The track opens with a sonic disorientation that feels deliberate—ancient instrumentation, or perhaps synthesised approximations thereof, collide with contemporary production techniques. Where lesser artists might settle for orientalist window-dressing, Lekursi demonstrates genuine archaeological instinct. The production doesn't simply reference the ancient world; it attempts to reconstruct its mindset, that revolutionary moment when Akhenaten obliterated centuries of religious practice and remade language itself around his singular vision.
BBC Introducing rightly identified uniqueness as Lekursi's calling card, though that descriptor barely scratches the surface. The musical architecture here channels the same autocratic certainty that drove Akhenaten's reformation—no hesitation, no compromise between old and new but rather their violent synthesis. Percussion skitters across the mix like hieroglyphics animated, whilst basslines suggest the inexorable weight of stone monuments. The vocal delivery, when it arrives, carries the quality of proclamation, though Lekursi wisely avoids the theatrical excess that would render this all costume drama.
What elevates "Amarna Letters" beyond mere conceptual cleverness lies in its structural intelligence. The composition mirrors its subject's historical trajectory: initial disruption, followed by consolidation of power, then the creeping awareness of fragility. Akhenaten's revolution famously collapsed almost immediately after his death, his city abandoned, his name chiselled from monuments, his singular god rejected. Lekursi captures this doomed grandeur without descending into bathetic tragedy. The track's latter half introduces subtle fissures in the sonic architecture, suggestions of instability beneath the monumental surface.
The artist's stated inspiration from lucid dreams and historical synchronicities could read as pretentious mysticism, yet the music itself justifies such lofty framing. Lucid dreaming's characteristic blend of control and surrender, consciousness and unconsciousness, maps remarkably well onto the experience of engaging with deep history. We impose contemporary understanding onto fragmentary evidence; we dream ourselves into vanished worlds with false confidence. Lekursi seems acutely aware of this paradox and makes it productive.
The production values deserve particular commendation. Rather than polishing every frequency into submission, the mix retains texture and grit—the sonic equivalent of weathered limestone. This isn't pristine museum reconstruction but something earthier, more truthful to the violence and disruption of Akhenaten's reign. Modern and ancient sounds don't merely coexist; they challenge and transform one another, much as the pharaoh challenged and transformed Egyptian civilisation.
Lekursi's artistic gambit rests on the belief that Akhenaten's story remains relevant today, that lessons persist in this 3,300-year-old tale of religious revolution and civilisational upheaval. The music doesn't belabour this connection through lyrical heavy-handedness. Instead, it trusts listeners to perceive their own synchronicities, to recognise patterns between ancient autocracy and contemporary politics, between old certainties demolished and new orders imposed.
"Amarna Letters" confirms Lekursi as an artist uninterested in prevailing trends, committed instead to forging connections between ancestral memory and present consciousness. It's challenging, intellectually serious music that nonetheless moves the body—a rare combination. Whether this heralds a broader project or stands alone as a singular statement, Lekursi has crafted something genuinely distinctive: a dance record with the weight of empires behind it.