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On a gloomy Manchester night, alternative rapper RenzNiro and a crew of Manny locals come together to erect a gargantuan sound system in the nearby park. Rising up into the sky, the stack acts like a sonic fortress, defying cold skyscrapers symbolic of how the city’s changed.

The short film, directed by Rory Wood (AKA Rawtape), embodies his gloss-free style – one that speaks to the grit and strength of Mancunian subculture. Rory, a Preston native, cut his teeth in Glasgow, capturing squat parties and mákina MCs. From there, his lens turned to bigger names, shooting artists like Central Cee, Goldie, Slawn and Nia Archives. In this project, Rory returns to his subterranean roots, celebrating the secondary city’s musical avant-garde.

In their endeavour, RenzNiro and his pals work through the night. Signs are dotted around them, printed with warnings, such as “The regeneration game” or “Everything must go”. Flashing lights and a frenetic jungle track – a new release care of Renz – soundtrack their mission. By the time the sun rises, a tower of speakers stands tall, signalling their resilience against the developers’ steel and glass.

As a protagonist, RenzNiro is a fitting pick. A fixture in Manchester’s alternative rap scene, the Wythenshawe-raised musician is known for his commanding, unmistakably Northern delivery. He’s a moving narrator, too. Since starting in 2019, he’s built a dedicated following obsessed by his deliberate, off-kilter cadence. These days, his music’s taken an inward turn, ushering in collaborations with artists like Lauren Duffus and Manchester legends Space Afrika. His albums are often grounded with spoken-word reflections on the experience of racialised alienation.

Much like his lyrics, the film captures RenzNiro’s yearning for community and his relentless drive to rise – both literally and metaphorically. The heaven-kissing sound system becomes more than just a structure, but also a vision of the city on his terms.

Somewhere in Paris, DJ and visual artist Crystallmess is sitting on the floor of a mysterious green room. Visibly locked in, she spins a brooding techno set while a gaggle of chicly clad onlookers watch on. As the short develops, we explore the DJ’s influence on Paris: wires connected to her decks spill out across the city, building a network of Crystall-ytes. Moving through cafés and metro stations, we meet a cast of curious strangers who follow the wires to their source.

For many fans, their first encounter with Crystallmess (real name: Christelle Oyiri) would have been during Frank Ocean’s 2023 Coachella headline show where the Banlieue-raised selector played a 10-minute set to rapturous applause – later going viral. By that time, Christelle was already a seasoned pro. She uploaded her first track to Soundcloud circa 2011 before honing her craft and landing slots at Berghain, Boiler Room and worldwide festivals. As a devoted digger, Christelle is hard to define under a single genre, but she perhaps best explained her approach when speaking to THE FACE about how she wants listeners to feel: “transformed, terrified, sexy and understood”.

All this may be why director Léa Esmaili presented the characters in the film as she did. Rocking bold looks, they’re the exact type of nightbird sophisticates that would find refuge in Christelle’s sound. And so, by the end of the film, they’re laying down, headphones on – plugged into Crystallmess’ mixer.

Léa – a director unafraid to play with visual effects – has worked with artists such as French rappers Mairo and Yvnnis, as well as Argentinian pop star Emilia Mernes. She’s also adept in making more whimsical works like coming-of-age short, Skipping School, which aired recently on Nowness.

In this new offering, we’re presented a journey of self-discovery in which unexpected pleasure comes by embracing the unknown. Ears to the ground!

In this short, we take a step inside Tottenham rapper Chy Cartier’s mind. Growing up, the 20-year-old experienced the city’s rougher edges, a factor that gives her an authentic perspective when writing. Bursting onto the scene in 2023 with her hit single, Bossed Up, the artist has continued to make leaps in her career, featuring in magazines like THE FACE and Wonderland, joining this year’s lineup for Skepta’s Big Smoke Festival, as well as collaborating with artists like Headie One and Nemzzz.

Though she usually presents a more confident side to her personality – polished looks and braggadocious lyrics, such as “Money long like it's made for me” – this film, entitled The Ends, shows her in a new light. She’s more vulnerable, perhaps, reflecting on the experiences that shaped her. “Where I’m from, toughness is second nature,” she explains.

As her words loop, we see close-up shots of Chy from different angles, dramatically lit and spliced with city vignettes: escalators, financial buildings, train stations, crowds, pigeons and building sites.

Created by artistic duo Uncanny, AKA George Muncey and Elliott Elder – who have worked with the likes of Disclosure and Dave – the short shows off their eye for detail, forging narratives from an ostensibly mundane cityscape. Much like Chy’s lyrics, the film refuses to romanticise London, serving up unvarnished visuals and unapologetic grit.

In this experimental short film, a blend of CGI and real action footage immerses us in the underground world of Berlin-based DJ, Cora. Diving into a digitised, urban scene, we meet the Chengdu-raised selector in an undisclosed, brutalist location where she plays a thrumming techno track, The Heart Sutra – just launched on Berlin label-cum-collective Herrensauna.

Despite hailing from China, Cora moved to Berlin when she found her calling behind the decks. Nevertheless, as a DJ and producer, her East Asian heritage has remained integral as a reference point. Indeed, The Heart Sutra was inspired by the popular aphorism in Mahāyāna Buddhism.

Like Cora, Anna van der Velde has an affinity for the more transcendental elements of art and dance music. Through her uncanny graphics and surrealist storylines, she explores psychological phenomena, covering lucid dreams, grief and intimacy.

In this film, the line between reality and fiction blurs. At one point, the camera spins, and we suddenly see Cora mirrored and multiplied, suspended in mid-air with her limbs hanging in repose. In the background, her track peters out into a calming, high-frequency ring – almost binaural – reflecting her meditative, weightlessness state. Finally, we close with a return to Cora’s fever-pitch performance. The party goes on.