There’s a certain type of rapper who doesn’t need to scream about how authentic they are because the authenticity is baked into every syllable. Black Silver, better known as The Navigator, falls squarely into that camp. His new single “It Was Written” doesn’t so much announce itself as it does loom into view, slow and deliberate, like something inevitable. Which is fitting, because inevitability is the point.
From the jump, DJ Obi’s production doesn’t try to dazzle. Instead, it sits in this heavy, ominous pocket of sub-bass rumbling, sparse percussion clicking like a countdown. It’s cinematic, yes, but not in the way blockbuster beats usually are. This isn’t Hans Zimmer horns or cheap “epicness.” It’s quieter, darker, more suffocating. It’s the sound of the walls closing in. And then Black Silver starts rapping, and suddenly you realize the beat wasn’t sparse at all; it was making space.
His delivery is the opposite of frantic. He’s not rushing to prove his point, because the point has already been proven. Each line feels like it’s been carved out of stone, measured and unyielding. There’s a lived-in weight to it; of the cadence of someone who has already survived the chaos he’s describing. Where younger artists might shout about fate, Black Silver states it flatly: this is how things are, this is how things have always been. There’s nothing glamorous in his fatalism, and that makes it all the more chilling.
Lyrically, “It Was Written” is a meditation on destiny, but not in the pseudo-mystical way rap sometimes leans on. This isn’t about stars aligning or divine intervention. It’s about the hard, ugly truths of a life that often feels preordained; streets that swallow people whole, cycles that repeat no matter how hard you fight. When he says it was written, it’s less prophecy and more indictment.
And it works because of that restraint. The song doesn’t offer catharsis, it doesn’t crescendo into hope or resolution. It just… ends. The way real life often does, without tidy closure. That’s its strength. In three and a half minutes, Black Silver and DJ Obi manage to trap the listener in inevitability, and then leave them there.
“It Was Written” isn’t designed for comfort. It’s designed to sit with you, like an afterimage burned into your vision. A reminder that sometimes the most powerful statements don’t roar. Rather, they whisper, and dare you to lean in.
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About the Author
A tenured media critic known working as a ghost writer, freelance critic for publications in the US and former lead writer of Atop The Treehouse. Reviews music, film and TV shows for media aggregators.
