Astral Realm: An Alternative Roundup #18

Deputy Editor Shahzaib Hussain navigates the cosmos of the newest, most essential alternative releases in this Astral Realm feature; a liminal space and a guide to music emphasising experimentation and musical virtuosity. Each roundup features a Focus Artist interview, a Next Wave artist spotlight, and a curated selection of the month’s noteworthy releases.

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Focus Artist: Ali Sethi and Nicolás Jaar

In his work, Pakistani-American soothsayer Ali Sethi has repurposed the ghazal – a devotional poetic ode tracing its origins to 7th-century Arabia, later brought to the Indian subcontinent in the 12th century. Bringing the format into the present through his training in the lithe frameworks of the raga, Sethi appeals to the modish polyglot living between languages, ideologies, cultures and traditions.

On ‘Intiha’, Ali Sethi and electronic virtuoso Nicolás Jaar conjure a vivid, simulated dream state, unfurling notions of longing, unbridled lust, desolation and morbid sensuality. For Sethi, the moody, mercurial ambiance of Jaar’s 2021 instrumental coda ‘Telas’ gave him a base for a candid examination of what it means to desire and be desired. Whilst Sethi had long identified with the Jaar’s borderless experiments, their creative partnership began in earnest during lockdown. The eight-track ‘Intiha’ is more than just a rework of ‘Telas’, but a separate companion piece. It’s dappled with colour and subtle abrasions in sound – dubs, drones, organs, celestial, synth-toned reprises. Sethi’s melismatic voice displays the twin masks of pain and rapture, adding harmonic density to mantra-like phrases sung in Urdu; perilously close and breathy, other times pitched and altered.

In conversation, Ali Sethi and Nicolás Jaar share their process behind creating an improvised suite of songs, the history and subversive power of the ghazal, and how interpersonal discord can be remedied through the freedom of language.

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As a Pakistani from the diaspora, I’m happy I get to conclude the year spotlighting artists of your calibre and a work I have a natural affinity for.

Ali: Thank you for saying that.

For the layman unaware of Pakistani classical/folk music, what are the core conventions of a ghazal? What made you want to both honour and challenge the format in your work?

Ali: Ghazal is a poetic form. It comes to us from Arabia and Persia. Rumi and Hafez wrote ghazals in the middle ages, Ghalib and Daagh during the colonial period in India. Ghazals are coy creatures: you write a set of rhyming verses that sound alike but vary wildly in theme and subtext. It’s a parlour game, a precious pastime of the demi-monde. The other thing is: ghazals must be written entirely in metaphors. So, the meaning and subject-matter are always coded. It’s all very camp and esoteric, and those are modes I’m naturally drawn to.

Nicolás, were you already familiar with the ghazal, the qawalli, their history and their evocations? Or was this a first time learning curve for you as a musician?

I was aware of the ghazal, but only in a cursory way. Learning from Ali was one of the greatest joys of making the record. I was lucky to experience an intuitive and relational unveiling of the form. It is a learning I hope continues.

Ali, your work seeks to revive the ghazal through a modernist lens; it’s still tethered to its Sufi origins but also rooted in a kind of genre-agnostic alchemy. In what ways do you think the ghazal can be accessed and enjoyed as a contemporary genre? And how has it formed a kind of catharsis or place of reckoning for you?

I think ghazal poetry embodies a playful, paradoxical, never-quite-settled sense of ambiguity. It makes its audience comfortable with multiple interpretations. People who listen to ghazals get to have these mystical trips where they’re simultaneously experiencing sacred, secular, erotic and celestial reverberations. There’s nothing like it in modern life, which puts us in silos all the time. I think I’ve revived and repurposed the ghazal form precisely to battle some of this late-capitalist literalism.

Ali, talk me through your entry point into Nicolás’s work; what song, album or era ignited your love of his music?

I heard ‘Space is Only Noise’ while browsing a boutique in London. That was the first time. I was struck by this music that was electronic but also organic, that glittered but trawled and breathed. Then, a few years later, I heard ‘Sirens’ and ‘Pomegranates’ and knew that Nico was not in fact serving anything as narrow as genre; he was an artiste in the epic sense.

Ali, what components in Nicolás’s album ‘Telas’ appealed to you? What is it in this work that made you draw a parallel to the ghazal?

Its melancholy. Its silhouetted yearning. Its ability to convey emotions without really disclosing much.

Nicolás, what about Ali – his voice, production, creative ethos – spoke to you and made you want to commit to producing this album with him?  

I was struck by how gifted Ali is at recontextualising and continually unveiling new hidden meanings from Urdu poetry and the ghazal form.

