My People...

"My People..." arrives with the weight of an invocation. Zulu has always been explicit about who they're playing for, and this track feels like the most direct articulation of that commitment — music that is unambiguously, specifically addressed, a refusal of the universalism that often functions as erasure. The sonic architecture is powerviolence at its most concentrated: drums that hit with a blunt, almost percussive force distinct from more technical approaches, guitars that sustain heavy tonal presence without relying on speed alone for impact. The song has a ceremonial quality underneath the aggression, as if the noise itself is a form of protection or affirmation rather than simply attack. Anaiah Lei's voice performs a particular kind of dual labor throughout the band's catalog — maintaining intelligibility inside an overwhelmingly loud sonic environment, refusing to let the message be swallowed — and here that quality feels most purposeful. There's a specific tenderness embedded in the fury, the kind that exists between people who share a history of being made to feel unsafe and have collectively decided not to accept that arrangement. Listening to this, you understand why Zulu has been so deliberate about the space their shows create: the music is an extension of that intention, hostility redirected outward rather than inward, care expressed in extreme volume.