Review Summary: A standout on the British hip-hop scene and a vocal, necessary statement on modern existence
Even though his name may not be as familiar as a multitude of other artists within the genre (even only those within the British hip-hop/grime scene), a mere cursory look at Akala’s output will indicate that this is one of the biggest injustices in the realm of modern rap music. Where other artists will berate such a fact through their music with aggressive threats and put-downs of record labels who refuse to acknowledge their talent, Akala channels his seemingly boundless energy into rhymes that not only inject a much-needed sense of relevancy into the scene, but also put many listeners to shame with the amount of book-smart intelligence and witty perception found in his work. In 2006, when Akala was still a fledgling artist, he declared his material to be ‘like Shakespeare, with a nigga twist’. A touch over the top in message, perhaps, but at that early point when Akala was still rapping about besting his competition and gunning down rivals (though not without a touch of irony), no one could have predicted quite how prophetic those words would turn out to be. His material is fiercely well-rounded and sharp as razor wire, with a flow that is organic yet always unpredictable wound generously about the unusually musical backing tracks. He has also been featured on several topical talk shows, leaving his music completely out of the frame and instead discussing real political issues with an insight which humiliates the political players also featured on the panels. Having a rapper demonstrate as much substance as Akala is a rarity all its’ own, but when every aspect of his musical package is polished to this degree, it is the equivalent of musical gold dust. Despite this polish, it never feels overproduced or lacks appropriate vibes- rather it always feels down to earth with one foot firmly planted in the ethos set forth by the grime scene of London, with off-kilter hooks, skippy beats and the occasional ‘rolling’ delivery style noteworthy within the genre.
The Theive’s Banquet is more or less Akala’s political manifesto, coupled with a scathing critique of the current system. Although a large deal of the issues tackled on the release concern British issues and UK politics, a great deal of these concerns are rather universal and can be found within all modern political organizations. Whilst the two parts of the album’s title track represent a fully-formed concept (a concept that would have perhaps been better suited to being fully fleshed out during the album, rather than a mere two tracks), the rest of the songs are concerned with problems that emerge from such political systems, and although ‘politcs’ could be seen as a consistent theme throughout, no two of the tracks 100% focus on the same issue. Racism, classism, government propaganda, technological advancement and the tax on human existence are just a handful of Akala’s more prominent bugbears, but he presents the issues with such verve and eloquence, even in rhyme form, that listening is more than a satisfying experience; the content feels legitimately important, laden with witty asides and clever references that poke fun at, draw attention to, and more often than not, rip the arse out of modern policies and traditions that do nothing but cause citizens to suffer. Somewhat unfortunately, a good few of the choruses on the album feel a little awkward, as it has been attempted to shoehorn in melodic refrains with the oftentimes breakneck-pace of Akala’s rapping, and this does not go unnoticed. ‘Malcolm Said It’, ‘Pissed Off’, ‘Our Way, The Way' are particularly guilty of this, as they contain some good ideas, but in execution manage to come off as uninspired. Interestingly, the first two tracks ‘Let It All Happen’ and ‘Lose Myself’ suffer a similar problem but due to the maintained vibes of Akala’s delivery, the choruses feel less negative and more organic- perhaps penning a chorus more appropriate to the song would lend the aforementioned choruses some credibility. At the opposite end of the spectrum, ‘The Thieves Banquet’ and ‘A Game Called Life’ feature wholly appropriate choruses, with the former utilizing mock monk chanting in an inspired, decidedly dark addition. Instrumentation throughout the release is solid, and Akala’s favouring of truly instrumental backing tracks over hip hop beats is very obvious, although these sort of beats do also pepper the album occasionally. Ultimately, it serves to add variety and give the release another USP in the realms of modern rap music.
