Pray or Prey? BAKUDI SCREAM Dissects Faith, Empire, and Diaspora Contradictions on Prey

Written Alexandria Anglade

BAKUDI SCREAM’s new album Prey emerged from a question that has haunted him for years: How can a community with a legacy of colonization now align itself—politically and economically—with modern forms of empire? The South Asian–American experience, he argues, is riddled with contradictions. Median household income for Indians in the United States hovers around $140,000, dwarfing every other minority group, while caste discrimination, Hindu nationalism, and Islamophobia remain unresolved tensions inside the diaspora. Some South Asians suffer real marginalization; others benefit from immense privilege—and, in many cases, both are true at once.

To unpack that complexity, BAKUDI SCREAM began a longer artistic journey, starting with faith as a lens. Religion, he says, can be abstract enough to invite a preacher-figure who twists devotion into a nationalist or imperial project. Hence the album’s title: Prey—a play on “pray,” hinting at how spiritual rhetoric can devour the vulnerable. The record fuses chamber-orchestra motifs (courtesy of collaborators Alarm Will Sound) with post-punk, hip-hop, plunderphonics, doom metal, and even Christian-rock textures. Traditional dhol-tasha rhythms appear, “punk-

ified” to critique the archive instead of exoticizing it. On “The Conquest,” BAKUDI SCREAM sings in Hindi for the first time, layering colonization lyrics over guitar chords that recall American suburbia’s worship bands—a deliberate cultural clash voiced by his alter ego, GW MAXXED.

Staying true to that vision means courting controversy. BJP or RSS sympathizers may bristle at his critiques, but BAKUDI SCREAM’s mission is to confront rising fascism head-on, even if it implicates his own community. He writes to understand himself first, trusting that radical self-interrogation can ripple outward. His creative process proves it: Preymorphed over five years—from a sci-fi opera commission into today’s post-genre manifesto—because his personal growth demanded it.

Collaboration played a crucial role. Alarm Will Sound’s flexibility let him chase every rabbit hole until the project clicked. In general, he chooses partners who challenge his poetic agenda and share core values, leaving ego at the door. Such freedom is rare; he knows this joint venture was kismet.

Industry realities remain grim—exploitative streaming economics, shrinking artist revenue—but BAKUDI SCREAM refuses to let a broken system dictate the worth of art. “The industry is shitty,” he says, “but music is not.” That conviction keeps him moving: creation itself is the privilege.

If Prey leaves listeners with one takeaway, he hopes it’s a sharper, self-critical lens—especially for South Asians. Heritage, he warns, means little if it becomes a tool of subjugation. By exposing that tension, BAKUDI SCREAM invites his community—and anyone tuned in—to question whom their prayers ultimately serve.

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