It’s been four years since Dave has offered the world a slice of his mind. Since his introspective spectacle ‘We’re All Alone In This Together’ in 2021, Dave has gone on a features run: releasing the 2023 collaborative EP with Central Cee, ‘Split Decision’, which spawned the record-setting hit ‘Sprinter’, and showing love for the UK underground rap scene by lending a verse to frontrunner Jim Legxacy’s ‘3X’ earlier this year.
But the world hasn’t gotten to hear the inner workings of south London’s truest poet until now. With ‘The Boy Who Played The Harp’ – his third full-length record – Dave has delivered an album that is technically flawless and lyrically impeccable, a commanding work that confirms his place as one of the most accomplished voices in UK music, even if its sombre weight occasionally tempers its immediacy.
Throughout the album, Dave explores the biblical power of his namesake, King David from the Book of Samuel, who played the harp to soothe troubled spirits. Whether the rapper fully achieves this or not is questionable, but the more you listen, the more it seems like the album’s purpose perhaps isn’t to lift our spirits. Instead, it captures a snapshot in time that speaks to his generation.
The former Mercury Prize winner executes this perfectly on songs like ‘Selfish’, ‘Fairchild’ and ‘Chapter 16’ – launching listeners into cinematic vignettes, painting the most vivid scenes with the rawest words. On ‘Selfish’, assisted by James Blake’s ghostly production, Dave continues his quiet rebellion against masculine repression – turning therapy into theatre, and confession into courage. It’s a revolutionary act in itself: a man daring to name the emotions he was never taught to hold.
‘Chapter 16’ is a crowning moment, too. In the biblical story referenced throughout the album, King David is chosen by God through the prophet Samuel, and on this record, Kano takes on a role similar to the latter. Over a debonair instrumental, the two generations of UK rap sit across a dinner table trading fears like old friends – one wrestling with legacy, the other with longevity. Kano even anoints Dave as “the rap messiah” while sharing his observations of UK rap’s evolution, making the track a spiritual handover where the old guard blesses the new generation.
‘Fairchild’ is particularly striking as Dave and newcomer Nicole Blakk go back and forth, bringing hip-hop back to its spoken-word foundations. The latter’s chilling appearance gives a voice to women silenced by rape culture and femicide, sharing the bleak reality of those left unheard. Dave provides a nuanced male perspective: disgusted by red-pilled counterparts yet questioning his own complicity: “All know a victim, don’t know a perpetrator / Am I one of them? The men of the past.”
And yet, you can’t shake the sense that you’ve seen this film before. The major themes remain: trauma, therapy, confession, redemption, and social responsibility. The palette is more refined, but the movements feel familiar. Where his previous albums (2019’s ‘Psychodrama’ and 2021’s ‘We’re All Alone In This Together’) arrived in the moment and dominated the game, ‘The Boy Who Played The Harp’ realises Dave’s genius again rather than redefining it.
There are no album smashes like ‘Location’ or ‘Crash’ were for ‘Psychodrama’ and ‘We’re All Alone In This Together’, respectively. Even his groovier collaborations – the Isaiah 54:17-chanting ‘No Weapons’ with Legxacy, and the Tems-featuring Afro-house-inspired ‘Raindance’ – are slick and upbeat, but only offer a small moment of levity through a restrained groove rather than any seminal erupting moments. Dave’s delivery throughout is blunted by solemnness, as if he hoped to make an unrelenting thinkpiece over something anthemic. If that’s his purpose, he’s perfected it.
Dave’s music will always be regarded as high art, and ‘The Boy Who Played The Harp’ continues his stream of providing true slice-of-life depictions of a Black British man in London. However, some elements of his cathartic raps are starting to err on the predictable side. Although the record is vivid, striking and thought-provoking – with nearly every song on this album a deep, pensive sonic sulk – the south Londoner’s voice is beginning to slip further away from a generation he intended to represent: one that’s done overthinking and just wanting to feel.
