It was a typical winter day in Edinburgh. A grey hue stifled the city as an easterly wind howled through the tight streets, rattling my box room’s windowpane. Wrapped head to toe in blankets, scarves, and a shabby oversized duvet jacket, I grovelled at the rain that spattered against the glass. Following a bleak breakup and doubly dire bout of whooping cough, the sight of me flinching at the window’s draft could hardly be characterised as a twenty-something living the ‘best years of their life’. 

 

Sullen-skinned and dishevelled in both appearance and morale, I sought an escape from a university experience I’d more than readily signed up to. Rummaging in my rucksack, I hauled a pair of headphones out and rammed them in my ears, frantically searching for a musical distraction. Instantly, I gravitated towards the sound of 2019 summer: Jai Paul’s blissful ‘Do You Love Her Now’. As Paul asks, “time for one more jam yeah?” I was whisked away from the dystopic depths of Scottish February and hurled back to an idyllic summer shared with my brother at home in Devon.

Music has always been central to how I have interacted and connected with people and the world around me. To me, music is like a private auditory universe - a disconnected realm of escapism. No artists have contributed to me and my older brother’s sonic universe more than Rayners Lane locals Jai & A. K. Paul. The brothers have produced a visionary fusion of genres that coalesce into a distinctly timeless vision of pop music. The pair remain spectral figures within the mainstream industry, their presence rarely seen, but routinely heard in others’ work. News on the brothers, let alone official music releases, continues to feel momentous.

 

During our teenage years, me and my own brother’s experience of music had been mediated by our parent’s cobalt blue Nissan Micra. The car was like a porous mobile acoustic cocoon with shoddy, tinny speakers. Shared in the Micra, Jai Paul’s unofficial Leak 04-13: Bait Ones was the most formative auditory experience for the pair of us. The pulsating synths and indistinguishable lyrics of ‘Vibin’’ and thunderous bass and sultry falsettos on ‘Jasmine’ were the soundtracks for night-time drives across Dartmoor. With nothing but silhouettes of trees and distant tors, Paul’s transcendental album created a sonic fusion between our bodies, the car and the surrounding landscape. A space to laugh, to sing, to escape, the car facilitated our brotherly connection through the Pauls’ music in the local landscapes of home, Devon.

Three years after Jai’s album leak and near radio silence from the Paul brothers’, the news of a newly formed music collective named the Paul Institute filtered through the music industry. Me and my brother were inhaling supper at the family table when we received the text: “Hey this is A. K. Paul. I’ve just released my debut single ‘Landcruisin’’, wanted to invite you all to hear it. Peace :)”. We had one thing on our minds. “You wanna go for a drive?” I exclaimed.

We grabbed the keys, dived in the car, plugged in the aux and hit the road. As 80s synths and guitar grooves manically fought for control, the rumbling sound of motorbike engines subtly embedded themself within the mix. Like being transported onto the neon-tinted streets of Blade Runner, we became enveloped once again within the visionary soundscape of the Paul’s. “I’m Landcruisin’ Witchu” cooed A. K. as we hurtled along the road towards Hay Tor, sun setting, beaming like kids, completely immersed in both the sonic mastery of our idols and the beauty of our homely landscapes.

 

Momentarily removed from my Uni hovel, Jai’s ‘Do You Love Her Now’ began to fade and I wryly smiled, reminiscing on the experiences shared with my brother listening to the Pauls’ work over the years. As the rain continued to spit at my windows, I stifled a dry cough and chuckled. ‘Here’s to next summer’ I thought, queueing ‘Str8 Outta Mumbai’ for the umpteenth time…