Akala’s bread and butter on The Thieves Banquet is the theme, and it is undoubtedly the album’s strongest asset. Relevancy is the key word, as a myriad of issues- economic, social, and political- are presented with startling poise in the form of Akala’s very particular brand of streetwise poetry. ‘Another Reason’ is a composition focused on everyday propaganda, and the idea if one looks a little deeper than the caricature of modern life with which they are presented, they will find true reasons to not just simply ‘exist’, but contribute something in their lifetime and have their existence actually mean something. On this track, Akala cleverly points out how human priorities lie in the wrong places, by asserting ‘We’re so busy noticing money doesn’t grow on trees, we’ve forgotten that food does, and it’s the food that we need’- simplistic it may be, but an extremely succinct point noted in a clever way so as to stay with the listener. Akala makes no pretence of being an amateur philosopher- he is simply a face in the crowd with the ability to call things as he sees it, and this everyman attitude shines through absolutely every track. Following song ‘Old Soul’ is quite a good example of this, being a nostalgic hark-back to the days of music now deemed ‘classic’, as opposed to the corporate-sponsored quagmire of mediocrity found in modern music charts. A sleazy, jazzy instrumental with a flat, smoky-lounge style piano hook sets the backdrop, as Akala paints a picture of a world of contribution to music, across all continents; a portrait of solidarity in a world that tears itself apart over petty differences. An clever political illustration it may be, but also a nostalgic glimpse of a time when music was about artistry in expression across the board, rather than a corporate-mandated bottom line.
The true standout of the album, however, is most definitely the title track; ‘The Thieves Banquet’ explores its’ concept with vicious aplomb, making some explosively hard-hitting assertions against the tones of some troublingly dark instrumentation. The track concerns four groups of people (The monarchs of empire, a cartel of bankers, the heads of religious orders, and the third world dictators) presenting their case to the Devil as to why they are the most wicked people in the world, and as Akala notes before the track begins proper, ‘we have recorded the events for posterity’. Everything on this song from the grandiose yet fitting opening narration to the use of organs during the clergy’s verse, is supremely well thought out and pulls no punches with its’ content. It is just something of a shame this track is so limited in scope, instead of being a recurring concept throughout the album. Despite this, it is the clear highlight, and most definitely showcases Akala’s lofty ambition as commentator. Elsewhere on the release, ‘A Game Named Life’ is another noteworthy highpoint, featuring a toe-tapping rhythm and a well-implemented chorus by collaborative partner Mai Khalil, who really brings some character to the track. Of course, the notion of life as a game is hardly a new concept, but Akala delves deeper, discussing the ‘rules’ of the game and even provides reason for the nuances and quirks in everyday human life to reflect this: ‘Does the game only begin when the umbilical’s severed? Is that the reason baby’s born screamin’, cuz they know they left the spirit world to live here with no meaning, among demons?’ It’s remarkably erudite lyrically, and his diverse wealth of flows celebrate this lucidity that allows the elements to go hand in hand perfectly. The only track that feels slightly throwaway is ‘Our Way, The Way’, which stand out as plainly uninspired alongside the other material, but does also demonstrate a somewhat more positive focus than the rest of the release. Does the positive pale in significance next to the negative because the negative tends to be all humans focus on? A possible demonstration of art imitating life it may be, but it still lacks the gut-punch straight-talking Akala is noted for.
The Thieves’ Banquet is an excellent collection of tracks, and all hip-hop fans globally should take the time and experience it. Akala’s delivery flits so comfortably between speedy and plodding it feels smooth as silk, despite his thick London accent. All flows are finely honed and the instrumental backing beats allows the experience to feel suitably raw despite the somewhat broad scope of the content. A few of the rhythms become repetitive on occasion, and some of the choruses could do with some tightening, but in the sheer passion and emotion of the material is where Akala’s strength lies. And maybe this is his greatest asset; he demonstrates real anger and frustration at issues that plague the common man. He is not singing about everyday troubles and grievances in a highrise studio counting his millions in pocket change inbetween takes; he’s down at the poverty line with everyone else, expressing his rage at the fact there’s governmental bodies around the world who still won’t look after their own people, and instead choose to exploit them. Although there have been a couple of UK protest songs in recent years (Plan B’s ‘Ill Manors’ springs to mind), there haven't been nearly enough to demonstrate the disillusionment with the current system, and a person's voice being heard is the first step to having these complaints acknowledged. Akala has again crafted a full album of knowledge and substance- almost an Immortal Technique for British values. His impressive intelligence and extensive knowledge of history helps to facilitate this angst into an expressive critique on the system, and listeners can only hope that one day this important movement in British music will be acknowledged on a far wider scale.
