Son of Elvis is a powerful introduction to an artiste with a remarkably broad and expressive artistic vocabulary, while for existing fans, it feels like a fitting continuation of his journey, offering a deeper understanding of the person behind the music…
By Yinoluwa Olowofoyeku
Johannesburg-born singer, rapper, songwriter and producer Marcus Harvey has spent the better part of the past decade developing a sound that sits comfortably between R&B, soul, hip-hop and South African musical traditions. Born Lawrence Harvey Ofentse Mashiloane in Alexandra in 1999, Harvey began making music as a teenager under the name Hipnautik, cutting his teeth through school rap battles and open-mic sessions before gradually incorporating singing into his artistic vocabulary. His musical upbringing was similarly eclectic.
Raised by a single mother whose music collection introduced him to artistes ranging from Brenda Fassie and Winnie Mashaba to Selaelo Selota, Fela Kuti and Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Harvey absorbed a broad musical language that would eventually become central to his own work.
His 2020 debut album, I Am Marcus Harvey: You Don’t Know Me Yet, announced that sensibility with an alternative R&B sound built around his ability to move between rapping and singing. The independently released project reached No. 75 on the overall Apple Music chart and No. 3 on the Alternative chart within four days, earning Harvey an Apple Music Artiste of the Month distinction and placing a young artiste from Alexandra firmly on the radar.
He followed with the 2021 EP You Still Don’t Know Me, before returning in 2024 with Now You Know Me, a project that pushed his blend of R&B, Soul, Jazz, Hip-Hop and Afrobeat further while exploring identity, community and self-discovery. The progression was also personal: Harvey has spoken about how incorporating his mother tongue into his singing helped him find a sonic identity that felt distinctly his own.
Now, Son of Elvis extends that journey into even more intimate territory. Released on 28 August 2026 through Stay Low Records, the 13-track album continues Harvey’s reimagining of neo-soul through both South African and American musical traditions, while songs such as the Sepedi-language “Mmangwane”, the Mick Jenkins collaboration “Come to Me” and “Who Is Elvis?” reveal the breadth of his approach.
The title itself carries a deeply personal meaning. Elvis is Harvey’s father’s name, turning Son of Elvis from what might initially sound like a playful reference to the King of Rock and Roll into a reflection on fatherhood, family and a side of his own history that has remained largely unexplored. Having grown up primarily within his mother’s side of the family, Harvey now turns his attention towards the paternal lineage that has existed somewhat outside the frame of his previous musical self-portrait.
“Rebecca’s Prayer [Intro]” opens Son of Elvis in almost ceremonial fashion, beginning with dreamy grand piano before organic group vocals emerge around it. The choir has an angelic quality without sounding overly pristine, instead retaining the texture of real voices gathered together, while birds and other environmental sounds ground the recording in nature. A piercing, high-register vocal then enters, almost entirely ethereal and reverberant, giving the song a distinctly spiritual and cultural character.
The Sepedi lyrics reinforce that sense of collective supplication, with the chorus singing, “Bana ba gago ba tletše sello / Ga re sa na le kgotlelelo / Batswaletše le menyako”. [Your children are filled with tears / We no longer have patience / Close the doors.] Later, plucked strings, nylon and acoustic guitars, pads and sweeping strings gradually broaden the arrangement, but the song never loses its organic character.
Everything feels deliberately experiential, as though the purpose is less to establish a conventional song than to immerse the listener in a place, a feeling and a story. It is an evocative opening that establishes spirituality, community and atmosphere as important pillars of the project.
“Mmangwane” maintains that spaciousness while introducing a more clearly rhythmic framework. A long, sustained electric-piano or synth chord glides beneath subtle instrumental accents, including a wailing string texture that gives the arrangement an almost otherworldly quality. Gentle percussion provides the pulse in place of conventional kick drums, using syncopation reminiscent of Afrobeats while remaining remarkably light on its feet.
Over it, Marcus Harvey sings in an extraordinarily high register, frequently approaching falsetto, with layers of reverb allowing his voice to dissolve into the surrounding atmosphere. Deeper harmony vocals occasionally emerge beneath the lead, giving the song additional warmth. The lyrics introduce a more worldly concern, touching on envy and money, with Harvey singing, “Ba njela mona / Gobane ke humile” [They envy me / Because I am rich].
Yet even this subject is delivered with remarkable gentleness. There is no need for a heavy rhythmic foundation when the gliding chords, bright piano accents, layered vocals and delicate percussion already create such a complete emotional environment. The result is a rich, heartfelt song whose restraint becomes one of its greatest strengths.
