Blending swaggering flows inspired by 90s East Coast rap with grinding metal guitars and twisted horrorcore lyrics that punch up with the same fervour as a Jordan Peele film, Mutinta has crafted a fully loaded album, building on the momentum of her Polaris Music Prize winning debut, God Has Nothing To Do With This Leave Him Out Of It. A coveted award given annually to the best Canadian album based on artistic merit, Backxwash joins a list of heavyweights that has recently included artists like Kaytranada, Lido Pimienta, and Haviah Mighty.

As a transgender woman, she has been battling for respect and inclusion in the Canadian hip-hop scene for years, but her injection of female energy into the traditionally male-dominated space of horrorcore paired with her vivid, cathartically angry depictions of her experiences are starting to resonate with a wider audience. “Horrorcore is a good avenue for someone who wants to paint all of their emotions,” Mutinta says. “Just like how horror in movies is used to freely express difficult subjects, that also stands true from a musical standpoint.”

Mutinta was drawn to the crossroads of hip-hop and metal because of the rebellious and revolutionary connotations attached to both genres, as well as the general lack of rules attached to their sound. She stands among a long list of transgender artists leading the charge on boundlessly experimental music, many in the similarly chaotic, in-your-face and genre-free space of hyperpop. “I think we just gravitate towards experimental genres,” she says with enthusiasm. “I think it’s the idea of rebellion as well. Just how punk it is to participate in those genres with no rules, doing whatever you want.”

On I Lie Here Buried…, she uses that artistic freedom to lay the smackdown on racism and bigotry across centuries of history. From the lasting colonial ramifications of the African slave trade to modern-day microaggressions, Mutinta leaves no transgression unchecked. On album highlight, “666 in Luxaxa,” she dives into the reclamation of the word “witchcraft,” a derogatory term given to African spiritual practices by European missionaries, over a flipped sample of African choral music used in traditional healing. “I put the sample there as a connection to the Zulu people, how they’re able to make sure that their values are not lost in colonization and stay true to their traditions,” she says.

Today, Mutinta is proud to be a witch and she reflects it through her ghoulish and dark aesthetic, often accompanied by elaborate makeup and costuming. She spent her childhood and teenage years in a highly religious community in Zambia before moving to British Columbia for a university degree. And like many others in the LGBT community, now feels more comfortable on the more devilish side of things after being verbally kicked out of god’s graces one too many times.

“It mostly has to do with embracing identity. If I’m not embraced by one side, I might as well embrace the side that doesn’t have a problem with me,” she says. “Freedom of expression in terms of the visuals and symbols you can use to express yourself is a very strong thing.”

Mutinta credits the musical diversity and spirit of collaboration she experienced growing up in Africa with her love of creation and her penchant for unconventional sounds.“There’s a lot of hip-hop from Zambia that I grew up making with people around the neighbourhood, and there’s also the music in the churches combining African instruments with all of these choral passages,” she says. “I’m still influenced by that, and sometimes it’s like, ‘Yo, I should put a spin on this.’”

If the way Mutinta cuts vocally into every syllable, making sure the listener feels the impact of her every word, reminds you of the dead-eyed, murderous conviction of early Jay-Z or Biggie, it’s no accident. Lighting up with excitement and talking a mile a minute as soon as the subject is brought up, Mutinta could go on for hours about her love of old school hip-hop, sampling, and battle rap—especially out of New York City.