If you’re looking for the elasticity of Love, Damini, the lush, penetrating sound of Twice As Tall or the Afro-fusion firepower of African Giant, then Burna Boy’s No Sign of Weakness might not be the album for you. It isn’t an album about breaking down or heroically lifting up; it’s about holding steady, even if that means having a grenade, a Glock or just a pair of heavy Timberland boots that can easily step on enemies. But still, its reputation precedes it.
From the outset, Burna Boy holds firm, whether in the high-octane, boot-matching, police-taunting energy of No Panic, or the soft, lambent tenderness of Love. No Sign of Weakness is endemic yet eclectic — a sonic patchwork that seeps into your consciousness rather than slaps it. It doesn’t explode; it occludes. Like someone drowning, reaching for the surface but not quite making it. Like sleep paralysis — you’re awake, but can’t move.
The first track, No Panic, evokes the spirit of Fatai Rolling Dollar’s Ori Wa a Dara. High-energy, street-rooted, lawless, the production jitters with jagged beeps and clattering percussion, begging for a bottle of Burukutu — not just any alcohol, Burukutu. The refrain “me i no panic” reminds us that Burna shows no sign of weakness in his craft and indeed in his life. He doesn’t mind a brush with prison — just as he’s had before.
Following the eponymous track, Buy You Life tones down the energy and the succeeding Love follows suit — lowkey and smooth. But then comes TaTaTa, which cuts through the haze: husk-like, like the sound of chaff separating from seed, with Travis Scott frontlining the winnow: “shake that culo, now!” It might’ve been underestimated as a single, but it’s done numbers and made its rounds, landing quickly on Apple Music’s Top 40 in Africa upon its release and garnering over 8 million views on YouTube to date.
Then there’s Come Gimme — sweet. No, sweet sweet. Like a cold pineapple drink under a hot Caribbean sun kind of sweet. There’s a hazy tint to this track, like a sepia-toned rom-com scene — the kind you watch while curled up with the love of your life. While that song does linger, Burna boy quickly takes his flowers elsewhere, giving them to a Nigerian Legend: a bite-sized sample of Lagbaja’s Gra Gra. Here, the highpoint ‘no do no do’ is worked into Dem Dey — a nod to old-school Afro-groove and the shapeshifting Afro calypso tradition.
While I mentioned in my last Burna album review that Love, Damini stretched wide and experimented heavily, No Sign of Weakness doesn’t venture quite as far. Instead, it localizes, leaning into African-inspired rhythms. Hence, my earlier comment about being endemic even while assorted. Yet even then, a track like Sweet Love throws us back into a reggae rhythm, settling like mist on a mountain top, making you feel light-headed, like you’re falling in love and trying not to go all in. Teetering on the edge.
Burna Boy then brings it back home again with 28 Grams — a straight-up Ajegunle vibe. As a 2000’s throwback, the track keeps you grooving, tapping, and if your legs permit, breaking into some “give dem galala” moves. No apologies.
From Lagos to London, the album quickly traverses both presence and style with Empty Chairs, led by none other than Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones. It is probably the album’s only true sonic experiment, along with Change Your Mind featuring Shaboozey, but it works. Jagger sounds like Alberta Cross riffing on Low Man, or vice versa. It’s raw. Out-of-place in the best in-place way.
Amid the album’s confident delivery, one could argue that No Sign of Weakness lacks a clear, choreographed direction — that its emotional highs and lows feel disjointed, or that it misses some of the chronological flourishes we’ve come to expect from Burna Boy. Think of how the Love, Damini album ends with the very words ‘Love, Damini’ in the last track, Love, Damini, or the transition from Level Up to Alarm Clock in Twice As Tall — small but deliberate narrative loops. Some songs on No Sign of Weakness also don’t leave a lasting impression. And yes, the weight of any new Burna Boy album often bends under the legacy of his past work. Still, No Sign of Weakness does enough to stand on its own.
Whether you’re driving through Ikorodu with a bottle of Orijin Bitters, or sipping The Macallan on your way to the Forest of Dean and Wye Valley out in Gloucestershire, this album rides with you. It’s not tethered to its antecedence — and that’s the point. This is an album of chilled vibes, a little love here and there, succulent grooves, and subtle storytelling. Even with a title like No Sign of Weakness, there’s no overcompensation — just steady assurance.
It’s a solid 7/10 project from Burna — and no, he doesn’t need to keep matching his past works. This album ensures his spot in the mainstream stays secure, with tracks already scattered across Spotify and Apple Music playlists like stardust. And that, honestly, is enough.
Imisioluwa Ogunsunlade is a multimedia writer, critic and PR practitioner who was born and bred in Nigeria, wrote from the bustle of Lagos, and now writes from the diaspora. He is contracting abroad and stretching back to the homefront.
