Review by Tim MartinHip-hop is not under the vultures’ wings. Wesley Williams moulds this pure, beautiful art form, casting orchestral refreshment with his wand. This wizard of rhymes has been swinging the baton since before this reviewer was born. Escaping the vultures, the tropes of the album take us back to the Egypt-Sinai pilgrimage. His mindscape might be the desert, but the Maestro is spitting Promised Land verse.
And yet, he is distinctly a Canadian rapper. Complete with references to Harper’s leadership, Rob Ford’s appetite, and even a terse nod to the young Drake, we are anthropologically situated in Africa, yet simultaneously north of the 49th. The album features key players in the scene that Williams has evidently explored extensively. From Kardinal to Saukrates, to Lights and Sam Roberts, we have a record full of Canadian passports.
Musically, we are brought back to that opening scene of the “Let Your Backbone Slide” video, where a much younger Maestro sits at the stepped keys of a pipe organ. He now lets the organ, cymbals, jazz piano, and searing guitars let loose in finely layered fashion. On tracks like “Salute” and “Stranger” we get back to the gospel the Maestro has preached since his inception. Scratches that get beneath the surface, bass lines that ruffle feathers, beats made for a sermon and a rousing Amen, and as Williams expresses, a “DNA [that] is half rap, half black activist.”
Hip-hop’s revival and refinement come from rappers that “spit fire.” Unafraid to enter the spheres of the political and the spiritual, in a nation that is politically and spiritually sick, Williams enters the ring with orchestra baton and a razor-sharp vernacular. It is a journey to a holy land. This rapper is legendary, and the legends are true.