“Mapula” marks the first substantial turn towards Hip-Hop, with a funky, almost slap-bass-like bass guitar locking tightly with the kicks and a pronounced clacking snare establishing a head-bopping pulse. Tambourines, bongos and congas sit subtly beneath the vocals, while a bright, twinkling keyboard provides a striking counterpoint to the warmth of the bass. The instrumental palette remains relatively minimal, but the textures are rich, with a sweeping pad enveloping the arrangement and plenty of reverb giving Harvey’s long, sustained upper-register melodies room to breathe.
His singing here feels particularly soulful, leaning more towards Soul than conventional R&B in its cadence, pacing and emotional weight. The lyrics add a playful romantic dimension, as he sings, “Ke go rekela koloi ka tšhelete yaka ya mafello / Fello, fello”. [I’ll buy you a car with my last money / The very last, the last.] The combination of the funky bass, restrained percussion and soaring vocals makes the track feel simultaneously grounded and weightless, and its seamless transition into the next song makes the opening stretch of the album feel particularly intentional.
“Charlotte” continues directly from that transition, introducing soulful, jazzy chords played on a wavering electric piano and a prominent pattern of triplet shakers. A rounded bassline moves beneath the keys while light clicking and clacking percussion keeps the tempo moving, allowing Harvey’s heavily reverberated vocals to remain the central focus. The melodic idea moves up and down the chord progression, evolving subtly while retaining enough repetition to settle into the listener’s ear.
The song’s romantic longing is immediately apparent in lines such as, “I would say I need you but you’re never around / I’m lost in a dream, I cannot find my way around / Your love is all I needed but it was nowhere to be found”. The arrangement expands around the chorus with guitars and group ululations before breaking down into an expressive jazz passage of solo piano and strummed nylon guitars. Even the bass becomes looser and more free-flowing in this section. “Charlotte” consequently feels less like a rigidly structured Soul song than a living performance, with its instrumentalists continually finding small spaces to express themselves.
“Turtle Doves”, produced by Fiji Mageba, is where the project’s lo-fi Boom Bap sensibility really announces itself, and that production style becomes an important thread through several of the songs that follow. Sombre jazz piano establishes the harmonic foundation before thick, flat kicks, warm snares and steady metallic percussion create a swinging, head-bopping rhythm. Marcus Harvey and BLK ODYSSY open with a richly layered chorus, stacking upper-register and mid-range vocals across a wide stereo field so that the voices seem to surround the listener.
Their melodies leave considerable room for the instrumental to breathe, combining Soul, Funk and Hip-Hop in a performance that feels deeply expressive. Harvey then moves into a rapid-fire melodic rap delivery, his bright head voice floating above the piano as warm pads and sub-bass expand the soundscape. The songwriting is similarly rich, drawing on the poetic, consciousness-driven sensibility of Boom Bap rap.
Harvey and BLK ODYSSY trade sung passages and bars, intertwining their voices rather than simply taking turns, while the lyrics frame romance through grand, almost dreamlike imagery. Harvey sings, “You are the missing piece to my puzzle / The one who completes me / The last time I checked you promised that you never gonna leave me”. The chorus then turns that affection into something almost weightless: “I got buckets loads of this love flying like turtle doves / Soaking up in the sun / You and I all is one”. The layered vocals, shimmering pads, wah-like synths and vinyl texture make the entire track feel tactile, like a beautifully worn record pulled from another era.
“Waters” carries that vinyl texture forward while deepening the project’s Boom Bap and Soul fusion. Rich grand piano establishes an almost gospel-like progression, surrounded by Hammond-style keys and other warm keyboard layers, while the drums arrive with a heavy kick and persistent metallic percussion. An agile bass guitar gives the song its Funk undercurrent, with Marcus riding its movement through a performance that constantly shifts between singing and rapping.
The chorus settles into a low, relaxed register, almost conversational in its smoothness, before the verses sharpen into more rhythmic flows and melodic rap passages. The lyrics are intimate and exploratory, framing attraction as something that is still being discovered: “I don’t mean harm, I just wanna know you / I’m a child of the soil, yeah / And you can see my charm / And you know that’s for you / I’m just trying to explore you”.
Elsewhere, he asks, “If the world was against me / Would you still be mine?”, giving the song a vulnerability that sits naturally alongside its laid-back delivery. The simplicity of the drums leaves Marcus considerable space to manipulate cadence, register and melody, making the contrast between his deep, settled chorus and sudden returns to his upper register particularly effective.
