Written by Nathan Evans

Artwork Design by Becky McGillivray

Afrofuturism was born out of activism. As the establishment tried to write black people from their history with a white-washed educational system, Golden Age science-fiction writers of the 50s and 60s were, inadvertently or not, doing the same with the future by leaving out black science fiction writers. Even in a realm of infinite possibilities, these authors still chose to oppress and wipe out minority peoples in their prophecies. Little representation was in this field, thus, as expert Ytasha Womack puts it, Afrofuturism was the act of putting the “cosmic foot” down.

In short, Afrofuturism is science-fiction written and made through the cultural eye of black people, and has led to bold new visions of the future, as well as re-evaluations of the past. This mode of thought is not limited to sci-fi, and can speculate on the future in general, create an alternate history, delve into fantasy genres and generally create different dimensions for use as black spaces. It’s a method for liberation, for representation, and for experimentation; to use better words from Afrofuturist cultural theory writer Reynaldo Anderson, “An Afrofuturist is not ignorant of history, but they don’t let history restrain their creative impulses either.”

Nowadays, the future is more diverse than ever, and that’s thanks to the cultural permeation of this new avenue for creativity. One of the largest successes of Afrofuturist art is Marvel blockbuster Black Panther, in which an East-African kingdom isolated itself to protect its long-lasting traditions while becoming the world’s foremost innovator of technology and military power. That film grossed over $1B, and its mammoth impact officially cemented what many had known for years - that there was a great interest for a different perspective on what the future holds. That idea has even translated into music, from classic examples like the Saturn-bred jazz of Sun Ra, or the space-funk of Parliament-Funkadelic under leadership of George Clinton, to feats of the current generation like Janelle Monae’s The ArchAndroid and Childish Gambino’s “Awaken My Love!”. In between these periods are artists that broke through into the mainstream as a ‘weird’ alternative to pop music of the day like Missy Elliott, OutKast and Erykah Badu. And it was around this time, with the looming Y2K millennial turnover, that a few artists made some of the most remarkable works of Afro-centric science fiction. First up, the time-warping partnership of Del the Funky Homosapien and Dan the Automator, who shook the underground hip-hop scene in 2000 with their concept record, Deltron 3030.

Deltron 3030

A seismic turn for rap venturism, the full-length dropped from outer Earth just one month after MC Del the Funky Homosapien’s Both Sides of the Brain, his grand return to solo acclaim after being dropped from his previous label 3 years prior. All the while, producer Dan the Automator had been steadily building his own circle of hype through his curation of sounds for Kool Kieth’s ‘Dr. Octagon’ alter ego, as well as with Prince Paul in a superduo known as Handsome Boy Modelling School. This is where Dan and Del met one another (Del featured on the group’s first single, ‘Magnetizing’) and conceived the idea for Deltron 3030, a science fiction-themed LP of striking proportions, but in reality, the two didn’t construct an album as much as they did a graphic novel.

From the perspective we’re shown, the cosmos they take us to is a technologically-soaring playground of portal-jumping, mech warfare and planet-hopping buccaneering. Aesthetically, this dimension seems to be a wash of neo-Japanese cityscapes seen in the referenced Ghost in the Shell anime, populated with the sort of geometric ‘World of Tomorrow’ architecture depicted on the cover art. It’s a reality that holds a great promise of utopia, but is undermined by the omnipresent New World Order that treats human rights and hip-hop with the same amount of respect: none. For anyone outside of the elite, they are physically domed into a neo-favela with no way in or out, stuck living among mutant rodents.

This incarceration mirrors hip-hop’s decades-long battle to keep its place in the culture. Before becoming grossly commodified today, it was suppressed, censored and illegitamised by conservative politicians multiple times, and that theme of suppression is a key component to a lot of Afrofuturist works, mainly because it’s all these artists have ever known. This established force looming over the outcasted population can be seen in the work of Janelle Monae, whose multi-project ‘Metropolis’ saga chronicles a secret group of elites that use time travel to “suppress freedom and love through the ages” (as quoted from the liner notes to her ArchAndroid album). By relating it to the present-day cultural climate, Deltron hints that the problem may never be rectified unless intensive action is taken.

