The psychedelic vision of Aiwaska
In an era where spiritual language is co-opted for marketing and ritual reduced to playlists, Aiwaska offers something stranger and more sincere. Clad in a shamanic mask gifted by Peruvian elders, the artist doesn’t perform a role, he channels one. For over two decades, his music has carried the weight of a belief system, not just a sound. It’s ceremonial, not in aesthetic but in intent: not to elevate the ego, but to dissolve it.
His new LP “Flora Fauna” is an expansion of that mission. Across seven tracks, the release doesn’t chase trend or tempo. Instead, it builds a landscape. Not a set of songs, but a system — evolving, layered, and relational. Featuring collaborators like Aquarius Heaven, Prana Flow, Megane Mercury, JAW, and Thomas Gandey, the LP invites voices that feel less like features and more like presences. Each guest contributes a different emotional register to the shared terrain, shifting the record from producer project to ecosystem.
The language around Aiwaska often reaches for metaphysics, but his approach is rooted. The name might evoke ancient plant medicine, but there’s nothing escapist about his vision. His output asks the listener not to transcend the world, but to engage more deeply with it, to hear its rhythms, notice its cycles, and pay attention to what’s being lost. The title “Flora Fauna” isn’t poetic, it’s political.
That connection between sonic culture and environmental consciousness takes shape through Aiwaska’s label and event platform, Plant. It’s not posturing. With animal-inspired artwork and a direct commitment to wildlife conservation, each release becomes a small gesture of reciprocity. He doesn’t romanticise nature. He collaborates with it — thematically, sonically, and financially.
There’s also the Aiwaska Planet Project, a digital-physical experience rooted in Web3 but far removed from the hype cycles and speculative noise. The project leverages NFTs not as collectibles but as entry points into a wider experiential world, fusing art, activism, and community without the usual jargon. It’s the kind of project that could only come from someone who sees no border between dancefloor and forest, between future and past.
It’s tempting to group Aiwaska with the wave of spiritually-branded electronic acts, but that misses the point. His work isn’t aesthetic window-dressing, it’s a sustained effort to reconnect music with meaning. Beneath the mask is not just a persona, but a philosophy: one that insists dancefloors can still be sacred, and that sonic rituals can help rewire how we relate to nature, community, and self.
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