In recent times, there have been talks about new and old cats in the Nigerian music scene, and before then, some other classification existed by which artists were grouped into strata. If any of these subjective metrics hold any tangible weight, then it is necessary that we also recognize a class that we might refer to as the cool cats—artists whose longevity has not exactly paralleled their ascent, artists who float in their own tier, often occupying their unique sonic niches. Patoranking fits firmly here. One of the few Nigerian artists with a patented music style of his own—Reggae-Dancehall, he has remained true to his niche, staying rooted to his origins in an industry where popular sounds are constantly shifting.
On World Best, this eagerness to stick to his distinctive genre is a strength, for how it helps him continue to distinguish himself from the rest of Nigerian Pop, and a weakness, for how the album cannot delineate itself as a sonic era for Patoranking—most of the tracks would fit seamlessly into God Over Everything, Wilmer or Three, his previous releases. World Best is a successor to these albums not just in sound but in spirit, particularly in how Patoranking draws from his faith in the providing power of God. Once upon a time, he started his career with Alubarika, the Timaya-featuring Reggae cut on which he enshrined this belief in God while thanking him for his blessings. He begins World Best with Insha Allah, which bears a similar feeling that reiterates that eleven years after, Patoranking’s hunger for success and trust in God to provide it remains unchanging, unabated even by the heights he has attained thus far.
The production over which he dispenses this sermon is then left to provide the song’s X factor, as Patoranking embraces an unfamiliar Drill beat, spurting out a number of prayer points to the response of Inshallah, the last of which is for the success of the album itself, “This album must to blow, Insha Allah”. Patoranking achingly intends for World Best to be his comeback piece, with which he retains his own share of a market quick to depose inactive kings. If the album’s opener is a church service praying for more success, then the succeeding track, Higher, is a thanksgiving mass praising God for the journey so far. Nigerian Christians across denominations will be familiar with this dynamic of thanksgiving and supplication, though it more commonly occurs in the reverse order. Miracle Baby also fits into the ‘thanksgiving’ half of this balance, as Patoranking chronicles his rise against all odds—”come from the trenches/ Now I’m makin’ Benjis/ Everything plenty”, while Ludacris rolls through his verse with a forceful confidence, espousing the ‘nothing to something’ mantra over Phantom’s minimalist production.
Even when Patoranking’s subject is far from the church, his medium can still feel very religious, like when he interpolates a popular Christian chorus into Gyal Like You —”no no no no since I was born I have never seen a gyal like you”. Or on Amazing Grace, where he muddles celestial salvation with carnal infatuation—”Amazing grace/ Every time I see your face/ All my body just dey shake”. While the reverence (or lack thereof) of these interpolations is a different debate, these songs bridge the gap between the two poles of the album and smoothen the mix for a cohesive LP. When Patoranking leaves the church he immediately heads for his lover’s arms, and he is never alone. He recruits Popcaan for Tonight, basking in the nights where stimuli of both the sensual and euphoriant nature intoxicate the senses—”Shake up your breast please/ On days like these, smoke some trees”, Popcaan says on his verse, only too happy to glide over the groovy Dancehall production provided by DJ Breezy.
On Kolo Kolo, he taps Diamond Platnumz, and the modus operandi is similar. But this love letter, however heartfelt, recycles many worn-out Nigerian pop lines that have now lost their meaning—”My love is bigger than the ocean/ Pon your skin like a lotion/ Loving you is my devotion”. Elsewhere, Patoranking’s lyricism is bland and unoriginal, so not all his ideas are completely conveyed by each song. Woman Of The Year pays homage to a special woman in his life, but it appears that not enough work went into constructing its chorus, so too many lines and rhythms are repeated. His guest, Zion Forster, does not provide the spark the song needs when he gets the chance. On other tracks, though, his guests are well-curated and make memorable cameos. Victony’s shift on the chorus of Babylon—melding his saccharine vocals into the track’s slow swagger—is a stellar addition, as is Gyakie for her duet with Patoranking on Control Me.
Patoranking spares a few moments to speak on societal issues. He sings on Smoke And Vibes on the need to steer clear of Marijuana and the evils that come with it: “I don dey kolo/ I wan pull my Sokoto/ We kon go hit mopol”, while On Abobi, an Afrobeats track supported by cultural drumbeats and jazzy saxophone, he sings about a city thrown into anarchy on the death of an innocent man “Dem don’t kill Abobi O/ Na who kill Abobi o?”. The female backup vocalists, the instrumentation, and the message are mildly reminiscent of Fela’s Afrobeat, but once more his writing obtunds the severity of the message he passes—”Fire, fire, fire”, he sings on the chorus.
Patoranking’s album is named as a claim to be the World Best, but that, just like his prayer to be richer than Dangote on Inshallah, is most likely a combination of hyperbole and faith-fueled hope. Nevertheless, World Best is another installment of Patoranking’s display of virtuoso and ingenuity, and, despite subpar writing, a reminder for his name to be included in conversations around Nigerian music’s upper echelons.