MUSIC

Undisputed grime heavyweight and sublow architect Jon E Cash is spotlighted on an overdue retrospective hustling rare plates back on vinyl for 1st time in decades - utterly essential tackle for UK ‘nuum fiends on the line from jungle to UKG, grime and dubstep. A serious VIP for Sneaker Social Club and the grime scene at large, ’SUBLOW’ scrolls back a quarter century to grime’s earliest days - before it even had a name - when artists such as Jon E Cash, Jammer, and Wiley were reshaping prevailing UKG styles and patterns in their own image, coming out with something rudely altered in translation - or by their technical limitations. While the latter melded Jamaican sound system inspirations of dancehall and jungle into their grimy prototypes, Jon E Cash would bring a ruggeder swerve, carried over from his early ‘90s days as part of the pivotal Britcore hip hop sound with Construction, and prevailing traces of later ’90s R&B and D&B, to his take on the 140bpm framework, with the exaggerated bass levels of his productions, and their bashy drums, bestowing the sound its mantle, SUBLOW, and soon recognised as a whole subgenre in its own right. These are sacred plates for grime, a key part of its DNA, and Sneaker Social Club are doing the Lord’s work by saving you a month’s rent in Zone 3 if you were to pick them up individually. All from the fascinating interzone 2000-2004, when the sound was shaped as an ecology of pirate radio, white labels, and raves, it’s burstign at the seams with legendary gear from the murky steez of ‘Hoods Up’ thru the NSFW intro of his absolute steamer ‘Kettle’, brukking out the digi-dub style horns on ‘War’ and ‘Battle’, or ramping R&B with speedy G pressure on ‘All About the Sex’, not to mention his Timba-turned-horny Terminator turn ’Spanish Fly (V.I.P.).’ If you ask us, it’s one of the hardest reissues/compilations of 2025, bar none, and a strong example of how much perceptions of grime have changed over the decades, from outlaw genre to something to be fetishised, archived, admired as distinguished cultural artefact, rather than feared and legislated against.

Glimmers of a missing link in the connective tissue between the hardcore continuum and Dub-Spectrum arts. A tome all its own, as if one is sifting through an archeological dig in aural form, hearing layers of the past, present, and future.

Stepping back into the socio-realist bass mutations of his 2024 LP Municipal Dreams, Low End Activist pulls together a heavyweight remix package responding to the source material in a multitude of ways.

Beyond the immediate soundsystem styles that inform the Activist’s sound, the scope for experimental sound design and charged, pensive atmospherics leaves a lot of space for reinterpretation. From a distinct but compatible angle, Actress naturally nudges the contours of ‘T.W.O.C’; into his signature haze, finding a squashed undercurrent of blunted techno to carry great clouds of solemn pads. Andy Martin locks into a downcast, crooked house shuffle as he twists They Only Come Out At Night out for the twilight hour.

On the B side, Demdike Stare conjure raw pressure and deadly negative space around their jagged reappraisal of ‘Hope III’, before the Activist himself plates ‘Just A Number’ with a different coat of avant-grime armour. Shelley Parker delivers a madcap finisher with her take on ‘T.W.O.C’, channelling the rapid-fire complexity of singeli into acutely angled, hard-looped sampling that rides roughshod over rhythmic stability. It’s a bold collection from some of the most serious operators in the game, all thriving on the density of the Activist’s initial ideas to deliver daring abstraction and club-ready thrills beyond the expectations of the conventional dance.

The latest work from London-based electronic artist Brbko arrives via noted imprint Scenic Route. Spanning nine tracks, the album explores themes of afterlife, faith, and growth, articulated with a firm resolve to resist absorption into fleeting trends. Tight, driving beats and shadowed sound design meet avant-garde vocal treatments, traversing the boundaries between experimental hip-hop, grime, ambient, and electronic music. Collaborations with Andrew Aged and Cajm further enrich the palette, as flickering soundscapes capture urban solitude and inner conflict with striking immediacy. A vivid sonic statement, strictly limited to 100 copies.

A multidisciplinary artist and curator, Violaine Morgan Le Fur (aka Violence Gratuite) has spent the last few years sharpening her creative perspective, developing documentaries, producing exhibitions, and directing music videos and short films. 'Baleine à Boss' isn't just her debut album, but her first venture into music production; Le Fur had only begun to experiment with music software a few weeks before dubbing the record, a fact that makes this unique set only more bewildering. Singing and vocalizing candidly and producing each track alone, she sounds profoundly polished, invoking a beguiling haze of chanson, rap, no wave and experimental electronics that hovers around the margins of pop and the avant-garde.