“Carried You” leans further into the album’s introspective Hip-Hop writing, pairing emotional piano with wah guitars, a simple bassline and another swung Boom Bap drum arrangement. Metallic hi-hats, off-kilter kicks, hard snares and tom hits give the beat a subtle bounce without distracting from the melancholy at its centre. Harvey responds by largely abandoning his more elaborate singing for straightforward, narrative-driven rapping.
The song’s subject matter concerns support, struggle and the act of carrying someone through difficult circumstances, and the writing is strongest when he allows the story to unfold without excessive technical showmanship. The chorus crystallises that idea in the repeated refrain, “Remember when I saw you down the avenue? / Took you out the ghetto then I carried you / To a better place and a better view / Tell me what it cost to marry you”. [Remember when I saw you down the avenue? / I took you out of the ghetto and carried you / To a better place and a better view / Tell me what it cost to marry you.] Later, Harvey turns inward, admitting, “I’m hiding my own pain / Heart in the slow lane / I struggled before prayin’”.
The juxtaposition of outwardly supporting someone and privately carrying his own pain gives the song an emotional complexity that the restrained instrumental leaves plenty of room to communicate. It closes with what sounds like live-show crowd audio, briefly transforming the intimate confession into a communal moment.
“Come To Me” returns to the jazzier side of the project, opening with muted trumpets, shimmering pads, piano and an agile bass guitar that functions as both a melodic and rhythmic instrument. The trumpets are spread across the stereo field, creating the sensation of being surrounded by a small horn section, while sharp Hip-Hop hi-hats reintroduce the project’s lo-fi Boom Bap pulse. The drum foundation is deliberately simple, essentially a kick-and-snare break with the persistent metallic hi-hat doing much of the rhythmic work, but the combination of bass, piano, pads and backing vocals gives it considerable propulsion.
Mick Jenkins then enters with a fluid, technically agile verse, carrying rhymes and phrases across bar lines with a rapid-fire delivery that recalls the effortless elasticity of André 3000. Harvey answers with his own sharper, melodic rap delivery, while subtle harmony vocals continue to add warmth beneath the bars. The song’s romantic invitation is stated plainly in the chorus, “What you need I got, baby, just come to me my love / Now we’ve seen the worst of me, oh me, oh God”. The juxtaposition between the laid-back chorus and the intricate rap verses gives the song a dynamic quality, with both artistes finding different ways to ride the same Boom Bap foundation.
“Need You” shifts the project towards R&B, replacing the swinging Boom Bap drums with rattling trap hi-hats, 808-supported kicks and rim-shot percussion. The instrumental remains deliberately sparse, with bass, filtered chords, warm pads and occasional high-register grand-piano accents creating a restrained backdrop for Harvey’s voice. He responds with a falsetto melodic-rap performance that relies heavily on cadence and repetition, often circling around a narrow group of notes while allowing the rhythm of the words to provide the movement.
The lyrics blend romantic devotion with the realities of an artiste trying to balance love and ambition. He sings, “Forgive me for the days I can’t be there when I’m needed the most / Gotta earn a living, if it kill me on a different roads / But you’ll always drive me crazy, I’ll be steering ’til I’m old”. That tension between absence and devotion gives the song a more vulnerable centre than its sensual surface initially suggests. Deep backing vocals and call-and-response layers add dimension, while the drums eventually fall away in the outro, leaving the bass, piano and quiet ululations exposed.
“Cotton Candy” returns to Fiji Mageba’s lo-fi palette with perhaps its most immediate rhythmic force. A sharp snare, heavily compressed drums, metallic hi-hats and a pounding kick create a saturated, tape-like texture, while rich grand piano and an unusually agile bass guitar provide the musical heart. The bass almost behaves like a lead instrument, throwing out flourishes and melodic phrases beneath warm pads, twinkling synth notes, subtle strings and occasional brass. Harvey’s vocals are tightly locked to the drum groove, bouncing against the kick and snare rather than floating above them.
The writing is similarly confident, opening with an assertion of ambition: “I’m just tryna build a legacy / A town in this bitch a boy with dream / 7/11 shooting dice in the streets / Can’t compare ’em to me ’cause I’m Black sheep”. The verses then move between English and Sepedi, while the chorus settles into the memorable repetition of “Backseat Thabz smokin’ cotton candy / Niggas say they fire but don’t impress me”.
