Some might argue that God And Time, the newest album from Vybz Kartel, is technically the onetime dancehall king’s second album since he was released from prison in 2024. He spent more than a decade behind bars after receiving a murder conviction (now overturned) in what’s reckoned as Jamaica’s longest trial. 2024’s self-explanatory First Week Out, however, was more digital mixtape than full album, 33 minutes of material recorded—in fact, quite literally phoned in—while Kartel was still locked up. God and Time, by contrast, is Kartel’s official “allow me to re-introduce myself” moment. As its name suggests, it takes thematic swings of global and even cosmic ambition.
The more metaphysical of these lyrical aspirations are spelled out in the album’s intro and title track, a minor-keyed and reflective exercise in what might be called garrison gospel. This particular mode of dancehall is best exemplified by Kartel’s protégé Popcaan on “Silence” and his former archrival Mavado on “On the Rock.” Kartel’s take on the trope is less of the “calling on God to smite my enemies” sort of prayer and more of a plea for healing in the face of persecution.
Thirteen years’ incarceration on flimsy evidence surely qualifies, and “God And Time” starts the album on a strong, if heavy, foot. The next few tracks, however—the wispy, cotton candy synths of “Soft Girl Era,” the saccharine “Some Days”—stumble with a lightness so insubstantial it feels like they are hardly there. Some of this can be put down to the production; Kartel’s longtime collaborator and established hitmaker TJ Records conjures a palette more suited to the trebly ionosphere of Spotify streams than the groundshaking speaker stacks that once fortified dancehall’s earthly domain. But something seems to be missing in Kartel’s lyrical approach as well. Lyrics like “Soft Girl Era, more than a Hot Girl Summer” reach for relevance with Instagram catchphrases now seven years out of date. Worse, on these first few tracks, Kartel’s flow seems to have lost some of the roguish spark that made him a star in the first place.
This change jumps out even more glaringly on “Genie” precisely because the production kicks up a notch in urgency (and down a notch in sub-bass). The approximate rhymes of the hook “If I was a genie/Would you be greedy?/Or would you really need me?” come off laughable. It’s not because the old Kartel wouldn’t have thrown down such awkwardly paced bars—he absolutely would have, but he would have done so with an impish glee and a taunting flow that disarmed the listener long enough to for the deejay to deliver a coup de grâce with a devastating gun lyric or barbed battle rhyme, alternating between venom and goofy humor. Here, both are replaced with a put-on earnestness that proves a poor substitute, tempting the listener to skip ahead to the album’s collection of bold-named features.
Of these, there are at least half a concert’s worth, including several generations of dancehall royalty (Spice, Shenseea, Skillibeng, Mavado) as well as Afropop king Wizkid and urbano star Farruko. This mirrors Kartel’s triumphant return to the stage with a sold out, two-night stand at Brooklyn’s Barclays Center in April 2025, where he served his fans’ pent-up demand with selections from a deep catalog of boom tunes, alternating with a host of international guest stars performing and paying tribute. These cameos also served to spare Kartel’s diminished breath control, due to a rare autoimmune condition called Graves’ disease.
In the studio, Kartel appears to be confidently in control of his voice. Yet as on stage, he seems to draw energy from having an artistic foil to play off, and the album’s first real sign of life is “Confessions,” a duet with his old sparring partner, Spice. Even if the production feels tinny, Spice and Kartel bring the best out of each other in this sexual cabaret.
The Wizkid collabo “Stay for the Night” is also solid, though its grown-and-sexy tone serves Wiz better than it does Kartel. Again, the earnestness doesn’t sell lines like, “Come celebrate your breasts with my tongue.” Again, the reunion invites less than favorable comparisons to past collabs, like 2017’s infectious “Wine to the Top.” Still, each of God and Time’s collaborative tracks works on some level. “Casi Casi,” with Farruko, is a Spanish guitar-driven excursion into romántico that allows the sharper edges of Kartel’s chat to shine in contrast. “Panic” with Shenseea is a catchy if cliché rework of the ubiquitous “Bam Bam” riddim. But the strongest may be with Mavado and young gun Skillibeng, who each bring out a rougher and more compelling Kartel.
Mavado and Kartel were once mortal enemies, generals on opposite sides in an ugly dancehall war that defined a whole era of the genre. Hearing them bury the hatchet to speak their respective clout on “Hype Life” is enormously satisfying. But ultimately, there’s only one track, the cracking “Round and Round,” that delivers a solo performance from the new Kartel that could stand toe-to-toe with the old.
Over a kick and snare finally peaking in the red like a properly overmodulated dancehall riddim, Kartel rinses ludicrously raunchy chats like “When me set you pon yuh back/Tek mi cock/Foot over my shoulder like mi Louis knapsack.” Daring you to be offended or laugh out loud, he follows up seconds later with “Make you curl up yuh toes/The cocky make yuh pussy wetter than a puppynose.” The diabolical inventiveness of Kartel classics like “Fever,” “Benz Punany,” or “Go Go Club” is amplified here by the special joy that resides in knowing that the deejay has walked through the shadow of the valley of death and lived to chat this fuckery.
While each of the featured collaborations may find their own audiences—reaping the demographic dividend that comes from combining dancehall’s fanbase with that of Afrobeats and dembow—they never seem to speak to the same ideal reader (or dancer). The album is missing the recurring themes or motifs that might stitch it together into a coherent statement, or the consistent quality to make it a no-skips set of hits. If he’s ever to reach back to that place where he could fling down the rhythmic virtuosity of “Round and Round” on tune after tune, Vybz Kartel may need to find more God, and even more time.