Le Fur grew up in Paris's sprawling suburbs, and was provided with a diverse coterie of influences by her Breton mother and Cameroonian father. She's channeled her ancestry into her work before, splicing material from her mother's film archives with her own footage recorded in Bamiléké land to develop the autobiographical documentary 'À L'ouest' back in 2017. As Violence Gratuite, Le Fur thinks more cryptically, considering the vast forests of western Cameroon, lands ravaged by generations of bloodthirsty men and looping pulsing techno rhythms with fractured trap and the ghosts of French pop.

Her voice stands out proudly on opener 'Iséo', layered into a charming mantra over a brittle, grime-y beat assembled from stuttering samples and 8-bit blips. Acrobatic yet somehow casual, Le Fur splits her delivery, singing in French over undulating chants and spectral coos. And she switches up the flow on 'Olive', rapping in an icy cool deadpan while spiky synths bubble around jerky, Neptunes-like stabs. Then, on the nocturnal 'Smooth Operation', Le Fur guides us towards a moonlit ritual, crying sweetly into the darkness as hand drums and dreamy plucks chatter in the background.

On the title track, Le Fur strips the rhythm down to a moody, skeletal rumble, using rubbery drums and trapped chorals to mire herself in negative space. Speaking in a low rasp, she brings to mind Tricky's eeriest early material, or the wonkiest output of French no wave hybridist Lizzy Mercier Descloux. But the record switches gears relentlessly, lurching towards the Caribbean on 'Ragga Nieztches' and into spannered dembow on the hypnotic closing track 'Bad à Bras le Corps'. 'Baleine à Boss' is an unpredictable, labyrinthine suite that refuses to stay static, a variety show that's as comfortable in the club as it is at a fest noz.

On his latest full-length, Low End Activist swerves towards weightless grime and suspended hardcore miniatures to tell a very personal story. The UK-rooted producer continues his habit of zeroing in on a distinct approach for each release, leaving a logical breadcrumb trail of soundsystem science in his wake as he channels decades of bass absorption into 14 atmospheric cuts that prize patience and precision over obvious club functionality. Municipal Dreams plays out as a semi-autobiographical tour through the Blackbird Leys estate that the Activist grew up on. It’s a lived reflection on inequality and the ripple effect it has in working class communities, using the sonic palette to set the mood and scattering pointed samples throughout to spell out the story. In sampling the exhaust of a stolen Subaru Impreza, ‘TWOC’ looks back to the recreational car theft which was standard entertainment for the kids in his community. There’s an underlying idea that this ‘council estate sport’ wouldn’t have been so prevalent if there were public services and opportunities presented to the scores of disaffected youth looking for somewhere to direct their energy and frustration. In ‘Just A Number (Institutionalised)’ LEA alludes to the shattered juvenile detention system, growing up seeing friends and family members locked up at ease with little to no support on being released back into society, just meant that the same cycles of behaviour would play out over and over.

‘Violence’ samples from a short film shot by the drama division of the Blackbird Leys Youth Club to evoke the physical threat which formed a background hum to life on the estate. The industrial mechanics of the local car factory, which served an integral role as a workplace for many in the community, gets sampled in ‘They Only Come Out At Night’ while the ‘Everyone I look up to are either junkies or criminals’ sample in ‘Broke’ looks to a lack of positive role models. Municipal Dreams isn’t a one-note indictment of life on the estate, ‘Innocence’ captures the simplicity of a child at birth before their environment has time to shape them. The Hope interludes cut through the grim honesty of the longer tracks while a subtle thread of wry humour finds its way into some of the talking heads cutting through the signature LEA murk. But honesty is the operative word here, and the message feels all the more meaningful at a time when the UK’s social divisions are laid bare in the wake of a devastating stretch of austerity. Returning to Blackbird Leys to shoot images for the photo-zine and album cover, the Activist found the local community centre being demolished. The local pub stands derelict, its faded Welcome sign a grimly ironic portent of the options facing children of the estate in the wider world. Funnelling his memories, hopes and fears into a singular twist on the bass weight tradition, LEA captures evocative scenes that land somewhere between kitchen sink realism and rave futurism.

