Wu-Lu - Loggerhead (LP)

Released in July 2022 on Warp Records, Loggerhead is the moment Wu-Lu stepped from cult promise to full blown presence. The South London multi instrumentalist and producer, born Miles Romans Hopcraft, has been blurring lines for years, but this debut album nails a mood that sits somewhere between grunge’s scuffed guitar bite, dub’s heavy low end and the unruly energy of UK hip hop. It is a city record, all sirens, brick dust and bus fumes, but it is also human, with lyrics that circle around housing stress, mental health and the weird numbness of modern life.

What hits first is the texture. Guitars snarl rather than shimmer. Bass throbs like a cracked sound system in a community hall. Drums feel live and unvarnished, swinging from breakbeat skitters to straight up punk pummel. Wu-Lu’s voice slips between a hushed confessional and a ragged shout, sometimes within a single verse, which suits the way the songs lurch from introspection to release. You can hear the hours in small rooms, the shared language of a band that knows when to let a groove breathe and when to tighten the screws.

The title fits. Loggerhead suggests stubborn conflict, being stuck nose to nose, and the record chases that tension. Tracks build on uneasy loops, then crack open with feedback or a chant you feel in your ribs. It is not flashy, but it is deliberate. The production favours grit over gloss, so the edges remain sharp. That choice puts Wu-Lu in a lineage with artists who treat the studio as a space to document heat and pressure rather than polish it away. Think of the early 90s Bristol records where hip hop met guitar squall, or more recent South London cross pollination between jazz heads and noise merchants. Loggerhead belongs to that family while sounding like itself.

There are moments of calm, and they land harder because the noise around them is so thick. Wu-Lu has a knack for small details that stick. A stray chord left to ring. A vocal that frays just as a lyric turns personal. On one cut he leans into a slow, dubby sway, the bassline practically walking you down the street at closing time. On another the guitars cough up a riff that could soundtrack a late train through Elephant and Castle. He keeps the writing concise, so the hooks sneak up rather than announce themselves. By the third listen you catch yourself humming them in the queue at the cafe.

It is easy to hear why Warp backed this. The album is adventurous without feeling like homework. It carries the heft of guitar music but refuses nostalgia. It borrows from rap cadences without chasing chart pop. That balance has earned it a steady audience since release, especially among listeners who like their records to feel lived in. If you are crate digging and see Loggerhead vinyl in the racks, it is the kind of sleeve you pull out on instinct. The black on black artwork looks tough, and on a turntable the low frequencies sit right. The kick drum hits with proper weight, vocals stay present, and the guitars keep their bite. It is a strong press.

If you are building out a collection that jumps between King Krule, Tricky and the rougher edges of the new London scene, this sits neatly in the middle. It also rewards front to back spins. The sequencing moves like a night out that goes strange, from restless energy to a come down that refuses to hand you an easy answer. Wu-Lu does not wrap things up with a bow. He leaves threads showing, which suits a record about trying to keep it together while the rent climbs and the trains still run late.

For those hunting Wu-Lu vinyl or looking to buy Wu-Lu records online, you will find Loggerhead vinyl through the usual indie outlets, and it is worth seeking out before it becomes one of those titles that vanishes for a year. If you are in a Melbourne record store, ask at the counter, since copies have a habit of moving fast. And if you are going deep on Wu-Lu albums on vinyl, keep space aside in the shelf, because this one gets repeat play. It is the rare debut that sounds tough on first contact and grows more generous with time, a welcome addition to any stack of vinyl records Australia wide.