ALBUM REVIEWS
For over two decades, Tottenham’s revered wordsmith Wretch 32 has evolved before our eyes, from a raw talent to a cornerstone of UK rap, taking up space beyond his own records. In the six years since his last album ‘Upon Reflection’, he’s been a creative director for 0207 Def Jam, penned a poem for Stormzy’s 2022 cinematic comeback ‘Mel Made Me Do It’, and written his first book, Rapthology: Lessons in Life and Lyrics. Now he’s back behind the mic, imparting his wisdom in his sixth album, ‘Home?’, his most philosophical release yet.
Despite the Windrush generation’s crucial role in shaping British culture, their descendants still grapple with belonging. As a second-gen British-Jamaican, Wretch seeks to ease that restlessness with a message of healing and growth, promising back in October that ‘Home?’ is for those “who need soul food and something to fulfil them” – but this nourishment is for all of those simply wondering where their home is.
On the fiery ‘Seven Seater’, the Tottenham star makes it known that he’s not “competing with numbers,” just delivering his divine message on heritage and selfhood – quickly expanding to the lived tension between Blackness and belonging. That journey quickly deepens on the indulgent ‘Like Home’ with Nigeria’s Temi where Wretch briefly honours his ancestral home of Africa, framed by Bob Marley’s words: “Every Black man in the West is what he want to be when he goes to Africa.”
He continues his search for belonging with ‘Nesta Marley’. A track swelling with emotional clarity, Wretch and Skip Marley offer a powerful moment of diasporic healing as the former yearns for a deeper connection to his motherland. The intellectual polymath “prays for better days, where we all can live as one” – a call for unity that extends beyond the diaspora to all of humanity. He echoes this sentiment by interpolating the melody of Dido’s ‘Thank You’ on the refrain, reflecting his desire for inner peace and acceptance: “Roots and culture in my system, di I-dem big and strong / People fighting out my window, cyant they see da sun?” As the track closes, the vinyl crackles like a burning chalice, with Wretch’s prophetic, parabolic spoken words soaring higher than I-and-I in this sonic reasoning session.
‘Bridge Is Burning’ with Chronixx mourns the rupture migration leaves behind as adopted cultures eclipse inherited values, the link to the motherland slowly smouldering. That’s why it flows so powerfully into ‘Me & Mine’ – a sunlit, island-fused anthem with WSTRN that doesn’t just bounce for vibes’ sake: it symbolises what we built from the ashes. Haile’s hook fused Wretch’s raw croon with Akelle’s slick lines and Louis Rei’s yard-man style, nostalgically interpolating Sanchez’s reggae classic ‘Frenzy’. This isn’t escapism – it’s a reclaimed sound where the spirit of back home echoes loud.
As ‘Home?’ unfolds, Wretch brings in Black British voices – Little Simz, Benjamin AD, Angel, Skrapz, Tiggs Da Author and more – to help explore love, survival and legacy across Britain’s diaspora. ‘Seven Seater’ sees Wretch reunite with The Movement brethren Mercston and Ghetts to celebrate grime’s Black British roots and the brotherhood that has been central to the genre and Black Britons’ survival. Kano dissects Black Britishness on ‘Home Sweet Home’, using his Jamaican heritage and football hooliganism to expose society’s flippancy between race and nationality, forcing Black people to juggle their identities.
That unsettled spirit reverberates on ‘Windrush’ with Cashh – a rapper deported by the UK Home Office in 2014 who fought for five years to return – exposing generational betrayal. But the sweet-yet-short interlude ‘Home Is Where The Heart Is’ is where Wretch succinctly captures the tension best: “They call me all of the names, under the sun, still I rise, morning come / Home is where the heart is, why do you stay where you are?”
In the end, Wretch’s search for belonging is emotive and heart-wrenching for those who truly understand what it is to be forever torn between worlds. Yet, within that loss, he hosts a homecoming of sorts – an invitation for Black Britons to mourn, heal, and ultimately celebrate what they and their forebears have built despite everything. When Wretch said ‘Home?’ would be “soul food”, he wasn’t kidding. It goes beyond that, becoming a testament to the strength of roots that refuse to wither and a promise that – no matter where you are in the world – you can always find a piece of home in this record.
ALBUM REVIEWS
Grandeur sits at the heart of ‘This Music May Contain Hope’, RAYE’s second album, and the result feels nothing short of breathtaking. On this record, the singer born Rachel Keen explores a wide spectrum of sounds across its 73 minute length, moving from emotional ballads to lively funk moments and the jazz pop style she has become closely associated with. It can feel overwhelming at first, yet the magic that comes from RAYE fully committing to her vision makes the experience rewarding from start to finish.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’, a conceptual project about pushing through insecurity and heartbreak, unfolds like a lavish stage production. RAYE takes on the dual role of main character and guiding voice throughout the story. “Allow me to set the scene. Our story begins at 2:27am on a rainy night in Paris. Cue the thunder,” she says during the opening track ‘Girl Under The Grey Cloud’, which arrives with sweeping orchestral strings. Spoken passages appear across the album, helping shape the narrative and giving the project a sense of direction, almost like hearing the official recording of a Broadway show.
With this framework in place, the South London artist allows herself to fully explore the album’s diverse musical palette, and most of the time it works in her favor. Sometimes she fully embraces the theatrical side of the concept, especially during the closing section of the smooth R&B track ‘The WhatsApp Shakespeare’. Other moments are delivered more straightforwardly, such as the emotional slow building ballad ‘I Know You’re Hurting’. She also revisits her earlier dance influences with the impressive house track ‘Life Boat’.
Across the entire album, two things stand out clearly. RAYE’s flexible vocals sound better than ever, and her songwriting feels sharper than it has before. Take the playful highlight ‘I Hate The Way I Look Today’, a swing jazz inspired track reminiscent of Ella Fitzgerald, where she admits “I’m okay to be lonely / If I’m lonely and skinny / I have such silly self-loathing thoughts, it seems”. Then there is the emotional storytelling in ‘Nightingale Lane’: “It was right there, early June / Next to Old Park Avenue / Standing in the rain, I watched him walk away”.
Despite all the vulnerability and emotional struggles explored throughout the record, RAYE ultimately reaches a place of optimism, staying true to the album’s title. She gathers her close friends on ‘Click Clack Symphony’ with support from Hans Zimmer, finds closure with guidance from Al Green on the smooth seventies soul inspired ‘Goodbye Henry’, and reaches toward something greater alongside her sisters Amma and Absolutely on the uplifting ‘Joy’ as she searches to be “free of all the pain and every fear”. After the stormy opening imagery of that “rainy night” and “thunder”, RAYE eventually realizes that “the sun exists behind the clouds”, as she shares on ‘Happier Times Ahead’.
‘This Music May Contain Hope’ shows RAYE performing at her absolute peak. The album feels huge in scale and emotionally powerful, yet it remains rooted in honest experiences and real feelings. Yes, it asks a lot from the listener, but that is also what makes it so special. Every dramatic moment and musical shift feels like RAYE claiming her independence and finally creating music entirely on her own terms.