Thus, Deltron and Dan the Automator operate outside the general public, hiding in the proverbial sewers, which is empowering to see. As black people strive to get a foot in the door of modern society without having to hide from it, Del chooses to be the master of his own decisions by actively living in the shadows, living in his model of the world. Consider this approach against the outward saviourism of Sun Ra, who proudly claims to be sent from the universe to help people in need on Earth. While one character is certainly bolder than the other, both represent an onus of taking control - a fierce rebellion from the white-constructed society, and this necessary energy in Afrofuturistic works also applies to black music itself. To quote Del from the song ‘3030’: “No mistakes, black. It's our music, we must take back”.

The album thrives in this way of life, presenting a Futurama-style adventure that uses the smaller moments to wander into the back alleys and capture the universe through its background characters. Peer down ‘St. Catherine Street’, and you’ll spot a black market merchant selling World War IV watches and prosthetic legs. Tune into ‘National Movie Review’, and chuckle at a critic using the word ‘renaissance’ to describe 80s buddy comedy Strange Brew. These tracks are a transportive experience, all because of the Space Odyssey-level of forethought fitted into the flow of verses.

Del plays a disillusioned antihero named Deltron, the only grave robber in the universe that specialises in gun-slinging, computer science and rap battling. His quest is easy to guess, hopeful to take down the New World Order and maintain his status as the best MC in the galaxy, which explains why the album feels like a gigantic intergalactic rap battle. His lyrics are the most concentrated of any rap record point-blank, spitting about contraptions and inventions that exist light years ahead of today, detailed with the sharp complexity of a Wikipedia entry. One could easily argue that this condensed jargon is impenetrable, but there are different levels to appreciate this work, like any work of science fiction. Even if you’re not a Trekkie, the instant believability of this distant point in time is astounding by itself. But those willing to dig into every bar will be able to detail Del’s inventory and the world’s mechanics, like it was a role-playing game.

Switching focus to his partner in action, Dan the Automator is aptly likened by Del as a “nuclear physicist” when it comes to beatmaking, fissioning samples and compounding them into rhythms and atmospheres that precisely synchronise with our protagonist. This project was alt-rap’s prime form in terms of production, with junkyard drums forming a boom-bap frame for which a range of sounds can fit into, including noir-palette strings (‘Turbulence (Remix)’, ‘Madness’). The mob of dialogue samples and Aboriginal bass on ‘Positive Contact’ calls to mind the work of similarly valorous maestros when it comes to 2000s beat-smithery: the Avalanches. This comparison extends to the incredible amount of instrumental variety across the double-disc, linked by its thematic tissue. Though here, it’s spaceships instead of cruise ships, and I truly can’t hear myself think over the uproarious groaning that wordplay definitely triggered.

The derelict production of Fugees’ The Score also comes to mind upon re-listens of ...3030, particularly in how Dan transforms simple sounds into something totally alienating, like the comet-tailed slide guitar on the title track. Softened with a green fog, these tracks deceptively cover up an abyss that one could easily fall into if precautions aren’t taken. That vastness is what matches the MC so perfectly, and The Automator gets his props from Del lovingly on the track ‘Mastermind’. Chopped-up but never choppy, Dan always matches the tone of Del’s raps, from the clunky percussion and crowded sound effects documenting the heated space battle in ‘Battlesong’, to the triumphant horn sample on the closing chapter, ‘Memory Loss’. Insert some tricksy turntable scratchings by DJ Kid Koala, and the producer orchestrates a pristine score for Del’s ambitious space opera.

