The arpeggios and the melodies of the wind instrument that begin the 3-minute Otan make it dramatically suspenseful.
The record producer’s “Number One” tag swiftly and befittingly follows, prompting the listener they are in for an exhilarating music trip curated by a champion, if not two. This is the work of Michael Owusu Addo, better known as Sarkodie, in the company of his arguable favourite music producer MOG Beatz.
Otan is Sarkodie’s latest release, a classic Hiphop piece which comes on the heels of a successful This Is Tema concert. It is simultaneously telling of the two-time BET award winner’s readiness for his upcoming flagship Rapperholic event for the festive season.
Lyrically, Otan is an apologetic piece explaining Sarkodie’s temperament and preference for solitude. It bemoans failed professional relationships, asserts his era-defying dominance, subtly responds to detractors and attacks he has endured within the year 2023, as he dishes out peppering motivation through a storytelling style which feels personal but also invites listener customisation.
On the refrain, which opens and closes the song, he weeps – Sarkodie notes ongoing battles with “demons inside of me”. Even though he intimates conscious effort at self-control, he apparently warns a woman – not too difficult to guess who: “I’m too sensitive [so don’t touch my ego]”.
As though sniffling after crying, he takes stock of how, this year, in spite of several attempts by key players and comrades of his industry to assassinate his character in suspected hopes of staining his legacy and aborting any further ascent for him, he mocks: “still I’m breaking records”.
His resolve now, in view of unreliable friends and an ambush of hypocrites, is to recognise “only God is my hero”.
When the chorus follows, the listener is tactfully swept off their feet into the air by a choral simulation, majorly performed by an unnamed talented female singer. She is in solemn prayer for “angels” to “cover me every day, cover me every night [because the sensiless hatred has gotten out of hand]”.
With euphoric faith, she declares “higher we go,” and pulls a sweet double entendre, lauding her host and still exhorting the listener “highest we [will always be]” – Sarkodie’s alias ‘The Highest’, has a 2017 album for buttress.
The first verse, in rap, notes God is the ultimate judge, the church is a clinic for the broken, fellowship is a balm, and a mother is the ultimate nurse: “When I was losing the battle, you told me to keep on, and then you gave me a shoulder to lean on.”
When the chorus returns, the listener is ready to sing along. It is easy to recall the lines and it is a necessary prayer.
The second verse is a vengeful rap flow of a man touted as the Landlord of African rap music. The wailing and fear have subsided after a talk with God, religious fellowship and in view of the energising power of steadfast familial love. The eagle, thus, majestically screams: “My value [is shooting up] like a vintage Impala [and now, no one is my friend] because a lot of you [people] be hating that [I wield] all of this power”.
When he warns your “idols [will become] your rivals,” is he addressing the issue with his senior, and erstwhile friend and sporadic collaborator Samini?
For a song that advocates unwavering faith in God, emphasising the need for reading and praying with Christian scriptures, and with a chorus which will tempt church choristers, Sarkodie utilises explicit language. Perhaps it is consequent of his being “too sensitive” or maybe it is to remind the listener they are listening in on the private midnight-hour psalm of a bruised man – maybe both. It is certainly not for a church service, unless lyrically sanitised. It is but a ghetto gospel.
Source: classfmonline.com
