Deportee — Detroit-raised, Jamaica-rooted, and shaped by a childhood scattered across eight countries courtesy of a diplomat father — has built a career on refusing to sit still genre-wise, and this track is no exception. Reggae's loping low end gives the song its spine, Dancehall supplies the swagger in the percussion, and somewhere in the vocal phrasing you catch the clipped cadences borrowed from Hip Hop, with R&B smoothing the edges whenever the melody threatens to get too rough. The result is a record that refuses easy categorisation, which has long been Deportee's calling card, though here the genre-hopping occasionally feels less like alchemy and more like a man trying on three jackets before deciding none of them quite fit.

The lyric itself is unambiguous: a direct address described as a message to the black nation, and an ode pitched squarely at black women and what they have carried, built, and been denied credit for. Sincerity of this order is rare in pop music and deserves credit on its own terms — too much contemporary songwriting hides behind irony or vagueness, and Deportee does neither. He says the thing. The cost of saying the thing so plainly is that the song occasionally reads more like a manifesto set to a beat than a piece of music that trusts its listener to arrive at the conclusion themselves. The great soul records this clearly wants to sit alongside — Aretha, Nina Simone at her most political — earned their authority through ache, through phrasing that let pain and pride coexist in the same breath. Deportee's delivery, by contrast, is declarative almost throughout, more press conference than confession.

Deportee remains a genuinely interesting proposition: an itinerant songwriter using the tools of three or four black diasporic traditions at once, in service of a cause he clearly believes in without irony or hedge. "Black Women Are Not Cheap" is a worthy, warm-hearted single, generous in spirit and unafraid of its own earnestness. Whether it lingers in the memory the way the best protest-adjacent soul music does is a different question, and on this evidence the jury is still out. But a songwriter willing to risk sentimentality in pursuit of tribute is, on balance, more interesting than one who plays it safe — and Deportee, eight countries deep into a restless musical education, shows no sign of doing the latter any time soon.