Listening to Lubin's Gaza is like standing in a war zone of sound - the distant tremor of explosions filtered through sine waves, voices bleeding into beat patterns, grief and anger given rhythmic form. It's not easy music, but it's urgent, uncompromising, and haunted by the weight of its own witness.

Lubin’s second album doesn’t just gesture toward protest - it drags the protest into the body. The template is raw industrial techno, with pulse and drive, but those beats never dominate: they are the skeleton beneath the flesh of field recordings, news fragments, voices from the ground. You feel the collision: the circuitry of machines and the flesh of speech, the abstraction of electronic design and the rawness of trauma.

From the opening “Raw Power” onward, the record feels like a struggle - not just against silence, but against forgetting. Al-Szifa moves slowly, gravely, as though walking through ruins; Gush Emunin turns tension into echo, letting resonance linger like smoke. Deptanie SzkLa (“treading glass”) is brittle sound made form, shards of rhythm under pressure. Jabalya and Sumud (a word meaning “steadfastness”) are dirges in motion. And in Gniew (“anger”), Lubin lets the full force loose: the longest track, the most exposed, where electronics, voice, modulations collide in catharsis.

What is striking is Lubin’s refusal to take a simple pole. The album does not pretend that its testimony is unambiguous; it explores how voices fracture under violence, how political catastrophe bleeds into personal pain. The result is not a manifesto but a lamentation that refuses to dull its edges.

One hears in Gaza echoes of industrial and darkambient traditions - but also something more alive, more precarious: music that feels like walking on cracked ground. You feel the instability in the mix, the shifting balance between noise and presence. The production is unflinching: no softening, no smoothing. The CD edition is limited (300 copies), folded in six-panel ekopack, reinforcing that this is precious and fragile.

A listener might stumble here - this is not comfortable music. But it is an album that demands to be heard. After the final echo fades, you realize it doesn’t leave you, because Gaza was never just sound. It was a call, a wound, a witness, and in that sense, it continues.