‘Virus’ is where the story progresses past scene-setting, as Del plots to create a virus that disrupts the New World Order through its computer systems. As he said in ‘Positive Contact’, the world wide web is the “ebb and flow” of this universe, further exhibited by the news cycle being puppeted entirely by Microsoft. It is in a news report extract on ‘The News’ where the aforementioned virus is unleashed, bringing the segmented elites and commoners both to their knees. The climax of Deltron’s tale peaks at the trilogy of rap battles (as in actual linguistic warfare) that is ‘Battlesong’, though even that doesn’t host the most enthralling lyrical theme. Instead, the very first moments of ‘Memory Loss’ are a tribute to the history of his home of Oakland, California. Ravaged by crack cocaine and its resulting violence and crime, the city is the home of the Black Panther movement, thus being a cultural landmark for African-Americans. In spite of any current-day crises or issues, Afrofuturism recalls and retains history, and can exist outside of today to remind those who need it of the people, places, events and movements that define their heritage, and the profound effects they have had. For a similar example, take a look at Sun Ra’s album The Magic City, an album-length examination of Birmingham, Alabama, which has contributed immensely to black culture and pioneers despite its reputation for racial hatred. For this reason, these works are essential in the struggle for black equality.

Deltron 3030 is a drastic presentation of the world we are in today, seamlessly integrating political issues (or rather, humanitarian issues) into the group’s cosmic world-building. The vision they have is simply the radical extreme of what is humanity’s problem of greed and wrath, which is why the responsive verses on ‘Madness’ could easily be placed in today’s context while still never leaving their stratosphere. Minority groups have always been at the brunt of that wrath, which is why so many black artists are keen to have a voice in the conversation. Deltron’s happens to be an Afrofuturist epic, and as Del says on ‘Upgrade’, they loosen the frame for rap to expand its topical elasticity.

Drexciya

Meanwhile, on the other side of the country, James Stinson and Gerald Donald forged a new horizon under their project, Drexciya. Brought up in Detroit, and once part of the marching band for its burgeoning techno scene, Underground Resistance, they took the newly-emerged sound of their city to incredible new depths.

Detroit Techno itself was interestingly born out of interest to move past race rather than directly involving it. Its originators in the early 80s based their source of inspiration from DJ Electrifying Mojo’s radio slot, spinning artists such as Parliament-Funkadelic, Kraftwerk, New Order and Gary Numan. Drexciya was just the same, going as far as Grauzone and Pyrolator, from the ‘New German Wave’ scene of the late 70s. With their influences and heritage working in full harmony, their initial EPs and subsequent full-lengths were steps in a larger process of softening the borders on what the sound of black music could be.

As house music bubbled out of Chicago, Detroit producers were taking a more angular, mechanised edge that reflected the post-industrial landscape of their city. With this more digitised sound, they symbolised it with robotic and motorised imagery, a neo-industrial style of Afrofuturism. Just look at the aesthetic and nomenclature of pioneer Juan Atkins’ group Cybotron for example. Nonetheless, Drexciya inverted that idea with each new release, building a mythology that sent them to the bottom of the ocean. This culminated into their magnum opus, Neptune’s Lair.

Within the Drexciya saga, Stinson and Donald were constructing a parallel timeline where Africans were still herded to America like cattle, but this time they managed to escape, adapt and survive. In this alternate reality, Drexciya is the name of a nation based deep within the Atlantic Ocean, founded after pregnant African women were thrown off those slave ships, leaving the unborns to mutate and breathe underwater. It was a freakish and daring re-envisioning of a horrific institution. But by confronting their past, it allows them to claim their destiny, as will be shown in the tale of this specific record.

Drexciya, like many other artists from the Detroit scene, were brutally elusive, shunning from releasing any information about themselves to the world. This was a natural extension of that philosophy of moving past race, letting the mythology speak for itself. It likely allowed their art to travel further than if they had given in to the pretence of fame that has swallowed up the long-lasting impact of many artists, particularly African-American. MC Hammer, anyone?

