Asake’s smash hit, “Wa,” off his latest album, M$NEY, is one of those quintessential songs one would have expected to not surpass being just a filler record on an album. However, as is typical with Asake’s artistry, the song is magnificent enough on its own to stand as a timeless sound piece, and for several reasons.

Asake began his run more than a decade ago, but hit the limelight around the tail end of the COVID-19 pandemic, when his effortless Fuji-toned pop fusion began soaring across Afrobeats airwaves. His bubbly, high-spirited cadence matched the amapiano-laced beats he kept jumping on, and much of that stellar run has consolidated into him becoming one of Afrobeats’ superstar musicians of this era. How he treats “Wa” is another masterclass in becoming one.

Interestingly, a record like “Wa” was not only the brainchild of Asake. It is the handiwork of a handful of creative individuals, including Temitope Salami, one of the composers credited on the record. His work alongside the other composers showcases an intentional sensitivity to African fusions, especially the strain Asake has been running with since his breakout moment.

One can hear it in how Blaisebeatz’s production is treated almost like a magic carpet over which Asake’s spirited vocals can soar. The gravity holding that flight together is the composition itself, as Salami and his cohorts build a simple melodic architecture that bandies the record as an evergreen gem.

One of its brightest highlights is how the composition slices the song into a few simple but powerful melodic sections. It begins with Asake’s declaration that he has been “searching,” establishing the song’s central theme of affection and yearning. Salami and his co-composers weave that idea throughout the record, repeatedly returning to it across the intro, pre-chorus, chorus and outro. It becomes a lyrical motif and one of the record’s stickiest phrases.

Beyond its sticky lyricism, another technique elevating “Wa” is its antiphonal arrangement. Asake frequently sings in short bursts while responses, repetitions and ad-libs flank his lead phrases. In stretches such as the “Abena” sequence, two or three words can carry an entire rhythmic idea. The repetition itself becomes percussion, falling comfortably into the broader pace of the song.

Asake’s cadence already arrives with the rasp and dramatic inflections of his Fuji influences. On a record as soulful as “Wa,” with its soft amapiano pulse tucked underneath, the composition knows when to give that voice space. Some of Asake’s shiniest moments emerge around these transitional sections, where his vocal energy rises without disturbing the warm tonal balance cushioning the record.

One can hear a musician pouring emotion into the song, with enough tension in the writing to make that yearning believable. Salami and his cohorts flank that emotion with soothing repetitions, measured phrases and melodic responses. That delicate handling of tension remains one of the composition’s strongest achievements.

Also, the pauses that flank the song are just as important. Across “Wa,” brief instrumental pockets emerge where the vocal melody retreats and the composition is allowed to breathe. Percussion, chords and horn-like textures become easier to notice, giving the ear a short release from Asake’s vocal presence before another phrase arrives. These moments create immersion through restraint. Silence, or near-silence, becomes part of the arrangement rather than an empty space waiting to be filled.

It also strengthens the record’s replay value. Each return to the central refrain feels familiar without becoming completely exhausted, while the short melodic sections keep the song moving through its roughly two-minute runtime.

“Wa” ultimately shows how much good composition can achieve with relatively uncomplicated material. Salami and his fellow composers build around repetition, vocal phrasing, emotional pacing and melodic breathing space, allowing Asake’s personality to remain at the centre without overwhelming the music around him.

For a song that could easily have disappeared somewhere inside an album, “Wà” refuses to behave like a filler. It sits at 8/10.