Album Review: Sortilège by Gabe ‘Nendez & Preservation
Preservation’s sampling is meticulous yet spontaneous; ‘Nandez’s writing is introspective yet confrontational. They build a soundscape where breakbeats and voices from different continents coexist.
The story behind the collaboration reads like a quiet alignment rather than a marketing push. Gabe ‘Nandez and Preservation first worked together on Aethiopes, an incredible billy woods album where ’Nandez and Boldy James shared verses on the track “Sauvage.” That session unlocked something. A few years later, with tapes, notebooks, and curiosity in tow, ’Nandez flew down to New Orleans. The pair spent days playing Boot Camp Clik, Scaramanga, and Only Built 4 Cuban Linx records and asking questions about technique and history. Their bond deepened through a shared francophone heritage—Preservation is partly French, and ‘Nandez is of Malian descent—and those ties seeped into the art through sample sources and language. Rather than a social‑media campaign, this friendship birthed Sortilège, an album whose title refers to spell‑casting and enchantment.
Preservation is known for production that feels like a collage rather than a boom‑bap template. On his own records, he has limited himself to sample libraries collected while living in Hong Kong, constructing entire projects from rare Mandarin and Cantonese albums. He tells Grown Up Rap that he often works with loops and no drums, layering sounds until a collage takes shape. When he does add percussion, it is deliberate, allowing samples to breathe while drum loops puncture the haze. His beats on Aethiopes, for instance, trace obscure samples from Hong Kong record shops to spaghetti western standoffs, and Sortilège continues this wandering spirit. Over fourteen tracks, Preservation rummages through breakbeats and instrumentation, conjuring a breakbeat symphony where drums rattle cars one moment and whisper threats the next. The soundscape feels hand‑built yet uncluttered; horns, woodwinds, and disembodied voices drift in, then vanish, giving ‘Nandez space to operate. It’s a reminder that Preservation’s instrument is not just the sampler but curation itself.
One of the first songs heard from the project is a piece about dependency. “Ball & Chain” presents drug addiction as a shackle rather than a lifestyle, a reflection that the artists describe as a reality of being bound to vice. The beat has a slow-burning quality, built around soulful samples that evoke melancholy and introspection. ‘Nandez is rich in metaphorical language that blends street-level realism with introspective reflection. For example, when he says, “I was snorting ‘caine out in Canada, had my coffin made,” he’s comparing the act of using cocaine with preparing for death, highlighting how addiction feels like a slow march toward an inevitable end. There’s a lot of subtle wordplay here, too: “The walk of doubt I would call ahead before I bought them fangs” could be interpreted as literal (buying drugs) and figurative (embracing self-destructive habits). Another standout, “Shadowstep,” is tightly packed with meaning, often moving between personal anecdotes and broader social commentary. There’s a balance between reflecting on past mistakes and acknowledging the present moment, as seen when he mentions first-time offenses versus second-time slips.
Where Preservation supplies the canvas, Gabe ‘Nandez supplies the charcoal. On “War,” he opens with a militaristic tone, referencing automatics and weaponry, setting a scene of violence and conflict. His wordplay is direct, using imagery to evoke a sense of chaos. “Writing boats” plays on the idea of moving weight or contraband across waters, blending literal and metaphorical movement. billy woods enters with his signature dense lyricism. He opens by downplaying the difficulty of killing, saying it’s easy but pointing out how fear spreads. His bars are heavy with irony—“All y’all really needed was a hug”—mocking how simple solutions are ignored in favor of violence. He’s playing on the absurdity of war culture. ‘Nendez’s writing in “Muay Sok” draws heavily on combat sports, specifically Muay Thai. The references to training routines like skipping rope, shadowboxing, and specific moves such as roundhouse kicks create a metaphorical parallel between the discipline of fighting and the craft of rapping. This sets up a larger theme about endurance, struggle, and honing one’s skills.
Throughout “Bascinet,” Gabe employs a recurring theme of duality in his writing: heavy-heartedness versus lightness, or danger versus safety (“knife props soon as the burners go off safe”), while Preservation uses sparse sampling techniques that feel organic rather than overly polished. His bars often have a meditative quality, where he reflects on his life, both literal and metaphorical, especially with “Kurtz.” Another strong image comes from “My journal burns from the urn of the colonel through its combustion,” which evokes destruction but also transformation, suggesting that his writing develops from conflict and struggle. “Spire” often feels like a stream of consciousness, but there’s a deliberate structure to how he builds his thoughts. He references cultural icons like Robert Johnson and Charlie Bronson, not just for name-dropping but to evoke deeper themes about choices, consequences, and survival. There’s also an interesting play on age and perception when he says his girl is 20 but from the hood, so she’s 26—this adjacency speaks volumes about how environment can accelerate maturity or wear someone down faster than their years suggest. It’s a subtle way of showing how context shapes identity without needing a heavy-handed explanation.
Preservation’s production on “Respected Calligraphy” complements Gabe ‘Nandez’s lyrical density with an understated yet convoluted soundscape. The beat is minimalist but textured, allowing space for the words to breathe while still maintaining momentum. The drums have a dusty, boom-bap quality that feels organic and raw, while subtle samples weave in and out to create atmosphere without overwhelming the vocals. It’s clear Preservation leans into an approach that values restraint over excess, giving Gabe ‘Nandez room to deliver his message clearly without distraction. The bars flow smoothly but carry weight; they’re packed with meaning that requires careful listening to unpack. His wordplay often blends street-level experiences with broader geopolitical references, creating a colligation between the personal and the global. For example, when he mentions “Atlanta and L.A. is like Baghdad,” he’s drawing a parallel between domestic urban struggles and international conflict zones, highlighting systemic violence in both contexts.
There are moments where his metaphors blur into abstract imagery. On “Hierophant” with Koncept Jack$on, ‘Nandez evokes hidden knowledge or buried truths waiting to be unearthed. He often shifts between these grandiose images and more street-level commentary without losing coherence. Preservation built around dusty samples that feel almost ritualistic themselves—there's an air of mystery created by looping minor chords or obscure jazz fragments. However, it’s “Mondo Cane” that offers its unique approach to themes of survival, decay, and transformation while maintaining a consistent tone across the track as a whole with Preservation’s moody production that amplifies their words without overpowering them. Gabe ‘Nandez opens the track with a gritty, street-level perspective, Benjamin Booker’s hook brings a haunting refrain that contrasts the density of the verses with its simplicity, billy woods aligns moments of violence with surreal reflections, creating a layered effect where different emotional states coexist in tension, and ELUCID closes the track featuring masked connections between past actions and present consequences without spelling them out directly.
What ultimately makes Sortilège compelling is its commitment to an internal logic. The title can mean “an act of witchcraft” or “an inexplicable fascination,” and the music embodies both. Preservation’s sampling is meticulous yet spontaneous; ’Nandez’s writing is introspective yet confrontational. They don’t chase trends or mimic their peers. Instead, they build a soundscape where breakbeats and voices from different continents coexist. Listening feels like walking through a city where every alley opens into another culture. There are no obvious singles designed for playlists because there are instead songs that challenge, instruct and haunt. Sortilège doesn’t just bring the world to New York—it sketches a world of its own, like “Lotus Flower,” which is a recurring metaphor for growth through adversity, rising from muddy waters to bloom into something pure. This image runs throughout the song (or this album as a whole) as a symbol of personal evolution and enlightenment. Even rapping “Crucify myself to find a way to write a song to rap” is an example of self-sacrifice for art, a metaphor for the pain or introspection required to create something meaningful.
Great (★★★★☆)
Favorite Track(s): “Muay Sok,” “War,” “Respected Calligraphy”