The globally-informed and borderless ethos of Future Brown has been the focal point for the bulk of the attention that surrounds them: Fatima Al Qadiri’s upbringing in Kuwait and her own global stereotype-baiting work, Nguzunguzu’s ears to the ground in Los Angeles and J-Cush’s NYC hub. On their debut LP, the collective bring these sounds (and countless others) together. From wispy interpretations of grime to Latin reggaeton to space-age RnB, the Future Brown hybrid exists through a constant traffic of ideas but arrives in the fashion that all things do in the online age: compressed, compact and finite.

The nucleus of the album is a hyperreal, glossy presentation of hybridised club sounds in various contemporary mutations. From the dancehall syncopations of No Apology with a starring turn from virtual unknown vocalist Timberlee, Future Brown move to Prince Rapid’s Alsatian flow on Asbestos, snapping off the kind of sino grime productions that have become synonymous with Al Qadiri. The conveyor belt of collaborators gives the Future Brown laboratory space to explore. Their intercontinental sound palette is what breathes life into the icy vocals of Kelela and Ian Isiah on Dangerzone; it’s what adds a streak of unfamiliar terror to DJ Victorious’s warbled flexing on Talkin Bandz.

Jetting from South Side Chicago to E3 in London via Kingston Jamaica is all part of the Future Brown blueprint. From all the diversity comes something complete. The story goes that “future brown” was a metallic brown colour that didn’t exist in nature, envisaged in the peak of a magic mushroom trip. This debut is that brand new hue manifested: a kind of club music crafted under quarantine where elements are distilled and fused to create brand new shades.

Duncan Harrison