Noname has always been an artist that moves comfortably at her own pace. On Sundial, she slips comfortably back into the nostalgically tinged hip hop that she’s perfected ever since her debut mixtape, Telefone. 

Noname’s poetic, effortless verses would often flow as if spilled from the most personal confessions of a diary. On Sundial, they’re no less dizzyingly impressive, but are more biting and grittier than ever. She floats confidently over a broad palette of live instrumental production, not only the joyful neo-soul that herself and her Chicago peers are best known for, but also gospel, bossa and afrobeats.

The record is a natural extension not only of Noname’s past music but of her work as a revolutionary community organiser. In the same way that a sundial clock marks the passage of time through shadows, on Sundial Noname signposts the highs and lows of the five years since her last album, tackling the violence of the American state, intersectional gender issues and the commodification of black trauma. 

In a way that few artists do, she impressively captures the totality of these experiences; the sometimes messy contradictions of resistance and liberation struggles, and the tension between hip-hop’s roots in radicalism and its subsumption within an exploitative music industry. Sundial is Noname basked in complete authenticity, refusing to be watered down, critical yet with an eye still on the importance of solidarity and love.