Société Suspecte by Suspect95 (feat. Youssoupha) is an awesome song. The beat is so cool, but I couldn’t find anything on the producer, Parvel. I was just clicking around Suspect95’s discography and quickly knew this was the song I wanted to focus on. The hook is the coolest part, with crazy stuff happening in the beat, and the title lyric “société suspecte” feels very hard. It’s like a song you listen to when you’re walking somewhere late at night, and you don’t want anyone to talk to you, volume to the max, maybe a little pissed off. It hits hard even without knowing what any of the lyrics mean, and it’s a hook anyone can catch onto. The sound in general is very cool, but Suspect95’s lyrics are an overall commentary on the “suspectness” of society. He touches on topics like religion, corrupt politics, and women, with lines like “3000 registered users, 56000 voters, these guys aren’t hiding anymore, where has respect gone?” and “Tell me what you hope for, you have to adapt or shut up because society is suspect.” His style is also a bit witty, but he makes some profound comments on his own life and the Ivorian social climate. I enjoyed the pairing of those two aspects. It makes the commentary feel extra relatable. 

A man wearing a mint green suit, sunglasses, and a gold necklace, posing confidently against a dark background.

The song is the title track of an album with other great songs like Maman and Adigbaté (feat. Kaaris). The album incorporates some maimouna and coupe decale elements, which I loved. Like my recent experience listening to Yeuene Lion’s album, which features Suspect95, I enjoyed this entire album thoroughly. Société Suspect was the first song I heard, and none of the others disappointed. 

Suspect95 is from Abidjan and has collaborated with many artists, such as Himra and Kaaris. He is 30 years old and has been releasing music on Spotify since 2015.

Leave a Reply

Trending

Discover more from The Hip Hop African

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.

Continue reading