Talk me through your process recording together; how much was formed in fragments before you met, and how much of the creation was studio-based?

Ali: We started talking during lockdown. So, it was a series of long zoom calls at first. I set up a studio in my apartment and sent him some vocals over the bits of ‘Telas’ I loved. Then, a few weeks later, he sent me some looped and interestingly altered bits from the ‘Telas’ universe. I found myself reciting over these loops what felt like mantras. We did this sort of thing for a year before meeting in LA, where we got to record together for a week.

Nicolás: Ali sent me a voice memo of him improvising on top of a fragment of ‘Telas’ and I was speechless. It was what was always missing in the record, a path. In a way, for me, ‘Telas’ was always a question mark. When I heard Ali singing on top of it, I instinctively felt that he had answered the question.

‘Nasar Se’, the lead single, is a glazed reverie of febrile pleasure. Lyrically, it pulls from a poem by your teacher Farida Khanum. What are you communicating with this one?

Ali: I’m so glad you like it! I’ve always loved the lyrics because they’re about loving someone just by looking at them. It’s such a universal expression of unrequited love. But also, if you’ll allow me to veer off a cliff for a moment, it’s about cruising in the queer sense of the word. It’s a lusty night-time tryst; the sense of not knowing if the person being admired is also communicating in kind, the presumptive thrill. I find that so appealing!

‘Muddat’ is the rare moment of musical communion in the sense that it ups the tempo – a kind of South Asian hybrid equivalent to rave. Talk me through the creation of this one and what you wanted to evoke in the imagination of your listeners?

Ali: ‘Muddat’ is our most chimerical track, in that it rises from a spa-y slumber, bops to flamenco-qawwali handclaps, and then goes up in silky techno flames. It plays out like an adventure. That’s how I felt making it with Nico too. We made it from scratch while sitting in the LA studio; just taking a bit from ‘Telas’ that I loved and then madly riffing through the day.

Nicolás: We were working on the record inside the rehearsal studio for my band Darkside, as we were just getting the band back together with Dave and Tlac. We had a wurlitzer in there, a drum set and some random percussion. I initially wanted to solo on the wurli on top of an existing fragment of ‘Telas’ and then that bassline happened. I remembered we looked at each other and were like: ”Should we go there?” We very much went there. I played a bunch of percussion we had lying around and Ali recorded the vocals there and then. In a few hours we had the basic song. It felt like what a potential next collaboration could look like; jamming and letting things emerge.

Ali’s vocals are incredible throughout. How did you approach the vocal production on ‘Intiha’? As a textural device or a narratorial one? A bit of both? Were there registers or cadences you accessed on this project you hadn’t before?

Ali: Thank you. Yes, I think you’re right: I did go places on this record with my singing that I’ve scarcely explored. On ‘Lagta Nahi’ for example, I’m singing in this near-death whisper that wouldn’t be audible without a microphone. On ‘Muddat’ I’m positively belting. In the course of making this record I also shed many of the traditional inflections of Hindustani singing that tend to signal plaintiveness or abject want.

Nicolás: I always felt the vocals needed to be front and centre. I didn’t want it to ever feel like the music from ‘Telas’ was some “random electronic noises” that would disturb the depth of the message. There are some more ambient treatments of the vocals which were all Ali’s idea.

What’s your favourite song or moment on ‘Intiha’ and why?

Ali: I think it’s the track called ‘Dard.’ It marries such disparate elements — raag Bhimpalasi with these gurgling lunar microbes — in ways that are quite impossible on paper. Pure intuition gave it to us; that and a sense of trust that we’d built over time.

Nicolás: I ended up in tears multiple times working on this record. I have a particular emotional reaction to ‘Dard’ also, particularly the moments with almost nothing behind Ali’s voice. I always wanted it to feel as intimate as possible. Like being alone with a heart.

If ‘Intiha’ is a dialogue between artist and audience, what do you most want to convey?

Ali: The possibility of being rooted in one register or language and finding freedom in another. A “flashing simultaneity”, the quality of being transformed without losing your sense of self.

‘Intiha’ is another exploration of your “diasporic voice” and it seeks to convey you (and us) as multitudes and not monoliths. As a queer South Asian artist, how important is it that ‘Intiha’, and your work at large, continues to break down binaries in expression?

Ali: For me, the state or quality of being a ‘diasporic’ voice at this point in time is essentially about ‘spreading out’ (which is the root of that word). It’s less about double-consciousness or identity and more about possibility, freedom, space. I love that I can collaborate with musicians and artists from everywhere. I believe being literate in one tradition (ragas and Hindustani poetry in this case) has given me the freedom, and perhaps also the confidence, to wander into any new language, genre, territory. It’s a paradox — being so rooted as to become free — that deserves to be enshrined in a ghazal of its own.

