Over the decade-long stretch between 1992-2002 that Gerald Donald and James Stinson released electronic music as Drexciya, water was a constant fixation. It was as if the ocean was a third member of the band. Their name described the group’s vision of an underwater society built by the children of pregnant slaves thrown overboard during the Middle Passage. EPs and albums bore titles like Neptune’s Lair, Hydro Doorways, and Digital Tsunami, and were littered with clues that outlined a byzantine afrofuturist mythology. “There are only two wavejumpers in existence today,” they creepily intoned on 1995’s riveting, white-knuckled “Wavejumper,” positioning themselves as the last representatives of a lost tribe. “A lot of things that come through water, all these different molecules—that’s the way I see the music we do,” Stinson once said in a rare interview. “It’s so endless.”
Each of Drexciya’s records—whether collaborating or going solo as Abstract Thought, Lab Rat XL, or Transllusion—had deeply considered conceptual and philosophical premises. Thankfully, Drexciya were never too forthcoming, offering far more questions than answers. Their final album, 2002’s newly-reissued Grava 4, continued to engage in this complex game of world building. It was originally released during a massively prolific 18-month period between 2001-2003, when the duo used various aliases to release seven albums, which they dubbed “storms,” a set of tantalizingly disparate works that hinted at strange new developments in the Drexciyan fable.
Grava 4 is an album of stark, brooding introspection, alternately expansive and oblique. It sees Drexciya turning their attention towards the cosmos, as song titles shifted from aquatic themes to “700 Million Light Years From Earth,” “Drexciyan Star Chamber,” and “Astronomical Guidepost.” A web of constellations was drawn on the cover. In the press surrounding Grava 4, the group claimed to have “finally discovered Utopia (Drexciya Home Universe),” and they allegedly named a star after themselves on this website.
Opener “Cascading Celestial Giants” casts a solemn, slow-motion tone. A churning rhythm sets a sluggish pace, while majestic choral pads suggest a reckoning with the infinite. (Close your eyes, and it’s not hard to imagine a pair of lonely travelers in a small spaceship drifting into the vast unknown.) This is followed up by the languid thrums of “Powers of the Deep,” which cruises at a melancholy clip and is ornamented with slithering, pinging effects. Though the group’s rugged electro drum programming remains intact, everything else sits back in a moody reserve, trading their terrestrial aggressions for something more contemplative.
