In the final moments of “Sauvage,” a harrowing track from
billy woods and
Preservation’s 2022 album
Aethiopes, a deep, raspy voice appears to deliver the song’s lone chorus. In four repeated bars,
Gabe 'Nandez flips between English and French, referencing slave collars, kamikaze jets, and brutal storm damage. ‘Nandez’s brief refrain oozes menace, his voice sitting perfectly in Preservation’s atonal swirl of clanging piano and timpani hits. That moment led to
Sortilège, a full-length work from 'Nandez and Pres and a spiritual cousin to
Aethiopes, informed by a similarly global perspective and filled with breathtakingly psychedelic production.
Prior to
Sortilège, ‘Nandez was known as a mainstay on Jeff Weiss’s label, POW Recordings — a finishing school for emcees with otherworldly predilections — developing a cold style that combines technical prowess with a deep knowledge of ancient philosophies. Preservation, the legendary New York producer whose lengthy resume includes Sonic Sum,
GZA,
Ka,
Crimeapple, and
Mach-Hommy, has spent decades rooting through record bins around the world, snipping stark melodies and dusty drums and stitching them into heady, layered compositions.
Their resulting collaboration, released via billy woods' Backwoodz Studios is massive, filled with creeping synth leads, aching horns, and ritualistic drums. At the center of the maelstrom, ‘Nandez raps as though he’s tracing ancient scrolls with a bony finger, weaving tales about the ever-present barbarism of existence, whether it be from drug abuse or genocide. Pres and ‘Nandez made the bulk of
Sortilège together in New Orleans, where Pres lives, bonding over a love of ‘90s boom bap and their shared Francophone heritage.
Each verse is a puzzle, a towering structure of syllables meant to be pulled apart and examined. “I'm always trying to be impressive, but I'm also always trying to say something,” ‘Nandez says of his style. “There's no other way for me to do that than to end up with a verse where there's so much to break down.” A week after the record’s release, I spoke with Gabe and Pres, who proceeded to break it down.
The FADER: Translated literally, "sortilège" can mean "spell” or "prophecy." How did this word come to the two of you?
Gabe 'Nandez: This is the third or fourth title we had. We got on a call one day, and I was like, "You're half French, I'm half Malian. There's this Francophone connection between the two of us. What if the title were something that alludes to that?" Through some brainstorming, I came up with “sortilège,” which in English translates to “sorcery” or “divination through lots.” But the French definition, “
malédiction,” which is like “curse” or “magic formula,” is what led us to choose it as the title.
“Sortilège” can also be an inexplicable atmosphere or fascination. It's a feeling you get where you're just consumed by a work or a person and their aura. That really hit me. And, sure, most people might go with the English definition, but if you dig, it has multiple meanings.
Pres, what palette were you trying to weave together as the idea of Sortilège became clearer?
Preservation: I pulled some records from Mali. From the start, I always really wanted at least one track where he rapped prominently in French. And once I knew that he had spent time in Haiti when he was younger, I realized I could tap into that and go through some French-speaking records to find something that works.
Did y'all speak French with each other while making this record?
GN: Yeah, here and there. If I know you speak French, I'm constantly switching in and out. That's how I learned how to speak in general, and that's how it is in my house.
P: Franglais, because it's definitely not my first language. His French is better than mine. And then there were things that we were listening to that we got hyped over: A couple of French groups from the 90s —
GN: French movies that we've both seen and that we understand the subtext and cultural impact of. It added a lot.
In the press materials, a notable talking point emphasized the big, heavy drums throughout. Pres, what about this project dictated the necessity for drums versus some of the more spare work that you've done in the past?
P: In listening to Gabe’s previous work, he just likes to spit. You need something to back that up, to push that through. And I had to show motherfukkers that I had some fukking beats. [Gabe laughs] That other stuff is not
beats. I would have drummers hit me and say, "I love this," and I would ask, "There are no drums, so why do you like it?" And they're like, "Yeah, but there is, they just don't hear it!" So, I just had to kind of rep and be like, I do all of this. I come from all of it. For Gabe, he just needed some slappers; he needed some knock on that shyt, so I gave it to him. [Gabe laughs]
Gabe, I know that you play guitar and other instruments, and it sounds like you were workshopping a lot of these songs together. Did you have input on arrangements?
GN: This is my first experience with that kind of immersive production, where it's like, "Who are you as a person? What do you have to say? What have you been through? Where are you from?" I did play a bağlama on the first joint, "Harmattan." It's a Turkish stringed instrument, but it's also played in other parts of Central Asia. But that's about it; I was really in the rapper seat here.
On other records, I'm a little bit more hands-on, maybe, but in this case, I didn't want to be at all. I knew what I was dealing with, so I just wanted to make sure I was rapping really well. This is a testament to how good a producer he is — he was sending me shyt and I was fukking with all of it. I felt really connected to the music. For like, I don't know, 11 or 12 of the tracks on this album, it was like a shoe. Eleven and a half, I put that shyt on, and just took off.
Gabe, you've talked before about going into trance states when you make music, and you've also explained how occult philosophies and texts heavily influence you. Were there any specific esoteric or occult sources that you were mining when writing these songs?
GN: Not while I was writing these, because I haven't read much over the past two years, so right now, it's old stuff that I've already read. All this ancient Kemetic, Rosicrucian, and Eastern philosophy. It's a part of me now, it's just in me. I spent so much time reading that material, especially in high school and university, when I would read book after book after book. Now, the extent of my studies is done through brief research, not an actual full work. But it's always there.
I was particularly struck by the title, "Hierophant,” which is a Major Arcana in tarot.
GN: I titled that song “Hierophant” because in a lot of what I’ve read, like the
Corpus Hermeticum and various old Egyptian or Greek texts, they speak of that figure. I found out later that it was a tarot card. I'm more familiar with the title as it applies to the neophyte, the acolyte, the high priest, those traditions. Those themes — "fukk the government, middle fingers out of the mothership" — fit the ethos of my work as a whole. That’s the case with a lot of stuff that I name, whether it's on this record or not. It's all woven into a universe, into a world. It's my mythology. I'm really trying to myth-make — not even trying, actually — I
am myth-making just by virtue of how I live my life and how I interpret reality.
The moment that the record truly clicked for me was when I caught the line in "Spire," "She 20 but she from the hood, so she 26." It's a funny line, but it's also so striking. It speaks to how this world destroys people. It forces you to become much more than you are to simply survive.
P: And the speed of it in certain environments.
GN: There are a couple bars — and this is rare for me — where I was like, am I gonna fukking say this? Because it was personal as fukk, but it was also like, if it's making me feel like that, I gotta say it. That one is anecdotal about someone I knew. It's just real. It's raw. My shyt is always raw, but, like, it's some
moments in here. [Laughs] That's what I'm here for.
There's a theme of reckonings on Sortilège. It's certainly not the first time that you've rapped about sobriety or overcoming addictions, but it's a clear theme here. Reckoning with genocide is a big one, as is reckoning with the general state of disconnection that we have from one another. Is this album an attempt to break the spells cast by dependencies, comfort, and convenience?
GN: Yes, a lot of my work is that. This is my most complete work, and as a result, it's a crystallization of those things. So, absolutely. It’s a concise statement of my view on the state of the world, whether it's interpersonal relationships, politics, or drugs. I'm really happy with it, because I feel like I said everything I wanted to say here.
P: And I love how "Lotus Flower" ends it, because it's about the cycle of life. You said it all, but there's still more to say. It's always circling back and back and back. I found that last little clip where it's just like, "Watch me, watch me." It's a continuation.
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