Somewhere in the labyrinth of Istanbul’s sonic underground, where the past and future slip through each other’s fingers like sand, Grup Ses and Gökalp K have been busy rewriting the rules of beat-making. Their self-titled album is not just a fusion of styles - it’s a sonic detour through a city where breakbeats clash with Ottoman echoes, where grime and jungle flirt with Anatolian psychedelia, and where nostalgia is less a warm memory and more a distorted radio broadcast filtering through time.

For those unfamiliar, Grup Ses has spent the last two decades repurposing Turkish musical history through edits, mash-ups, and deconstructed beats, turning archival oddities into glitchy, funked-up head-nodders. Gökalp K, meanwhile, comes from a different but complementary corner, weaving electro-acoustic textures with deep sound design. Together, they create an album that feels like walking through Istanbul’s backstreets with a half-broken Walkman, catching snippets of pirate radio transmissions, street musicians, and club nights all bleeding into one another.

The record opens with "Marru", a slow-burning initiation rite that sets the tone for the rest of the trip. From there, "Gartlangabak" stutters forward with a mechanical funk, while "Hane-i Can" enlists the razor-sharp flow of Turkish MC Ethnique Punch, slicing through the beat like a samurai wielding a warped MPC. "Elektroliz" is another highlight, where guest appearances from Elektro Hafz and DJ Syr turn the track into a cosmic bazaar of psych-rock wah-wahs and turntable scratches, a place where the ghost of Bar Manço high-fives Wiley in a puff of hashish smoke.

Then there’s "Takatuka Riddim", a title that alone suggests this is not a record taking itself too seriously - indeed, the duo’s sense of humor remains intact, an essential ingredient in Grup Ses’s past work. "Grimey" does exactly what it promises, throwing jagged synths over a lurching rhythm that could make even the most stoic raver lose their balance. The album ends with "Tieron (Granul Remix)", a rework that feels like a farewell transmission from another dimension, looping back into the ether just as the signal begins to degrade.

Throughout the album, one gets the feeling that Grup Ses & Gökalp K aren’t just making music - they’re reconstructing it, playfully dismantling the components of hip-hop, dubstep, and jungle and throwing in stray pieces of Turkish psychedelia, radio chatter, and forgotten cassette tapes. The result is a record that doesn’t sit still, doesn’t follow a map, and, like Istanbul itself, thrives in its contradictions.

This is club music for imaginary clubs, pirate radio for stations that don’t exist yet. And yet, it all feels deeply rooted in something real - something lived-in, something that could only be born from the crossroads of past and present, East and West, boom-bap and balama.