It gives me great joy to find, though such acts of creative alchemy, a new place of residence. However farfetched or fragile that new place might be. I think because of who I am, I find those openings necessary; like air for survival. That other people can hear this stuff and feel the same is nothing short of a miracle, honestly.

Beyond ‘Intiha’, can you tease any offerings in 2024? 

Nicolás: I’ve been working on a radio play called “Archivos de Radio Piedras” for the past 4 years. It has my most poppy music, most reminiscent to the first music I ever put out. I’ve been putting it out in short length episodes on telegram. It follows two radio presenters in the future in Chile who are playing their friend’s music, who disappeared under mysterious circumstances in 2022. They broadcast from a house that is haunted by Palestinian-Chilean ghosts. Thematically, it deals with extractivism and the effect it has on bodies of water in the Americas, the relationship between our contemporary technologies and the military industrial complex, the Chilean dictatorship which this year turns 50 (the coup was september 11, 1973) among many other things.

Apart from that I will keep teaching music, which has been at the centre of my practice in the past few years. And I will keep playing my bass clarinet!

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Next Wave Recommendation: H31R

Experimental duo H31R (pronounced heir/air), comprised of New Jersey producer JWords and Brooklyn rapper-vocalist maassai, explore the liminal zone in their collaborative work. H31R predicate their releases around preserving and repurposing the musical innovation of their black forebears. They’re inspired by the lore and history of urbanite life, just as they’re influenced by the intermutual bonds found in community and subculture.

JWords and maassai joined forces in 2017 after performing together, unified by a desire to explore the natural continuum between rap and electronic music. Settling into a synchronised groove established on pandemic-era debut release ‘ve·loc·i·ty’, new album ‘HeadSpace’ sees them older, and more seasoned. Over JWords’ deconstructed dirges that snap and crackle, maasai transmits affirmations and spiritual ruminations: performing slam poetry in a quietly lethal snarl (‘Down Down Bb’), or purring her way to a paramour in a cat-and-mouse chase (‘Right Here’), these vaporous twilight jams lull, embolden and energise whomever presses play.

On ‘Headspace’, H31R offer up a more discerning appreciation of self. Here, they detail their origins and the culmination of their purest distillation yet.

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Before your union in 2017 and the subsequent creation of H31R, tell me about the scenes and subcultures you were orbiting individually?

maassai: I had been performing in NYC pretty steadily since 2015. I definitely found myself surrounded by jazz heads and hip-hop/RnB heads; the Afro-punk kind of vibe. But I got familiar with a lot of different pockets which all inevitably influenced my concept during my late teens and early twenties era of finding my sound.

JWords: The scene in New Jersey was mainly rock shows and barely any hip-hop or electronic shows. Before playing my first New York show in 2017, I spent a lot of time inside working on becoming a good producer, watching a lot of performances on YouTube and figuring out exactly what I wanted to do creatively.

Talk me through your origins in New Jersey and Brooklyn respectively. How did these creative hubs with their respective scenes influence your artistry?

JWords: Growing up In New Jersey and living so close to NYC, I had the opportunity to start going to shows of artists I listened to from a young age. I would listen to a lot of underground rap, and being from Jersey I would listen to a lot of Jersey Club music. It shaped a lot of the rhythms in my music today.

maassai: Brooklyn has definitely influenced so much of who I am, let alone my artistry. I grew up around lots of music. I feel like it’s so embedded in the general vibe of the area. I’d say growing up in a family and community that really valued traditional African values, music and dance, I developed a passion for rhythm early on. A lot of these rhythms are not in standard European American timings or syncopations. Also, with New York being the birthplace of hip-hop, all that is incorporated in my style.

Together you explore hip-hop sensibilities along the electronic spectrum. Which artists or musical references that married those two worlds have left on imprint on you?

JWords: I always admired Madlib, J Dilla and MF Doom for creating their own unique styles as producers. I always took that from them, knowing that it’ll be more valuable than just copying their sound. They taught me the importance of creating your own sound.

maassai: This question is always hard because there’s so many amazing influential artists that one develops infinity for over the span of their life. The list is really never ending.

I only discovered you this year. I listened to ‘Headspace’ and then delved into your debut album ‘ve·loc·i·ty’. It’s restive, airy, intimate, and affirmational. With hindsight, what did that debut album and era represent?

maassai: That era was basically a collision of our individual sounds, and it represented the birth of something really innovative and unique.

