TIAN QIYI’s sophomore album Songs For Workers is a rare kind of record: one that refuses to settle into the familiar categories of world music fusion or post-punk revival, instead carving out a space that feels both ancestral and futuristic. The duo—brothers John Tian Qi Wardle and Charlie Tian Yi Wardle—draw deeply from their multicultural lineage: their mother, orchestra founder Zilan Liao, instilled Chinese classical traditions, while their father, Jah Wobble, infused them with the heavy-lidded throb of dub and the restless experimentation of post-punk. On this new outing, Wobble himself appears on six of the ten tracks, but his presence feels less like guest work than an extension of family DNA, anchoring the brothers’ exploratory reach.
The album opens with “Ulaanbaatar,” a short instrumental that drifts like a desert wind across strings and percussion before giving way to “At the Beginning,” where hypnotic rhythms and Wobble’s subterranean bass push the sound toward an ecstatic crescendo. These first moments establish the record’s guiding principle: contrasts that coexist rather than clash. High-pitched timbres from the morin khuur and erhu are set against thick dub echoes; meditative drones erupt into frenzied climaxes.
“The Route of Desire” epitomizes that duality. Initially drifting in a dreamlike haze, its vocals submerged under effects, the track suddenly explodes into frenetic, psychedelic turbulence. “Mongolian Dub” slows the pulse, but not the intensity, its mantra-like lyrics drawing on Buddhist imagery of impermanence. Where many fusion projects lean on novelty, Tian Qiyi’s approach feels lived-in and instinctual, a sonic grammar that reflects how heritage and contemporary life intertwine rather than staging them as opposites.
“Watch the Sunrise” offers the album’s most lyrical moment, its melodic core carrying an invitation toward transcendence—an explicit call to leave behind ego and rationality. “Dharma,” by contrast, burrows into darker territory, weaving flutes and strings over an ominous rumble before reappearing later in its “Ambient” incarnation, stretched into a more cosmic, free-floating form. “Luoyang” and “Siege” showcase the duo’s flair for rhythm-driven improvisation, the former a whirlwind of energy, the latter recalling the experimental dub textures of post-punk pioneers like The Slits. The title track closes the record with a triumphant sense of purpose, its bass-heavy undertow offset by a buoyant, almost celebratory top line.
Songs For Workers is not a polemic despite its name, nor is it bound to a single cultural or political lens. Rather, it operates as a manifesto of musical openness, where traditions are neither exoticized nor diluted but reimagined within new frameworks. If their debut Red Mist hinted at possibility, this second album fully realizes it: a hallucinatory, deeply rooted, and endlessly curious work that redefines what diasporic psychedelia can sound like in 2025.
