J Hus - Common Sense

The Guardian 80

(Black Butter)

If there was one thing you might not expect from 21-year-old east London rapper J Hus, it’s a bold sax solo. And yet the opening title track of his debut album sets out his stall as a dude of unashamed groove by pairing his biting, guttural rap with some funky disco-brass. Not to be confused with plain old grime (so 2015, guys!), J Hus leads a wave of MCs who blend the genre’s hard-hitting, distinctly UK flow with bashment and Afrobeat. On Common Sense, Hus show that mix’s true breadth, from playful braggadocio about partying, chasing girls and being, as one song title has it, the “Bouf Daddy”, to introspective moments such as Spirit, on which loopy synths and polyrhythmic brilliance meet Hus’s weary-sounding motivational speaker. Other tracks explore self-discovery and street life (Who You Are, Good Luck Charlie) with the jazzy piano of 90s west coast hip-hop. But while the gunshot-littered Clartin and Goodies are far harder than any recent grime track, it’s the upbeat window-winders that really bang. The sound of the summer? You know it makes sense.

The Guardian 80

(Black Butter)

The humid mishmash of cultures and sounds on J Hus’s debut is London incarnate: bashment, “UK afrobeats”, grime, hip-hop, R&B and garage are all manifest. While Common Sense finds the Stratford singer/rapper going indulgently long at 17 tracks, the quality is undoubtedly consistent – be it the richly produced Bouf Daddy, the dancehall-inflected, hazy Fisherman or the sun-drenched Good Time, featuring Burna Boy. J Hus imbues an admirable introspection to his bangers, as likely to bring in his Ghanaian heritage or consider his past illicit behaviours as he is to spit wry bars on smoking and partying. This is 2017’s zeitgeist Notting Hill carnival soundtrack.

Pitchfork 78

If you’re a rap fan, at some point this year, someone is going to recommend that you listen to J Hus, a 21-year-old from East London who raps with a gravity beyond his years. His music is boldly personal, and he’s a technically precise, adaptive vocalist. He can hit complicated patterns, pack color into his writing, and harmonize more effectively than artists with decades of experience. Enthusiastic coverage of J Hus has leaned heavily on his ability to blend a variety of musical styles—Afrobeat, dancehall, W. Bush-era hip-hop, tinges of grime—into a coherent, singular vision. His debut album, Common Sense folds all these influences into a world that is specific and engrossing. But there’s more than that: J Hus’ debut serves as a unique coming-of-age story, one that should resonate on both sides of the Atlantic.

J Hus was born Momodou Jallow in London to a mother who had emigrated from Gambia in her 20s. When he was a child, Hus (for “hustle”) accompanied her to parties where he was introduced to music from Africa. (Jae5, the producer responsible for crafting and expanding J Hus’ sound, spent three years in his parents’ native Ghana, making for another important connection to the continent’s pop music.) The Afrobeat threads run through Common Sense, alongside grime’s menace (see “Clartin”), contemplative pianos (“Who You Are”), or the sheen of turn-of-the-century Roc-A-Fella (the title track). The shifting musical styles underscore Hus’ own versatility; he flits from a lilting sing-song to something more gruff and guttural easily and without hesitation.

The production on Common Sense also pulls from a wide swath of source material, but J Hus himself is firmly rooted in hip-hop. J Hus has cited 50 Cent as a major influence, and on “Good Luck Chale” he channels mid-period Cam’Ron. Passages like “Who You Are”’s, “My pockets ain’t fat, they’re just big-boned/I sweet-talk my chicks on the flip phone/She wanna send me nudes, but ain’t no WhatsApp on a brick phone” would fit right in on a breakout mixtape from a New Yorker. The booming “Goodies” even recalls Notorious B.I.G.’s “Suicidal Thoughts,” the common denominator between the two artists being their comfort trafficking in Jamaican rhythms.

As J Hus’ popularity exploded in London over the past two years, he also became a target for enemies both in and out of police uniforms. Early last year, he served five months in prison on a weapons charge; in the summer of 2015, he was stabbed multiple times and rushed to the hospital. From his bed, he posted a jarring photo to his Instagram, flashing what appears to be a gang sign while a doctor tends to an open wound on his leg. London police have banned J Hus from playing headlining show in the city, a fate familiar to rappers worldwide. Despite these roadblocks, he’s become one of the most promising rising stars in UK music.

His album is alive with this tension between the larger-than-life, invulnerable character he sometimes embodies on wax and a thoughtful, sensitive adolescent. The elastic bounce of “Bouff Daddy” might as well be the theme for a superhero but “Closed Doors” hears J Hus, over a vintage trumpet line, deliver the kind of earnest, eager declarations everyone makes when they’re 18: “I’ma give it to you all, give you everything/And even take you where you never been.” “Like Your Style” is soaked in Ciroc, but he’s pouring it in wine glasses while he entertains girls from the local university. In many ways, this is an album about someone on the brink: of adulthood, of death, of fame and fortune.

And so the musical diversity on Common Sense feels less like a formal exercise or a crash course in curatorial tastemaking, and more like the hyperactive, omnivorous brain of a 20-something who has a WiFi connection and a flat in one of the world’s biggest cities. What it reveals is someone of talent, ambition, and enough wit and self-awareness to keep that ambition grounded in reality. It’s an excellent debut from an artist on the cusp.