 (Clear vinyl with Japanese obi) While the previous album was a huge success as a work representing the year 2021, this album, "NO THANK YOU," shows that Little Sims, aka Simbiatu Azikawo, now 28 years old, does not care about such success and sticks to his own convictions. This is a demonstration of his attitude. The songs are glossy, straightforward, and powerful, and are truly punk, giving the middle finger to the fame and expectations that come with success, the conformity required, and all the limitations that come with it. Working with Inflow again, this is Little Sims' most free, bold, and spontaneous work to date.

Also available is "On Stage Off Stage," a 40-minute documentary on the band's latest tour! The film is a spectacular film that includes not only the live performance, but also off-shot footage of Little Sims enjoying tennis on their days off, interviews with the staff who support Little Sims' activities, and the moment "NO THANK YOU" was released without notice.

Growing up in Uganda, multi-disciplinary artist Ian Nnyanzi (aka Masaka Masaka) always knew he wanted to make music, he just needed enough time and breathing room to figure out what exactly his contribution had to be. He cut his teeth fashioning rudimentary hip-hop beats at a friend's studio on Makindye, a hill that overlooks Kampala's balmy Murchison Bay, and quickly realized that he wanted more. "Out here, everyone seems okay to listen to the same thing," he explains, and Nnyanzi wasn't interested in following the crowd. During regular commutes across the city, his mind was being cracked open by sounds from Dean Blunt, Slauson Malone, Arca, Jpegmafia and Vegyn; he knew he needed to show Kampala something similarly distinct.

'Barely Making Much' is a sprawling, ambitious album that's as sculptural as it is explorative, reaching through genre membranes and refusing to stay still for a second. Masaka Masaka wrote it over a fragmented two year period at Nyege Nyege's Kampala studio, and tapped into a jumble of interconnected sounds, from jungle and experimental hip-hop to techno and smoked-out, dubwise ambient music. He was particularly absorbed by the loose, open-minded production style he heard from Manchester's Sockethead, who makes an appearance on 'Before I go', a frayed tapestry of stuttering snares and floury breaks that billows into jazzy euphoria.

On 'cut right through', Masaka Masaka bends fictile piano hits through a lattice of Afro-Brazilian-style vocal chops, trap hi-hat rolls and serrated, synthesized bass thumps. Airy and energetic, the track makes an unexpected left turn when the hats transform into insectoid rasps that cushion a woody hand drum patter. Elsewhere, Nnyanzi isn't afraid to go straight for the jugular: on 'elv9t' he sets atmospheric, back room pads against booming, soundsystem-ready Southern rap subs, and on the kinetic 'let me out', he remolds hard techno in his image, knocking the 4/4 kick off grid to perplex seasoned dancers, and hammering the nail in further with swirling, psychedelic synth fuzz.

Even when Masaka Masaka's working in a more contemplative mode - like on the hypnotic title track and the fragile cinematic finale 'it's okay to dance alone' - he maintains the momentum, swirling otherworldly vocal loops and erratic percussion into pools of melted ambience. 'Barely Making Much' is a charming, hyperactive debut that wears its influences on its sleeve, playing like a lysergic, literate mixtape packed with layers and subtle gestures. Cool-headed and mysterious, it exposes the twilit side of the Kampala underground.