The relatively simple melodic ideas are less important than the relationship between his cadence and the beat, creating the kind of track that practically demands a head nod. It is also another strong example of Harvey blurring the distinction between rapper and singer, using his unusually high vocal register to make it feel as though the rapper and vocalist are effectively featuring on one another’s song.
“Who’s Elvis” is the project’s most openly personal song, slowing the tempo dramatically and turning the album’s diaristic qualities towards Harvey’s relationship with his father. Echoed grand piano establishes a deeply melancholy atmosphere, while a deep bass synth and pounding kick ground the arrangement. The drums are sparse and half-time, leaving enormous amounts of space around the vocal.
The chorus rises into Harvey’s upper register, but the verses are where the song’s emotional force truly lands, with straightforward, considered rapping used to interrogate memory, absence and unresolved questions. He recalls his father as a complicated figure, singing, “I’m a fuckin’ rebel like my father / And my father is a gangster, ain’t no one above ’em / Drugs, guns and violence, my pop’s a pioneer”, before turning towards the pain of growing up without him: “I remember when he left, my days had no balance / But fuck it was way too young to understand it / But now I’ve grown, and I got way too many questions”.
The writing feels less like performance than processing, almost like audio therapy, with Harvey using the verse to articulate things that were difficult to understand as a child. Even his eventual recognition of his mother’s role in shaping him, “For everything I am today, my mother’s love showed me the way”, gives the song a sense of emotional movement rather than leaving it in pure resentment. The piano then reworks the chorus into a new melodic variation, allowing the song to close on reflection rather than resolution.
“Ndzi Lava Ku China” is brief but sonically striking, built around hard-hitting kicks, crunchy Hip-Hop snares and metallic percussion that doubles as a hi-hat texture. Rounded electric keys establish a sombre chord progression while bubbling synth accents provide a light counter-melody, and the arrival of the 808 gives the instrumental a substantial low-end presence.
The chorus establishes a call-and-response framework around a repeated plea: “Ndzi lava ku cina / Xikwembu xa hina / Ndzi kombela matimba”. [I want to dance / Our God / I ask for strength.] Umthakathi Kush then enters with a remarkably laid-back verse, delivering his lines in a low, almost sung register and allowing the lyrics to breathe rather than rushing through them. Harvey returns to the higher register for the chorus, with group vocals reinforcing the call-and-response structure. The track is intentionally concise, almost functioning as a concentrated experiment in rhythm, low-end and vocal interplay rather than attempting to develop into a sprawling composition.
“Medi Ba Baya [Outro]” closes the album by bringing together several of its established ideas while pushing them into a harder Hip-Hop space. A four-note synth arpeggio loops beneath reverberant grand piano, metallic hi-hats and a trap-leaning snare before the 808 and kicks arrive with enough low-end force to physically dominate the arrangement. The 808 itself becomes playful, moving through gated segments and melodic runs while Harvey raps with considerably more grit and aggression than he displayed on the preceding tracks.
Even here, the diaristic quality remains present, but the writing becomes more outward-facing, moving into braggadocio, self-aggrandisement and criticism of other rappers. He declares, “I’m the greatest they talking about me / Your pockets is you dry they lie and cheap / I don’t do friends I’m all about me”, giving the closing track a deliberately chest-beating quality that contrasts with the vulnerability of “Who’s Elvis”. That contrast feels appropriate for an album so invested in the different facets of Harvey’s identity. There is no elaborate chorus to resolve the project, just an extended rap performance that eventually winds down into bright piano and ticking synths. After an album that has moved so fluidly between prayer, romance, Soul, Jazz, Boom Bap, R&B and deeply personal storytelling, the understated piano coda feels less like a grand finale than a final exhale.
Taken as a whole, Son of Elvis is a deeply moving album, largely because it feels as though it comes from an unmistakably human place. The concept is clear from the outset and, more importantly, is carried throughout the project. The title itself poses a question, and the album becomes an emotional and philosophical exploration of that question, gradually dissecting and dismantling ideas around identity, fatherhood, inheritance and selfhood.
These are weighty subjects that cannot be approached casually, and Marcus Harvey and his collaborators understand the gravity required to give them artistic form. They are skilled enough in their respective crafts to translate those philosophical and thematic ideas into the actual language of the album, allowing the listener to feel the weight of what is being explored rather than simply being told that it is important.
That process begins with the production, which is stellar throughout. The contributing producers bring their own interpretations of Hip-Hop, Soul and R&B into Marcus Harvey’s musical universe, while still contributing to a remarkably cohesive whole. Fiji Mageba’s contributions are particularly recognisable, bringing his lo-fi texture, Boom Bap sensibility and dusty Hip-Hop energy to the tracks he touches, while SundaeBeats introduces a harder, more trap-oriented Hip-Hop sound. Across these different approaches, the production team finds a fluid blend of Hip-Hop, R&B and Soul that reflects the breadth of Harvey’s own musical interests and influences.
