Gonjasufi's brain thinks bomb-like: it makes him angry with himself, with his "life of sin"; furious with the greedy, and those who divide to rule; fearful of God; respectful of fate. It's not easy to pick this up from MU.ZZ.LE, because almost every word he utters is either heavily distorted or buried beneath prismatic dub-hop beats. Unlike his debut album, 2010's A Sufi and a Killer, a sprawling collaboration with LA producer Gaslamp Killer, MU.ZZ.LE is entirely Gonjasufi's own, and it shows in its unrelenting concentration. The 10 songs together last barely 25 minutes, and each one has been distilled to an essence. The atmosphere throughout is viscous, lethargic, but charged with electronic interference; beneath the buzzing and crackling are snatches of surprisingly gentle melody, romantic piano, the squealing laughter of a child. But it's Gonjasufi's voice that hypnotises: looping from a honeyed croon to a lead-heavy growl, it gives succour and pause for thought to those who find living uneasy.