On "SHAME", producer 2K88 (Przemysław Jankowiak, fka 1988) invokes the era and spirit of PL SOUND, a local genre inspired by British soundsystem music but infused with the social, urban, and sonic themes that developed during Poland’s post-communist transformation. "SHAME" is a progressive, bass-fueled transmission built from scraps of hip-hop’s past; it’s a cinematic vision of Y2K Polish rap that’s in constant flux, where every detail is just as important as the whole structure. Sampling the Polish canon of beats from the low-rent districts of the nineties, 2K88 plunders tracks already based on samples and channels the experiences of the generations that grew up with those sounds, struggling and celebrating with them. And just as he did with his previous projects Etamski and 1988, 2K88 draws out, processes, and ages his elements in an echo chamber, asking questions and formulating answers. Jankowiak works on the fringes of genre: traces of ambient, dub, rap and jungle flicker into low-lit urban rhythms, chunky nightclub basslines and paranoid production touches. This is in keeping with his new, futuristic handle, 2K88. Not for a second does he succumb to today’s omnipresent nostalgia, instead putting reconstruction before deconstruction — he finds whole worlds in his scraps, and in the long-gone turn-of-the-millennium period, whose liminal qualities feel like a precursor to the unease of the present moment. The end-of-the-20th-century paranoia has only intensified in the past 30 years, and paranoia, as Philo Gant once said in the 1995 sci-fi film "Strange Days", is “just reality on a finer scale”. By that logic, 2K88 offers a picture of the grittiest reality blown up to truly awe-inspiring proportions. ______________________________________________________________ 2K88— fka 1988, aka Przemysław Jankowiak — is a music producer, graphic designer, and audio director raised in the Poland of the 1990s and on the pioneering rap records of that time. The rawness, chunkiness, and paranoia he took from this period have always been an integral part of his music. They were there when he made his first homemade beats and stayed with him when, in the following years, he distanced himself from hip-hop, going deeper into the world of sampling experiments and the post-genre avant-garde. Later, he and Robert Piernikowski created the universe of the duo Syny - an irreal spectral/ontological phenomenon built out of memories, dreams, and bass, rap, dub, and smoke. Since the end of Syny, Jankowiak has let loose his beatmaker impulses on a collaborative record with Warsaw’s legendary MC Włodi, created the album Ruleta [Roulette] with over 30 featured guests, and struck up a dialogue with the electronic soundsystem work that’s fascinated him for years on the Ring the Alarm EP. He’s also created chart-topping avant-pop with Brodka and a mimetic soundtrack to “Splinter”, but it is SHAME that is the album we might call his sonic résumé.

One of UK Grime’s most shadowy figures comes of age with a killer full length debut released in collab between True Panther and DJ Python’s Worldwide Unlimited, brimming with an incandescent energy arcing from OG to contemporary eras. It's fully addictive gear, joining unexpected dots between hook-heavy pop and weirder modes, on a tip somewhere between Vegyn, Dean Blunt, Playboi Carti, Klein & Junior Boys - just v v good!!!! Previously appearing on these pages as a guest (alongside Charlotte Church!) on Klein’s stunning ‘Harmattan’ album, Jawnino has been actively issuing prime zingers since 2019’s cult self-release ‘It’s Cold Out’, building a robust rep for his effortless and unique takes on grime, drill, jungle, and rap. Noted for his animated style of “melancholic chaos”, Jawnino flows ambidextrous on whatever’s in front of him, and ’40' gives him a whole new playground in which to romp; spelling out his dare-to-differ slant on a colourful instrumental palette supplied by new hands - Woesum, HNRO, Brbko, 3o, and Cold - alongside more experienced guest features and remixers - James Massiah (aka Babyfather’s DJ Escrow), Bok Bok (remixing here as One Bok), Airhead, Evilgiane - with breezy fresh steez and classic storytelling that transcends eras. Blessed with a naturally uncompromising yet broad appeal, Jawnino’s music speaks to life in 2020’s London with an observantly perceptive quality, delivered behind a mask of anonymity. His music is also artfully aware, exhibiting an appetite for variation that sees him glyde equally well on ohrwurming choruses on ‘2trains’, as he does at soulful grime for the club in ‘Dance2’ - an update of his ‘Good Thing Bad Thing Who Knows’ EP nugget that we swear sounds like Junior Boys - while also finding a wry humour in broken Britain on the timelessly drizzly melancholy of ‘It’s Cold Out’, a new expansion of his debut cut produced by Poundshop, Oliver Twist and Cold - and that’s only the opening trio. Characteristic of his generation’s attraction to the most salient aspects of the preceding 20 odd years, Jawnino proves just as adept at jumping on tight D&B to tell tales of weekend excess (‘Lost My Brain’) as screwed boogie forging binds with US spar MIKE (’Short Stories’), or shuffling in the twilight of ‘90s R&B (‘Wind’). A particular standout of drill drama ‘Westfield’ characterises his ability to boost the energy by factors, and likewise dial it right down and draw us closer in on his description of popping percocet, molly and shrooms in ‘sentfromheaven’, also here in Bok Bok’s finely retuned version, nagging ’til the end beside Airhead’s piquant retweak of ‘Cant Be’. For anyone losing faith in rap soundalikes, Jawnino reaffirms a love for classic forms pronounced in new ways.

