Ishmael Butler’s Shabazz Palaces project has always occupied another plane, his discordant sounds and bizarro abstract lyrics just close enough to the familiar to spur intense cognitive dissonance. The music Butler makes with Tendai Maraire is avant-garde but undeniably focused: free-jazz rap made with samplers, sequencers, and drum machines. Distinctly informed by blackness and the black experience, it nonetheless has defied any previously constructed conventions, an awkward fit for any box you might try to squeeze it into.

Their latest records, the simultaneously released Quazarz vs. The Jealous Machines and Quazarz: Born on a Gangster Star, are their most direct attempt at universe-building, with Butler playing the part of the protagonist Quazarz, a “sent sentient from some elsewhere” who navigates “Amurderca” on the “Gangster Star”—dystopian parallel versions of the country and the planet that feel as familiar as they are terrifying (“We post-language, baby, we talk with guns,” he raps on “Welcome to Quazarz”). More than ever, signifiers of the “real” world serve to ground both records in a baseline reality, like the Central Area Youth Association rec center Butler once frequented (“Since C.A.Y.A.”) or the Xanax glow of “your favorite rapper” (“30 Clip Extension”).

Jealous Machines and Gangster Star feel even more connected than the last double release—the debut EPs Of Light and Shabazz Palaces—but they represent different modes of creation. Butler honed Jealous Machines with the producer Sunny Levine over periodic trips to Southern California stretched out over months; Gangster Star was banged out back home in Seattle with Erik Blood over two weeks in 2016, when intended bonus tracks evolved into a complete album.

When Butler first introduced himself as the Palaceer Lazaro, his collaborators were obfuscated and shrouded in mystery; as his star has risen, those collaborations have become more visible. Butler is still the heart of Shabazz Palaces, but their aesthetic is heavily influenced by the Black Constellation, a multi-disciplinary art collective of like-minded astral travelers. From the guest appearances to the videos—even the clothes they wear when they perform—the current iteration of Shabazz Palaces is clearly informed by this collection of stars.

Gangster Star reads like Butler’s version of a memoir: his experience as an extraterrestrial being deposited on a hostile planet. Jealous Machines nods to the symbiotic relationships we develop with the various black mirrors in our lives. They’re extensions of ourselves, and when we’re not on one, we’re often thinking about it, the machine calling out to us in its absence, like a needy lover that wants your attention and isn’t getting it. With Jealous Machines, Butler and Maraire reject both the device “and the guilds that proliferate them,” corporations that feed on the life force we pour into the machines that we’ve assimilated into our bodies. Less Luddite screed than cautionary tale, Jealous Machines resists the human detachment we so often correlated with our digital connections.

Part of what makes Shabazz Palaces so compelling has been their refusal to assign too much meaning to their work, preferring instead to invite their audience to make its own connections and draw its own conclusions. That proves more difficult with the often quite specific prog-rock space-opera narrative of these two albums, but the free-jazz vibe still makes for a visceral experience, regardless of whether not you can actually follow Quazarz’ path. They continue to eschew standard song structures in favor of free-flowing compositions whose direction is guided by instinct.

Butler once admitted to NPR that when he’s writing and recording, he’s not wholly concerned with the specifics of his intention: A line will come to him, he’ll record it, and later, when he listens back, he’ll have no clue where it came from. Improvisation is crucial to their process; they capture impulse on record, and crucially, have the confidence to let that raw expression stand. They strike a dichotomous balance of opposing feelings: joy and pain, relaxation and tension, staring at the stars with two feet planted firmly on the ground.

After four records, it would be foolish to expect any sort of formula from Shabazz Palaces. The closest analogue to the off-kilter rhythms and shifting time signatures might be El-P’s hallucinogenic panic-attack production, or the cosmic vibes of the Brainfeeder label, but Butler’s group has always felt shockingly unique. This time around, the edges of the Quazarz universe feel smoother, the ride less jarring. The low end is still intense, but it feels more like a deep tissue massage than a trunk-rattling rumble. They’re still manipulating vocal samples into space-age instruments (“Parallax”) but you won’t hear much of Maraire’s mbira, and even the syncopated rhythms feel staid and conventional. It’s quite possibly the most accessible and coherent music in the group’s catalog, but somehow the toned-down levels of weird feel disappointing.

Still, Gangster Star and Jealous Machines are essential counter-programming against the indoctrination of the screen-based economy—and a refreshing example of art and expression wholly unconcerned with convention. Butler has always attacked lesser rappers, daring them to elevate their art; his forceful confidence is meant to challenge “your favorite rapper” to push their own boundaries, to re-think just why they do things the way they’ve been done. Because to follow the path most traveled is to maintain the status quo, one both regressive and actively oppressive. And if you’re comfortable with the status quo of “Amurderca,” what exactly does that say about you?