Shabazz Palaces - Black Up (LP) - Gold Metallic Vinyl

Black Up hit in June 2011 like a coded transmission from another timeline, and it still feels ahead of the pack. Shabazz Palaces had mystery on their side, but this wasn’t smoke and mirrors. It was craft and vision. Ishmael Butler, long since crowned from his Digable Planets days and now going by Palaceer Lazaro, teamed with multi-instrumentalist Tendai Maraire, whose mbira and hand percussion root these tracks in something ancestral while the electronics and low end push hard toward the future. Sub Pop signed them and, in a neat bit of label history, made Shabazz Palaces their first rap act. The record arrived from Seattle but refused to sit inside any scene.

The opener, Free Press and Curl, sets the tone. Minimal drum programming twitches, bass rumbles, and Butler slides in with a voice that’s both conspiratorial and soothing. It never feels like a “single,” but it makes the room smell like ozone. Then An Echo from the Hosts That Profess Infinitum starts to coil and you realize how much negative space the duo trusts. Beats don’t just knock; they stalk. Samples flicker in and out. There’s no compulsion to explain, only to reveal.

People talk about Black Up as an experimental rap album, and sure, but “experimental” doesn’t capture how playable it is. Are You… Can You… Were You? (Felt) bounces with a springy synth line that has its own hook, while Youlogy slides grime and ritual into the same vessel. The songwriting hides in the architecture. Sections drift, then snap into focus, and the choruses arrive sideways. It rewards full listens. When Recollections of the Wraith glides in, with a chant that’s practically communal, the album turns generous. Seattle duo THEESatisfaction appear elsewhere and their presence fits like a shared language, a subtle confirmation that this world is bigger than two voices.

Erik Blood’s mixing deserves its flowers. The sound is clear but shadowed, heavy yet breathable. You can hear Maraire’s shakers and bells nestle up against 808 thumps, and the whole thing sits at a patient simmer. The drum tones are tactile. The edges have grain. It’s the kind of record where volume changes the songs, so the Black Up vinyl pays off. On a good system, the sub-bass on Swerve… the reeping of all that is worthwhile vibrates in your ribs, and the little percussive details pop like stars. If you’re crate-digging for Shabazz Palaces vinyl, this is the centerpiece. It’s the one you pull out to convert a friend.

Context matters. In 2011, blog-rap and maximalist pop-rap were sparring on the charts, and along comes this spare, time-bending thing that felt both ancient and alien. Critics clocked it fast. Pitchfork slapped a Best New Music tag on it and it kept landing on year-end lists. But the praise wasn’t just for novelty. Butler’s writing is sly and layered, full of philosophy and street talk braided together, and he leaves room for you to project your own meaning. Lines stick. Clear some space out so we can space out becomes both instruction and worldview.

I’ve also always loved how the record resists easy origin stories. Yes, Butler is the voice behind Blowout Comb. Yes, Maraire brings lineage and mbira. But Black Up didn’t sound like a reunion or a museum piece. It sounded like two artists building their own lab and inviting us to eavesdrop. The studio credit reads like a mission statement: Protect and Exalt Labs, A Black Space. That’s not just branding. You hear the protection, and you hear the exaltation.

If you collect, seek out [Album] vinyl while it’s still fairly attainable, because pressings come and go and this one thrives on wax. Same goes for broader crate strategy: [Artist] albums on vinyl tend to hold up sonically and historically, and Black Up is the one that lit the path for the run that followed. If you need to buy Shabazz Palaces records online, many independent shops stock it, and you’ll often see it pop up at a Melbourne record store or among curated vinyl records Australia listings, which feels right for a record that grew a global cult one head at a time.

More than a decade in, Black Up still feels like the map and the treasure. Put it on at night. Let the room dim. Those kicks and bells will draw new constellations, and Butler will whisper riddles you swear you’ve always known.