Here we are, diving into the swirling, meditative depths of "Reflections Vol. 2: Black Decelerant", an album that feels like the sonic equivalent of staring into the abyss — and finding the abyss staring right back. Khari Lucas (aka Contour) and Omari Jazz, the architects behind Black Decelerant, have gifted us with a work that’s as dense as it is delicate, as abstract as it is intentional. It’s an album that begs you to sit down, slow down, and confront some big questions — whether you want to or not.

Let’s not mince words here: this isn’t easy listening. But then again, what did you expect from a project that takes its name from an article about the intersection of Accelerationism and Black ontology? If you’re coming to "Reflections Vol. 2" looking for catchy hooks or toe-tapping rhythms, you’ve wandered into the wrong neighborhood. This is music for those who like their jazz served with a side of existential dread and a dash of ontological inquiry.

Take "two", the album’s first single and perhaps its most accessible track, if only because it’s the one that clocks in at a digestible two and a half minutes. Here, Jawwaad Taylor’s spectral trumpet improvisations float above a tundra of resonant signals and weathers, creating an eerie, otherworldly atmosphere that feels like it could dissolve at any moment. It’s a track that encapsulates the album’s ethos perfectly: a meditation on Black being and non-being, life and mourning, all wrapped up in a freeform jazz improvisation that somehow manages to be both disorienting and comforting.

But let’s not get too comfortable. The rest of the album takes you on a journey that’s as challenging as it is rewarding. Tracks like "one" and "three" unfold slowly, layering liquefied piano keys and bubbly bass lines over a bed of modulated soundscapes that feel both vast and intimate. It’s music that refuses to be rushed, demanding that you meet it on its own terms. And just when you think you’ve found your footing, along comes "seven 1/2", a brief, one-minute interlude that feels like a glimpse into some parallel universe where time has no meaning.

Lucas and Jazz have made it clear that this album was born out of a time of great existential stress, both personal and political. And it shows. "Reflections Vol. 2" is an album that grapples with some heavy themes — anti-Blackness, encroaching fascism, the very nature of existence itself — and yet, it never feels overwrought or self-indulgent. Instead, it’s a study in restraint, in using improvisation not as a way to show off, but as a means of exploration, of asking questions rather than providing answers.

Comparisons to other artists feel almost beside the point here, but if you must draw some lines, think of the spiritual jazz explorations of Pharoah Sanders, the ambient soundscapes of Brian Eno, or even the more esoteric corners of Sun Ra’s discography. But even these comparisons don’t quite capture what’s happening on "Reflections Vol. 2", because this is an album that exists very much in its own space, its own time — one that Lucas and Jazz have meticulously crafted for us to inhabit, even if only for a little while. They're maybe making in nu jazz territories what LTJ Bukem managed to do in the ones of drum'n'bass many years ago.

It’s worth noting, too, that this album is part of RVNG Intl.’s "Reflections" series, which is all about contemporary collaborations that push boundaries and challenge conventions. In that context, Black Decelerant fits right in, offering a work that’s both deeply rooted in tradition and utterly forward-thinking. This isn’t just music for the here and now; it’s music that’s reaching out towards some future we can’t quite see yet.

So, what’s the takeaway from "Reflections Vol. 2"? It’s not an album that’s going to give you easy answers, or even easy listening. But it is an album that’s going to make you think, make you feel, and maybe, just maybe, make you a little more aware of the world around you—and the worlds within you. And really, isn’t that what music is supposed to do? And in a world that’s increasingly obsessed with speed, with productivity, with doing more, there’s something radical, something almost revolutionary, about an album that asks you to slow down, to listen, and to reflect. "Reflections Vol. 2" is an invitation to do just that. Whether you accept it or not is up to you.