The Trinity

Latest (and probably most significant yet) in an apparently endless line of Jamaicans fusing largely US-derived gangsta rap stylings with their homeland’s reggaefied grooves, and speeding up the results for maximum floor-shaking impact, Kingston bad-boy Sean Paul is unlikely to revolutionise his nation’s musical history in the manner of a Scratch or Prince Buster. Nonetheless, there’s enough edge on his third outing, The Trinity, to suggest he has at least an even-money chance of cutting it as a more credible latter-day incarnation of chest-beating predecessors like Shabba and Shaggy.
Rapping at lightning speed in a heavily-accented baritone set to hyperactive electro riddims, Sean Paul’s stock-in-trade is slick, commercial but undeniably invigorating dancehall toasting that barely pauses for breath. Had Mikey Dread waited until the 21st century to surface and grown up on Busta Rhymes records, it’s a fair bet he might have sounded something like this. The record’s most consistently impressive feature is Sean Paul’s voice itself, a booming cavernous force of nature that crams in a genuinely astonishing ratio of words per minute: while the backing occasionally inclines towards repetition, the energy levels are impressive.
Lyrically, he has two main axes to grind. The futility of brothers fighting and killing one another for a few quid is examined to reasonably touching effect on ‘Never Gonna Be The Same’, a heartfelt tribute to some recently-slaughtered mate of his. Mainly, though, he’s interested in the female form: ‘Give It Up To Me’ is a perfect summation of Sean Paul’s cut-the-chit-chat approach to seduction, imploring some slapper to surrender herself before he runs out of patience, in a manner forthright and direct enough to make 50 Cent resemble one of Jane Austen’s perfect gentlemen.
Generally interesting, occasionally sizzling, and as infectious as the plague, The Trinity will sell by the million. Non-genre fanatics might be less than riveted, but it’ll be a surprise if this doesn’t lift its creator into the rarefied stratosphere of ghetto superstars.