‘this is a love letter not only to Nigerian art but the country that birthed, clothed and bred me’
Moving from Nigeria at 7, 19-year-old heavensouls projects African excellence into an ode to their home country: deeply political, artistic and at the helm of their genre.
Westside Trapped opens as an introduction to heavensouls; the production depth and range, the deep recognisable voice, and the message - Westside Trapped is Nigerian art, created for and by a Nigerian artist. Track 2, wake yo ass up for the national anthem, puts drums at the forefront of what sounds like the Nigerian national anthem, leaving you with the feeling that you’re so close to the parade that you can barely hear the anthem itself. It would be fair to say that if the credited NYC Lagos Brigade Band had a role to play on this album, it was most probably here.
The project continues to surprise - Track 4 playing around wit a flip, whose post-irony title denotes a casual demo session, is a polished and entirely impressive song to dance to. It blends Juju rhythms with a gruff Kenny-Mason-on-‘Stick’ yelled verse, only for it all to be slowly overwhelmed by airy synths, and finished off with a scrappy drum solo any trad band could be proud of.
The tail end of the project is the perfect finisher; track 6 shed a tear for me echoes the albums blend of traditional continent percussion and new gen glitch production across a 9 minute journey. Lyrics of ‘I can’t breathe’ and ‘I wasn’t there’ (the latter sung in French) hint at a deeper sentiment, which is brought to ethereal completion via a grungy guitar whine. This leads into track 7, aptly named o di gbere, is a hauntingly beautiful way to end the project, with ambient water and air sounds providing a spacey ambient frame for an array of instrumental and vocal refrains - a soothing farewell.
On a personal note, heavensouls might have the most impressive body of work I’ve ever encountered, and Westside Trapped fits right into the crazy portfolio. If you find yourself with 36 minutes, this is what they’re for.
Words by Orion Wheatland