Dancehall might have emerged in Jamaica, but over the last few decades the popular genre's tendrils have stretched out across the globe. In Kampala, Ratigan Era is adding a distinct Ugandan twist to dancehall, fusing it with East African humor and hyper-melodic afrobeats elements imported from Ghana and Nigeria. The versatile MC grew up listening to Jamaican music like Vybz Kartel, Busy Signal and Mavado - in his hometown of Kawempe there was almost no way to avoid it - and it blurred into the background, blending with local church music, US hip-hop and radio pop. He developed this diverse range of influences into a completely unique Afro-dancehall flow that simmers between Luganda, patois, Spanish and English, reflecting the melting pot of cultures and dialects that characterizes contemporary Africa.Ratigan broke out with a memorable feature on Pallaso's Ugandan hit 'Nsaba', a track that echoed throughout the country booming from nightclubs, motorcycle loudspeakers or from convenience stores. Now he's assembled his first album "Era", a furiously inventive interweaving of rubbery vocals and memorable chants backed by futuristic beats from Hakuna Kulala's most boundary-pushing producers. Congolese producer Chrisman takes the reins on 'Gorilla Attack', providing a downtempo groove that echoes recent Jamaican chop deployments from breakthrough artists like Skillibeng and Skeng. For his part, Ratigan ducks and dives between Chrisman's gqom-inspired low end womps and corrosive synths, commanding attention with his smart, dextrous flow and tongue-twisting lyrics.The Modern Institute and Golden Teacher's Richard McMaster handles 'Top Strike Force' leaving space in his wiry, minimal beats for Ratigan to flit between anthemic repetitions and ice-cold AutoTuned wails. On stand-out track 'Badman Style', Ratigan's guttural patois is measured against a dizzy trap-dancehall hybrid beat from HHY & The Kampala Unit's Jonathan Uliel Saldanha, aka Lithium Beats, while on the surreal 'Drop it Down', Japanese mad scientist Scotch Rolex brings out Ratigan's cheeky sense of humor with toytown bleeps and laser zaps. MC Yallah collaborator Debmaster appears on 'Gan Dem', meeting Ratigan's double-time raps with soundsystem destroying rolling subs, and veteran US noisemaker Kush Aurora sprinkles magic dust on 'Cool and Deadly', galvanizing the link between global bass mutations, Jamaica and East Africa.And despite the grab-bag of producers and inspirations, "Ratigan" is a strikingly coherent listening experience that accurately snapshots Kampala's colorful froth of sounds and phrases. Ratigan's outsized personality is welcoming and captivating, providing the sights, sounds and smells of the city with a frenetic rhythm that's as intimate and local as it is far-reaching. It might just be the future we so desperately need.

We're excited to bring you this collaboration between Spanish Producer Nueen and Manc vocalist / rapper Iceboy Violet, who has previously sprinkled their magic dust across Hyperdub releases from aya and Loraine James. The album traces the arc of a four year relationship, In Iceboy's words - 'fondly memorialising its highs and documenting its lows, trying to process and reflect positively and then ending with the ecstatic but ominous spark of new love.' Between them they've made an album that's magical, intimate and heartfelt, sometimes anguished but ultimately re-enchanting.

Iceboy and Nueen mutually admired their like-minded approach to making ambient music on recent solo releases and started swapping ideas for collaboration. Nueen sent beats at an almost overwhelming rate, which matched the speed and sharpness of Iceboy's emotions while they processed the end of the aforementioned relationship, creating songs which helped them process and navigate through the mental fog. The tracks were finished with Iceboy zooming in and chiselling the details, all finished in 3 months.

Nueen's music responds with foggy, but richly detailed grainy production. There are Smudgy, drill-laced beats contrasting with curdled, spiralling chords and at times he seems to isolate elements from Burial's palette and intensifies them, like SM FID's fire-like crackles. At other times, he draws out a malevolent ambience which feels elemental and troubling like on Cement Skin. Friends and collaborators switched up some of these songs, with artist Harriet Morley as the first voice on the album and Dawuna adding their rugged silky background vocals around Still's descriptions of black hair braiding and lives intimately intertwined. The album's final track, Kiss Me Again is blessed with young Manchester singer Bennettiscoming as a softening foil to Iceboy's coarse rapture.
You Said You'd Hold My Hand Through The Fire is an immensely affecting and lucid album, powerfully wrought and ultimately hopeful.