge like ”Shakazu­lu” or fid­gety, fine­ly chis­elled Afrobeats like ”Time and Place”; whether hard-hit­ting Amapi­ano like ”G Wag­on” or super-sweet ghet­to gospel that floats along so slick and suave you’d bare­ly be sur­prised if Ken­ny G pulled up with the sopra­no sax: Masic­ka runs through rid­dim after rid­dim like it’s absolute­ly noth­ing.

    It’s pre­cise­ly this com­plete ease that sets the 32-year-old apart from his com­pe­ti­tion. In the world full of super­hero per­sonas and shame­less self-pro­mot­ers that dance­hall is today (and, of course, always has been) he has remark­ably few stand­out traits. No excep­tion­al voice like Mava­do or Pop­caan, no flair for the dra­mat­ic like Vybz Kar­tel or Spice, no sig­na­ture look like Alka­line or Ayet­ian, no mon­ster melodies like Shenseea, no high-per­for­mance lyri­cism like Skil­libeng. Quite the con­trary, actu­al­ly: Masic­ka knows exact­ly when a house/mouse or Ghana/Prada rhyme is what’s need­ed to stick. He knows exact­ly how to flash a screw­face for a sec­ond, then look up with pup­py-dog sin­cer­i­ty the next moment. And he knows exact­ly where the mid­dle ground is – the one that’s actu­al­ly gold­en rather than just bor­ing as hell. He sim­ply is on the beat like it’s a law of nature, like nobody else on this wide earth could pos­si­bly be there right now.

    For­ev­er Reign rolls out that gift at its own unhur­ried pace. The album is book­end­ed by two moments of reflec­tion: ”1 Psalm” with Dami­an Mar­ley, whose hip hop reg­gae inna dance­hall style Masic­ka grew up on, and ”Para­bles” with Lila Iké, with whom he’s shared a spe­cial con­nec­tion for years. ”1 Psalm” is on the sur­face a call for ground­ed­ness and the fear of God: a prayer a day keeps the evil away. How­ev­er, one can also hear the song as a mantra, a reflec­tion of Masick­a’s approach as an artist and as a human being: con­sis­ten­cy is key, and con­stant drip­ping shapes the stone until a king is carved. The song sounds accord­ing­ly majes­tic – lion’s roar, melodies like myths, mon­strous drums by Dunw3ll that make The Odyssey sound like a lil’ Tik­Tok, and sharp one-lin­ers from both heavy­weights. Fur­ther high­lights are the glee­ful­ly wired ”Spend” and the afore­men­tioned ”Shakazu­lu,” on which Masic­ka switch­es to boast mode while nev­er los­ing sight of the fact that his cur­rent run is also by the grace of fate. ”If Gen­er­a­tion of Kings was con­cerned with becom­ing, For­ev­er Reign is fas­ci­nat­ed by hav­ing,” Dono­van Watkis and Honi B state at World Music Views. That sums things up well – and this stretch of the album espe­cial­ly.

    After that, it’s most­ly filler. Remark­ably, with Masic­ka, that is some­how a com­pli­ment – a tes­ta­ment to his tal­ent and matu­ri­ty, a gen­uine relief amid the wild over­growth of the atten­tion econ­o­my. Will he reign for­ev­er? In dance­hall, nobody cares about what you said yes­ter­day, let alone what you put out. Right now, though, Masic­ka sits on the throne, undis­put­ed. The Leo Neuge­bauer of dance­hall? If you absolute­ly need your decathlon in there: respect where respect is due.


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