Album Review: Promoter Call Seventeen Days by Admiral Tibet The Bionic One
Alright, let’s get this straight—Promoter Call Seventeen Days isn’t your average reggae album. It’s raw, unfiltered, and hits like a bassline you can’t ignore. Vintage Production didn’t just slap this together; they gave us something gritty, real, and damn memorable. Leebert Morrison on composition? Ivor W. Broderick producing? Yeah, that combo works. Like peanut butter and hot sauce—unexpected but perfect.
First up, “Seventeen Days.” This track grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go. The rhythm is hypnotic, almost taunting you to stop nodding your head. But trust me, you won’t. What sticks out here is how stripped-down it feels, no overproduced nonsense—just pure vibes. You can tell Morrison knows his craft because every note sits right where it should. And those lyrics? Man, they hit different. It’s not just about hearing it; it’s about feeling it. By the time the track ends, you're left wanting more but also kinda exhausted in the best way possible.
Then there’s “Promoter Call,” which flips the script entirely. If “Seventeen Days” is introspective, this one punches you in the gut with its energy. The horns scream urgency while the drums keep pushing forward like they’ve got somewhere to be. I ain’t gonna lie—it took me a few listens to fully appreciate what’s going on here. There’s layers to unpack, man. Layers! But once you do, it clicks. That moment when everything aligns? Pure gold.
Now, here’s the kicker: for all its brilliance, this album feels like it doesn’t give a damn whether you like it or not. And honestly? That’s why it slaps so hard. It’s not trying to impress anyone—it’s just doing its thing, loud and proud.
So yeah, if you’re into reggae that doesn’t play it safe, grab this album. Just don’t expect some polished, radio-friendly crap. This is the real deal, straight from the soul. Oh, and one last thing—why does no one talk about how underrated Admiral Tibet The Bionic One is? Seriously, someone needs to figure that out.