With the foundation laid, and greater understanding of how each other operates, how did you approach the creating of a ‘Headspace’? What’s your process as co-creators?

JWords: Usually I’ll send maassai the beats, and from there we have a template of how we want that song to sound. maassai writes lyrics and then we’ll record them together. From there, we refine and create change within the songs; see what it needs and what it doesn’t need.

‘Headspace’ is a fleeting listening experience, but still manages to pack in detail and dimensionality. Why did you opt for something compact that clocks in at just thirty minutes? Is it a reaction to the streaming era’s excess?

maassai: I think we created what felt most natural for the project. Sometimes you can get more out of a compact work that clocks in at thrity minutes, then have an hour-long art piece that isn’t as impactful. This just felt right exactly where it is.

‘Headspace’ retains ‘‘ve·loc·i·ty’s’ sense of glitchy, fragmented world-building but takes the listener on a more spiritual journey. Talk me through the evolution of the sonics on ‘Headspace’?

JWords: The first half of ‘Headspace’ was created with more of a glitchy bass than the rest of the album. We wanted to add more of a dance element and expand on the dance element explored on ‘ve-loc-i-t-y’. Also, we wanted to have more songs where maassai is singing, and really have the vocals be part of fabric of this album. We wanted to elevate and level up.

The artwork and iconography features buildings/high rises – that of a concrete jungle synonymous with the history of rap. Is that why you wanted to render the world in grey hues?

JWords: The image represents us having space over our heads, and we felt like this image did a good job representing that.

maassai: Greyscale also goes harder!

Narratively, ‘Headspace’ captures in spirital self-talk mode. Break down lyrically what you wanted to convey with the project?

maassai: Lyrically this project is really about exploring the nature of self and potential. It echoes different parts of my mind and being, exploring the different moods that encapsulate who I am and want to be. The whole album is a soundtrack to these multitudes. Lyrically, you move between meditations guiding the listeners and more abstract, inter-dimensional motifs. The whole album really digs into a reflection of self either in relationship to self or to the world outside. I’m just giving feeling, and an explanation, to these kinds of scenarios throughout.

‘Right Here’ was one of my instant favourites on first listen. It’s a song you memorialised with a video capturing the underground verve of a party…

JWords: This song and video is basically about having a good time, hanging with your friends. It’s a very femme-oriented song. We wanted to make something cute for cute people to vibe to.

What track are you most proud of on ‘Headspace’?

‘Backwards’. We are happy to have created a work of art from the beat to the lyrics to the music video.

Final words on what you’d like the listener to walk away feeling after experiencing ‘Headspace’?

This album is about growth and having the space to do so. Know that it is important to take care of yourself fully.

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Release Roundup:

Berhana – ‘Amén የዘላን ህልም (The Nomad’s Dream)’

‘Amén የዘላን ህልም (The Nomad’s Dream)’ by LA musician Berhana flew largely under the radar in a saturated year in music. A high-concept piece surveying Berhana’s ancestral ties to Ethiopia and the incongruity that comes with being a child of the diaspora, ‘Amén’ unfolds through a sprawl of retro-futurist funk, desert night sky passages into Philly and psych-soul, and earthy alté rhythms. Despite its protagonist drifting between place and time, ‘Amén’ thrums with warmth and free-flowing ease, reminding the rootless amongst us that home is found where love is present.  

Giulia Tess – ‘Serie A’

London-based Giulia Tess builds to trancey peaks on ‘Serie A’, a paean to top flight football in her native Italy. The high-press, jumbling percussion of ‘4-4-2’ featuring Floridian rap duo They Hate Change and EP closer ‘I Want To Know’ operate on the same ecstatic plane but differ in their make-up, swivelling between frisson-inducing EDM and blissed-out minimalism. There’s an unfussy vibe to ‘Serie A’, it’s maker commanding hi-velocity techno and footwork with precision, capturing the anthemic fervour associated with the game.

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BXKS – ‘Back It Up’

Luton rapper BXKS’s placid and cool cadence juxtaposed against rave-era clatter courtesy of Amsterdam beatmaker Lamsi? Yes please. BXKS is the master of ceremonies and this is her dancefloor sermon. Special mention goes to the candid, cloistered feel of the grainy visual.

anaiis ft. Chronixx – ‘cry in your sleep (DJ Lulo Remix)‘

‘cry in your sleep’ is given an uplift on a filmic reimagining of the French-Senegalese artist’s 2021 album, ‘this is no longer a dream’. The slow-burning, spectral original is made looser, more soothing and freeform, mirroring anaiis’s evolution as an artist hitting her creative stride.  

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Words: Shahzaib Hussain

Main Image Credit: Umar Nadeem