Review: Asake Sticks to Familiar Territory on M$NEY Album

On M$NEY, his fourth studio album and first under his independent imprint, Giran Republic, Asake arrives at that point.

Few Nigerian artists have built momentum as quickly or as convincingly as Asake. Since breaking into the mainstream through Olamide's YBNL in 2022, he has delivered three albums that helped shape the current direction of Afropop: Mr. Money With The Vibe, Work of Art, and Lungu Boy. Across those projects, he cultivated a distinct musical identity rooted in Fuji textures, streetwise lyricism, booming log drums, and memorable choral refrains. More importantly, he sounded hungry.

By the time Lungu Boy arrived, that formula had already begun to stretch. The album hinted at a musician willing to move beyond the familiar, even if not every experiment landed. In the months leading to M$NEY, Asake leaned into reinvention once again. A carefully staged visual rollout, new hairstyles, military-inspired aesthetics, and the release of "Military" all suggested another shift was coming. The early singles, from "Why Love" to "Badman Gangster" with Tiakola, and the striking live performance of "Worship" alongside DJ Snake, only deepened anticipation.

The intro, built around isiZulu-inspired chants and atmospheric vocal layering, reaches for transcendence but never quite grips. It feels more ceremonial than magnetic. That spiritual tone carries naturally into the already familiar “Worship,” where Asake returns to one of the recurring pillars of his music: gratitude.

"Alhamdulillah" becomes both refrain and thesis. It is not a new emotional register for him, but it remains one of the few places where he still sounds fully connected to something deeper than surface pleasure.

That same devotional energy spills into "Gratitude," another log-drum-led meditation where faith and survival meet. Asake has always known how to make spirituality feel organic rather than ornamental, and here that instinct still serves him well.

The album becomes more interesting when it leans into amapiano. On “Rora,” produced by Magicsticks, shakers, airy saxophone passages, and an electronic pulse combine to create one of the album’s most immediately engaging moments. The production is alive, fluid, and textured. But the writing does not quite rise with it. The song feels more memorable for its arrangement than for anything Asake actually says.

“Amen” follows a similar path. The lyrics are blunt and direct, circling around ambition, wealth, and relentless focus. It fits the album’s title and central obsession, but it also points to one of M$NEY’s recurring weaknesses. Where earlier Asake songs often felt layered with coded language, street wit, and sly turns of phrase, much of this album opts for simplicity that sometimes borders on thinness.

“Wa” is one of the stronger mid-album cuts. Its violin flourishes and rhythmic bounce give it a rich sense of movement. “MCBH” (“Money Can’t Buy Happiness”) also feels closer to the Asake listeners first fell for. His elastic cadences return, the slang lands more naturally, and the hook has a lived-in ease that much of the album otherwise lacks.

The pre-release single “Why Love?” offers one of the project’s softer moments, while “Forgiveness” briefly turns inward. Here, Asake sounds less interested in spectacle and more interested in reflection, asking for grace after past missteps. These moments are welcome, not because they are groundbreaking, but because they reveal emotional textures the album too often leaves untouched.

“Oba” opens beautifully. A bassline rolls in beneath the calming sound of running water, creating an atmosphere of quiet contemplation. But once again, the promise of the production outweighs the writing. The same cannot be said of “Badman Gangster,” where Tiakola’s guest appearance injects the song with needed sharpness and lift.

The latter part of M$NEY is where its energy finally loosens.

“Asambe,” featuring Kabza De Small, is among the album’s brightest moments. Its house textures, bright guitar work, and propulsive rhythm feel genuinely liberating. Here, Asake sounds more playful, more relaxed, and more comfortable surrendering to groove. “Skilful” extends that same nightlife energy. It closes the album on a sensual, easy-moving note that feels fitting, even if not especially surprising.

That, perhaps, is the clearest way to understand M$NEY. This is not the album of a man fighting to prove himself. It is the album of a man who already knows he has won. The frantic ambition that powered Mr. Money With The Vibe has settled into poise. Asake’s voice is calmer now, his performances more measured, his instincts more economical.

But with that calm comes a certain loss. The production across M$NEY is consistently excellent. From Magicsticks to BlaiseBeatz and DJ Snake, the sonic architecture is often thrilling. Saxophones shimmer, violins swell, house rhythms pulse with force. Even when individual songs fall short, the beats rarely do.

What feels missing is the sense of surprise. On earlier projects, Asake often sounded as though he had too much to say and too many ways to say it. That abundance was part of the appeal. Here, he often sounds more reserved. The ideas are clearer, but also less layered. The songs are cleaner, but less gripping.

For listeners drawn to the bolder experiments of Lungu Boy, M$NEY may feel restrained. It does not radically expand his sonic world, nor does it consistently stretch his writing into new territory. Instead, it mostly circles familiar themes of money, pleasure, faith, and status.

That does not make it a weak album. It makes it a settled one. On M$NEY, Asake no longer sounds like an artist chasing the future. He sounds like one standing firmly inside the success he has already built. The confidence is undeniable. So is the control.

What is less present is the restless spark that once made every Asake release feel like a new frontier.

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