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The depth of the body of work behind /F, and /F itself, far reaches a series of sonic branches connected to a single trunk, like previous releases. All situated in their much-varied corners of the web, all cloaked in obscurity, a dish on top of a table in a foyer of a home bowing at the edges from short-circuiting wires known only to the soul who put them there. a a9) is another grab at the palsy-shaking enigma behind Susan Balmar, WARM THIGHS, 0000-A70U-0075, _lip/, Perry Trollope вЂ“ *exhale* вЂ“ SLF Tapes curator, LEWIS CARROL & THE ACADEMY, PRADA & OREGON, index of/sampler, and lord knows what else. And these are just the preliminary ways Lese Majesty is disrespecting the gravitas of current вЂњsovereignsвЂќ in the hip-hop game repeat and closer listens reward listeners who desire to unpack the dense, literary wordplay and dissect exactly what is musically going on in this album. In fact, the suite is a perfect reference point for the ensemble approach the group takes to writing this future-gazing brand of hip-hop, roping in like-minded collaborators and using their contributions not as a byline on the tracklist or to dial-in a verse to disrupt the flow, but as another instrument in the composition of the album. But fear not: one listen to Lese Majesty allays any concerns that Shabazz Palaces are letting their ego shape their art. Burying their trademark skitterish samples and beats beneath layers of gauzy synth washes is only the beginning of Ishmael Butler and Tendai MaraireвЂ™s exploration mission the albumвЂ™s 18 cuts are broken down into seven thematic suites that sees each song within meld effortlessly into the next, coming off like one track broken down into separate movements. While Black Up nudged the boundaries of hip-hop into new territories, Lese Majesty adds a whole new chapter to the rulebook. Loosely translated as вЂњdisrespecting the reigning sovereign,вЂќ Lese Majesty couldnвЂ™t be a more appropriate title for Shabazz PalacesвЂ™ second full-length. Are you willing to do that, to eliminate the self and its intellect, to eliminate the political that has become the personal for reasons that escape everyone, for the sake of creation? If so, you may just make something incredible. But then that would require accepting that nature is chaotic and not entirely bound to laws that make sense. Maybe all youвЂ™re doing is fulfilling a role nature needs completed. But perhaps thatвЂ™s the whole point of the exercise. By adding something, you lose control of it. Without place, you have no understanding of what you have made.

To say your works branch out like trees is too simplistic an explanation, for it goes places you canвЂ™t venture. Instead, it becomes multiple forms that arenвЂ™t immediately, if ever, recognizable to you, the creator. What you create isnвЂ™t anything that takes organized shape. At the same time, such chaos is integral to the basis of nature. The process is never profitable, unlike what some idiotic techno-narcissists might have you believe. ItвЂ™s the most basic and ultimate form of disruption next to destruction, since your interactions are adding something to the whole. вЂњThe Black Lake TookвЂќ and it gave, and weвЂ™re left with a satisfyingly eerie yet decidedly panicked silence, best broken by further immersion.

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ItвЂ™s a testament to free collaboration that overwhelms and beckons in the same breath. ItвЂ™s as intimidatingly intricate as it is an embarrassment of pitchВperfect dark-pop riches. The album is neither a short listen nor without a borderline proggy air of grandeur, but its 15 tracks are seamlessly enthralling enough to discourage idle nitpicking. This experience is worth having not just for its rarefiedly subtle genre cross-pollination (or for its amazing artwork), but because it positively radiates as something built to last. Once things are properly under way and the twin attack of stately dirge and unsettling drone that is вЂњBlack LakeвЂќ deftly twists its way out of however your musicdrunk head tries to pin it down, oneвЂ™s awe is already palpable. Like a classic 60s film in which the scrolling opening credits unspool exhaustively, down to that clover-eyed MPAA logo, Meshes ushers in its harrowing tableau furtively, with an exquisitely textured, wobbly clump of repeating harpsichordВlike figures.

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