Talhah Yunus is back—and not just with any project. He returns with Shikwa (Side A), a solo album that sounds like a smoke-filled lament drenched in existential angst. As I nod along, I can feel the cinematic weight of every track.

With ten songs, Yunus crafts what feels like a gritty monologue delivered under a flickering Karachi streetlamp, cigarette smoldering, pistol resting on the table. This is noir rap. This is desi existentialism in a leather jacket. And this might be Yunus’ most powerful self-portrait yet.

He Opens with Fire, Then Dives into the Flame

Yunus opens the album not with an invitation but a warning. Wazir Patar slides in with slick Punjabi verses, and Rap Demon slices through with sharp delivery. Yunus doesn’t just rap—he stalks the beat, delivering lines like he’s chambering bullets. The mood feels dark and theatrical, setting you up for aggression—but Yunus flips the script. Instead of sticking to smoke and bravado, he exposes raw emotional depth.

Musically, Shikwa (Side A) balances drill-inspired swagger with introspective stillness. Producers Umair and Jokhay create a minimal but potent soundscape of icy synths and ambient flourishes. The bass hits hard but never overwhelms, giving Yunus’ steady, often wounded voice the space it needs to land.

He Peels Back the Persona, Layer by Layer

As the album unfolds—from Takeover to Fancy—Yunus begins to fracture his rap persona. He still flexes with confidence, but you can hear doubt creeping into the gold-plated world he builds. On Shopping, a catchy beat masks a cynical truth. “Karachi is my home and my warzone,” he spits—reframing consumerism as survival.

Guess Who’s Back hits like a villain’s re-entry, but Yunus isn’t chasing charts. He’s clawing back identity. Each verse nods to his past but avoids nostalgia. This isn’t Burger-e-Karachi Yunus; it’s a darker, more bruised version trying to find clarity in chaos.

He Collaborates with Purpose, Not Just for Hype

Yunus doesn’t use features as filler. Dawgs with Talha Anjum feels like two veterans speaking in code—intimate and restrained. On Happen, Faris Shafi brings confession-booth vulnerability, and Yunus meets him there. Together, they turn the beat into a space of emotional free fall.

With 100%, Shareh adds laid-back ease to a lo-fi-leaning beat. It’s a breath of fresh air. Majaal, featuring Shamoon Ismail’s smooth vocals, floats with a softness that balances the album’s grit. Yunus spaces out these lighter moments carefully, ensuring they soothe without diluting the album’s core.

He Ends with the Heartbreak Before It Happened

The album closes with Shikwa, its emotional anchor. Urdu poetry filters through as Yunus delivers, “Kya hi shikwa karein phir, teri ghalti nahi hai.” The production drops away just enough to let the heartbreak breathe. It doesn’t just end the album—it lingers.

Cleverly, Shikwa (Side A) retroactively reframes Shikwa (Side B), which he dropped last year. Side B mourned the fallout; Side A captures the denial, ego, and illusion before the crash. Together, they form a nonlinear heartbreak—a rap duology that says, “Here’s who I was, and here’s where it all broke.”

A Story Only Yunus Could Tell

Shikwa (Side A) succeeds where many solo debuts stumble. Yunus weaves narrative, mood, critique, and character into a personal yet universally resonant journey. The album isn’t flawless—but its imperfections feel intentional, even poetic.

Should we dare ask for a Side C? If it comes, bring tissues—and a body bag. Because if Shikwa (Side A) starts the story, we’re definitely not ready for the jawab.

Shikwa (Side A) is now streaming on YouTube and Spotify.

Also Read: Talhah Yunus’ ‘Shikwa’ Album Includes Talha Anjum Cameo