Zouj Pushes Electro-Folk to its Limits on 'Sabah Al Kheir Men Zouj II'

French-Moroccan-American producer Zouj's latest EP 'Sabah Al Kheir Men Zouj II' sits somewhere between hilarious, virtuosic, and culturally alive. The sound is hard to pin down, but its roots are legible: raï, mahraganat, dabke, the folk traditions of a region that experimental club music has been gravitating towards for years. Zouj's production makes it clear he's no stranger to these genres. But that doesn't stop him from mangling synth sounds, pushing arrangements to their limits, and taking every opportunity to make a choice so unexpected it either pulls a laugh out of you, or scratches your brain in exactly the right spot.

Released on Berlin label RAUFASER TONTRAEGER, the tape is a sequel to 'Sabah Al Kheir Men Zouj', which leaned further into raï and way-way. This one swings east: into the chaotic festival-electronic folk of Egypt's mahraganat scene, and the relentless pulse of Levantine dabke, with source material ranging from Egyptian children's cassettes found in street markets to Telegram groups Zouj can't read. The move is curious rather than curatorial. He listens, absorbs, and then distorts, expands, and deep-fries everything.

The EP opens with '୧༼ಠ益ಠ╭∩╮༽(ma ba3ref shi)', which translates to "I don't know anything”; the kaomoji rage-face in the title setting the tone for the naming conventions to follow. Moroccan multidisciplinary artist Naiires returns from the previous instalment, with Egyptian rapper and producer Perrie joining on co-production. Built on shaabi synths and drums aggressive enough to bruise, the track has Naiires essentially affirming the title: listing the languages he doesn't speak over bass sounds pushed so far past their limits they're practically disintegrating. Against all odds, it's an enormous bop.

The sample-heavy 'ヽ༼ ຈل͜ຈ༼ ▀̿̿Ĺ̯̿̿▀̿ ̿༽Ɵ͆ل͜Ɵ͆ ༽ﾉ (bouya bouya)' is one of the tape's most dancefloor-ready tracks, though it earns that in characteristically odd fashion: screams used as risers, a bit-crushed lead synth barely holding together, clubby drums snapping over glitchy digital textures. What anchors it is a central sample that keeps the track moving forward, and holds everything steady even as the chaos mounts around it.

'ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ (safe9)' is a disarming moment in the EP. Unyielding claps carry the groove while the keyboard runs through what sound like stock presets, played with a speed and specificity that makes the cheese land hard. The track's DNA is unmistakably mahraganat, but then, without quite warning you, the whole thing tips into massive 808s and a trap skeleton. It's the track that best captures what Zouj is doing overall: taking things that shouldn't cohere and making them feel inevitable.

'︻╦╤─ T(taklieldjaja)' closes the tape on a dancefloor lean. Dabke rhythms inform the structure, the track built around rhythmic filter sweeps and a cascade of risers and fallers that creates the sensation of a beat perpetually about to drop. Random samples cut in and out. The distorted synth tears through the middle. By the time it resolves into something you could actually play in a club, you've already been through enough texture and movement for another EP entirely.

Zouj has described wanting these tracks to be "club-friendly," then immediately admitted uncertainty about whether they are, before adding that some of them will give you "a rush of adrenaline followed by a buzzing headache." That's about as accurate a description as you're going to get. 'Sabah Al Kheir Men Zouj II' is maximalist, humourous, and huge-sounding, and it achieves all of that simultaneously without feeling calculated. It sounds like music made by someone who finds all of this genuinely exciting, which, increasingly, is a rarer quality than it should be.