Review

When Burna Boy unleashed *African Giant* in 2019, he redefined vulnerability as regal. Now, with his eighth studio album *No Sign of Weakness*, released on 11 July 2025, the Nigerian artist shuns introspection in favour of defiance—his crown in one hand and a gauntlet in the other. True to form, Burna’s Afrofusion instincts remain in full force. He traverses highlife on “Buy You Life”, drenches tracks in baile funk with “TaTaTa” (featuring Travis Scott), flirts with lovers rock on “Sweet Love”, and even deploys Britrock drama on “Empty Chairs” with Mick Jagger. “Change Your Mind” introduces an Afro-country hybrid with Shaboozey, while “Pardon” finds subtle elegance in a duet with Stromae. Some tracks—“Kabiyesi” in particular—throb with dancefloor confidence, marrying Yoruba cultural melody to house rhythms. Yet across the span of 16 songs, the album’s mosaic décor sometimes overwhelms, feeling more like a playlist of experiments than a singular artistic statement. There’s no shortage of bravado here. The opener “No Panic” bristles with soukous-tinged percussion and lyrics that read like a war cry: “Me, I no panic”. Burna’s pat on the back, delivered with constant repetition, begins to feel more brittle than bold. Lyrically, the mood is defensive. Themes of loyalty, betrayal, online hate and sold-out shows dominate his world-view. At times, it reads as if the album were written in response to internet trolls rather than life’s greater challenges. The star-studded guest list promises much but delivers mixed results. Travis Scott brings trap energy to “TaTaTa”, but it never quite registers beyond the percussion; Jagger on “Empty Chairs” adds rock star glitter, yet the interplay feels awkward and bloodless. Meanwhile, the standout collaboration is unquestionably Stromae’s hushed, lyrical “Pardon” and Shaboozey’s wintry harmonies on “Change Your Mind”, both of which feel purposeful and emotionally textured rather than perfunctory. Under production from the likes of P2J, Telz, Chillz and company, the album glistens with polish. It glides from tech-house to amapiano, reggae to rap, yet this sheen sometimes erases intimacy. Without a pressing message or narrative arc, the sequencing can feel scattershot—grand, but vague. Burna Boy’s grand ambition is apparent in every beat of *No Sign of Weakness*. But in pivoting toward self-fortified strength, he sacrifices the emotional transparency that made earlier albums like *African Giant* and *Love, Damini* feel so lived-in. The production is impeccable, the genre reach vast—yet the humanity at the heart of his art seems muted. In trying to prove he’s invincible, Burna risks forgetting the power in showing he’s vulnerable. For all its brash confidence, *No Sign of Weakness* reveals the cracks in the armour. Let’s hope next time the album remembers to let the man behind the myth breathe again.

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