These genres all possess an instinct for exposing something of the heart, mind and soul, which is precisely what Harvey is attempting to do here, and the production effectively lays the groundwork for that excavation. Rhythms are often steady and uncomplicated enough to give him room to manipulate flow and cadence, while chord progressions tend to remain grounded and restrained, allowing his voice to do the floating, flying and soaring. His upper register, falsetto and spacious, reverberated vocals consequently become some of the album’s most striking textures. The production does not simply accompany Marcus Harvey. It prepares the space in which he can fully express himself.
And when Marcus Harvey steps into that space, he goes to town. Son of Elvis demonstrates an impressive number of facets to his artistry, moving from the confidence, swagger and braggadocio associated with harder Hip-Hop into introspective, conscious and interrogative writing, before pivoting again into the haunting and deeply emotive singing that has become one of the project’s most distinctive features.
He can deliver quick-fire triplet flows in one breath and then move into a high falsetto, hold a note at the top of his register and layer harmonies beneath himself in the next. Those stacked vocals give his performances depth and robustness, while the movement between his upper and middle registers adds another dimension to his melodies. This versatility does more than demonstrate the roundedness of his artistry. It keeps the listener engaged because Harvey never becomes entirely predictable. Just as one vocal approach settles into place, he can introduce another, forcing the listener to remain attentive and ride along with whatever direction he chooses next.
The lyricism is equally well suited to the album’s central concerns. Given the subject matter, there are numerous directions from which the writing can approach the question at the heart of Son of Elvis, and Harvey makes effective use of that range. “Who’s Elvis” offers perhaps the most direct example, with its deeply personal interrogation of his relationship with his father functioning almost like a letter written across time, while “Turtle Doves” demonstrates a more allusive and poetic approach, using romantic imagery to paint pictures rather than simply stating its emotions outright.
Elsewhere, Harvey moves between clever wordplay and punchlines, straightforward narrative storytelling and diaristic reflections, tailoring each approach to the individual conceit of the song while maintaining the broader thematic thread of identity, self-discovery and personal history. The writing is therefore diverse without becoming disconnected. It feels as though every song is examining a different corner of the same question.
The featured artistes also contribute meaningfully to that sense of exploration. Rather than simply serving as additional voices, each brings a distinct personality and perspective into the world Harvey has constructed. The interplay between Harvey and his collaborators can at times feel almost like two duelling forces building upon and challenging one another, particularly when the performances begin trading bars, melodies and ideas.
On “Come To Me”, for instance, Mick Jenkins is given enough space to demonstrate his own considerable rap dexterity, while still fitting naturally into the sonic and thematic world of the album. That same generosity extends to the other collaborators, allowing them to bring their own questions, personalities and artistic instincts into Harvey’s headspace.
In that sense, inviting other MCs into this project does more than diversify the vocal palette. It gives them an opportunity to explore sides of themselves that may not always find the same expression elsewhere, effectively allowing them to play on Harvey’s playground of self-discovery, identity and self-awareness. There is considerable technical flair beneath the album’s psychological and thematic weight, from the rap dexterity and rhythmic precision to the melodic instinct and genre fluidity on display.
Ultimately, Son of Elvis succeeds because all of these elements are working towards the same purpose. The production sets the table, the vocals explore every corner of the musical palette, and the writing gives the project its emotional and philosophical centre. The result is an album that can engage the listener through its musicianship while simultaneously inviting something much more personal: empathy with Harvey’s story, followed by an opportunity to turn that introspection back towards oneself.
In that sense, Son of Elvis is not simply an introduction to Marcus Harvey’s music. For new listeners, it is a powerful introduction to an artiste with a remarkably broad and expressive artistic vocabulary, while for existing fans, it feels like a fitting continuation of his journey, offering a deeper understanding of the person behind the music and, in doing so, giving them even more reason to follow wherever that journey leads next.
Lyricism – 1.6
Tracklisting – 1.7
Sound Engineering – 1.7
Vocalisation – 1.7
Listening Experience – 1.7
Rating – 8.4/10
Yinoluwa “Yinoluu” Olowofoyeku is a multi-disciplinary artist and creative who finds expression in various media. His music can be found across all platforms and he welcomes interaction on his social media @Yinoluu.