Moreover, their untouchable use of techno to paint a world is quite post-modern, using dance music beyond its original, one-dimensional purpose. That employment of Detroit’s sound as a vehicle down their whirlpool was not just an ingenious way to paint that aquatic landscape, but a reinvigoration of a style that was fizzling out by the late 90s. Typical of dance music’s rapid evolution, the genre had already had its “second wave” earlier in the decade, and had lost its excitability to trance, French house, big beat, UK garage and more. However, Afrofuturistic adoptions of dated ideas are not uncommon, as Sun Ra had done the same with the imagery of Egyptian Pharaoh. It is only natural for humans to look to the past for inspiration, and the result is a cycle where the past becomes the future, and vice-versa.

Just like Deltron, these Drexciyans live in a bubble, though here it’s not as a result of captivity, but for maintaining sanctity, similar to Black Panther’s Wakanda. These bubbles can be seen in the black orbs in the cover art, with tendrils reaching out to other bubble districts to bridge together, and to the ocean floor for nutrients to sustain the residents. The genius of their deep web of mythology is that it is key to understanding the music, and the mythology plays off of the slave trade, keeping ears aware of America’s greatest sin.

Aurally, Neptune’s Lair is an immense foray into hydrophonic experimentation, springing back and forth from more accessible dance cuts to moments of them feeling out what else they can do with these sounds, often to challenging heights. Although it can be harsh on the ears when they create sound-art, it does its job effectively of visualising a concept, be it ‘Draining of the Tanks’ or ‘Quantum Hydrodynamics’. And between that, one finds a gulf of stimulating vibrations, every one - including damp hi-hats and a subaquatic echo - feeding into the very landscape of this far-away nation.

After an almost processional choral introduction, the album’s narrative starts by showcasing their world with the sepulchral ‘Species of the Pod’ before turning towards the ‘Andreaen Sand Dunes’. One of the key highlights, the high-beam chords, submerged bassline and rippling synth shimmers mesh fluidly on top of stereotypical rise-and-fall effects that are mostly off-time, in turn existing as a natural sound of the dunes. However, before any other parts of the land can be showcased, it begins to crumble at the hands of the siren-booming ‘Running Out of Space’, then ‘Habitat of Negative’, whose careless bounce breathes a sigh of despair. Seven tracks in, and the possibility of witnessing the grim and agonising death of the species (‘Drifting into a Time of No Future’).

The story specifics are intentionally left up to mystery, but the subtitle on the album cover certainly gives reason to a bulk of the album titles on here. This location’s primary purpose as a “scientific research development lab” obviously sees them creating new inventions and tech enhancements, and this directly impacts the story. Coming after ‘...Time of No Future’, on the verge of Drexciya’s demise, they discover ‘Polymono Plexusgel’ under a waterfall of metallic synth showers, which allows them to thrive once again.

‘Funk Release Valve’ harkens back to the Prince-built Minneapolis funk sound with its high-energy, rubbery synth banding, and Oxyplastic Gyration Beam’ and ‘Lost Vessel’ would not sound out of place in a Sega Megadrive action-game boss battle, tinny electronics and all. It would be criminal not to mention the odd, darting but intoxicating grooves of ‘Triangular Hydrogen Strain’ and ‘Bottom Feeders’, which could each make the case for the best banger across the LP. The lifeblood of the Drexciyan people has been restored, this time healthier than ever. The species has always prided itself on its scientific innovation, and perhaps that science-positive theme is the intended end result of the record. Sometimes it takes being that close to breaking point for great change to come.

The Drexciyan universe extends far beyond this single record, with EPs preceding it and a series of seven interlinked albums, all under different names, succeeding it. In this headspace, they were tapping into Africa’s ancient wisdom that spawned from the age of the Egyptian pyramids, and Neptune’s Lair is just as imposing.

Drexciya and Deltron are two projects that come to totally opposite conclusions when it comes to futurism and alternative history. One shows a dismal path of oppression that mirrors our own system today, while the other breaks away from the known sequence of events to prosper alone. But, I’m a big believer that we can learn from art, particularly music, and the fact that we have two different takes, diversity in the field of Afrofuturism, is vital for the culture and for education. Plus, as Ytasha Womack states, “the resilience of the human spirit lies in our ability to imagine.”

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