HUPENYU MUROMBO & TAWANDA CHARI
If Zimbabwean hip-hop had a pulse check for authenticity, vulnerability, and creative risk taking, Those Around Me Tape by RayKaz would make the heart monitor light up in symphonic green. It’s a sonic odyssey of introspection, family tension and political reckoning, all delivered through the precision of a man who clearly studied the art of storytelling from the likes of Kendrick Lamar and J. Cole but translated it into something deeply personal, deeply African.
From the first violin stroke on “Warm Intro: BDale Tales”, the tone is cinematic—Han Zimmer-level cinematic. It’s an opener that feels like a Marvel post blip moment: powerful, chaotic, but beautifully ordered. Tehn Diamond’s cameo on the intro sets the thesis: RayKaz isn’t out to prove he can rap (though he can); he’s out to embody who he is. “Stay pissed off like a closed bathroom” hits like a meme; a sign we’re in for a project that might be provocative.
The single “Too Much” feels like Ray’s confidence anthem. A rebuttal to every doubter. The “Sun and Ray” bar and the easy flow flips showcase his lyrical wit, while Suhn’s presence keeps it light, as if to remind us Ray doesn’t need to try too hard to sound big.
Then there’s “Born A Victim”, which is as political as it is poetic. The opening news montage snippets about colonisation, Mugabe quotes, and police brutality sets the tone for one of RayKaz’s sharpest social commentaries. His wordplay is venomous: “Ray Kaz switches flows like RBZ switches currencies.” This is protest rap, but not in the sloganeering sense. It’s frustration intellectualised, history reinterpreted through personal pain.
On “Yo’s Story/CJ’s Sorrow”, Ray enters darker, more emotional terrain. The production feels ghostly. Complete with ambulance samples and heartbeats. It’s a song that begins as a love lament and morphs into a heartbreaking narrative of grief and suicide. His storytelling evokes good kid, m.A.A.d city’s “Sing About Me,” but instead of Compton, it’s Harare’s shadows that echo in his pain.
“Tahani” (with Malik The Rainman and Liam Leezy) is Ray’s neosoul detour, a record that smells like incense smoke and midnight introspection. Over Dilla esque drums and velvety textures, Ray bares his soul: “I almost killed myself seven separate incidents.” Yet, he flips trauma into activism, calling out performative morality: “You shouldn’t get no credit for basic decency.” It’s a message that lands hard, especially in a society still grappling with gender based violence and mental health taboos.
“RIP Sporkie” provides emotional contrast. A lush, R&B infused ode that floats between luxury romance and survivor’s guilt. 9xne and Shefsnow’s harmonies blend seamlessly with Ray’s introspective verses, though the reggae switch midway slightly derails the momentum.
By “Blafrican”, RayKaz is in philosopher mode. Black identity, economic struggle, and existential reflection converge. “Your opinion won’t help me feed my granny,” he spits, with a kind of weary clarity that mirrors everyday Zimbabwean frustration. The track’s saxophone backdrop feels like a smoky Harare café scene where intellectuals and hustlers meet over coffee and unfulfilled dreams.
“We Up” is a soulful high point featuring Ishe, combining lofi bounce and emotional gravity. Ray bares personal scars. His sister’s chemo, his fears, and faith without losing groove. It’s one of those songs that sound light but weigh heavy after multiple listens.
Then comes “Ray’s Insomnia”, the most vulnerable stretch on the tape. Here, Ray speaks candidly about depression, loss, and the constant shadow of his father’s political legacy. “My biggest regret is people thinking my pain don’t count ’cause my dad’s a minister,” he confesses. For once, “mwana waMinister” becomes a symbol of burden, not privilege.
The closing “I Got It” is Ray’s magnum opus a 12 minute finale that unfolds like a three-act play. Switching perspectives between himself and his father, the song captures generational trauma, reconciliation, and pride. It’s poetic, spiritual, and cinematic. The musical equivalent of ZESA returning after a week long blackout. He ends with a Kendrick Lamar interview sample, sealing the thematic loop of inheritance and influence.
Throughout Those Around Me, RayKaz embraces his inspirations without imitation. The Kendrick and Cole fingerprints are there the interludes, the voice notes, the Hood Politics homage but Ray repurposes them into something uniquely Southern African. It’s collage artistry: chaotic but coherent, experimental but grounded.
Album Rating: 7.8/10
Listen to the album by RayKaz here:
https://open.spotify.com/album/4s4kZ8iMDvZgbrpSDWaRT9?si=EHJkANv8TsOE5TPW2ZFCEg
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