Inspired by Denis Villeneuve’s cinematic Dune films, British filmmaker Lewis Andrews crafted a burnt-orange, desert-hued cinescape populated with speckled planets, vast horizons and an elongated monolith-shaped spacecraft cutting through a hazy skyline. The visual world feels expansive yet precise, built to merge UK drill with a grounded sci-fi aesthetic.
Drill artist Richard Akam opens the film, walking slowly and deliberately, wrapped in a rusty-grey, folk-inspired, futuristic floor-length coat. The look feels tribal—almost warrior-like—evoking the tone of Blade Runner, and perhaps nodding to the large-scale production Lewis was working on at the time. The cracked earth resembles Mars, the air feels tense and dry, and Akam’s heavy, moon-like boots send dust drifting across the frame. The atmosphere is thick and stifling in a way that most music videos never attempt.
An eerie duduk flute enters, looping melodically beneath a steady bass drum pattern. Richard begins rapping, and the soundscape locks into something unusual: Arabic flute lines, a house-leaning bassline, and grime-rooted cadence fused into a single track. The beat—also produced by Lewis Andrews—combines duduk recordings, electronic elements and drill-influenced percussion, giving the genre a sharply defined, off-world twist. It’s a blend of grit and melody, drum and drone, urban energy with sci-fi tension.
As the video transitions from morning to evening, two planets eclipse in the distance while distant stars flicker against the triangular spacecraft slicing overhead. The shift into night introduces a baby sand worm emerging from a basket—an image that is both strange and captivating. These surreal details reinforce the film’s sense of otherworldliness without overshadowing the artist.
The result is a tightly controlled visual universe built on bold colour, minimalism and mood—an unexpected fusion of drill, desert futurism and narrative detail that expands the boundaries of what a music video in this genre can look like.
Richard Akam
