If you’re the kind of person who can’t sit still through a single genre, Entropy by 2ŁØT might just feel like a chaotic but welcome homecoming. With a lineup as diverse as their sound—Rudy Love Jr. on vocals and keys, Omar Jawar hammering out rhythms on drums, Sage Judd layering textures on synths, Chase Koch bringing that guitar grit, and Robert Trusko holding it all down on bass—they seem to conduct it like a lightning storm.

They’ve coined their unique blend as Electronic Jam Music (EJM), but honestly, labels feel reductive here. Funk, hip-hop, soul, jazz, electronic—why settle for one when you can have them all?

photo by @2lotlive

At its heart, Entropy is a statement piece—part sonic experiment, part philosophical inquiry. Across its ten tracks, the album wrestles with a question that feels both deeply personal and universally pressing: how do we find order, meaning, even light, in a universe designed to unravel into chaos? The theme is woven into the music itself. The shifting tempos, unexpected instrumental breaks, and layered production mirror the album’s exploration of entropy, both as a physical law and as a metaphor for the human condition.

The band takes an ambitious swing at the concept of entropy, weaving it into both their musical and thematic DNA. The result? A record that plays with your perception of sound and structure.

Take Cage, for example. It’s a visceral, electrifying opener. Sharp electronic pads create a charged atmosphere, while soft vocals float above percussive rhythms that build with intent. The track begins brightly but quickly reveals a darker, minor undertone—a musical metaphor for chaos taking root. The energy crackles, refusing to resolve neatly, leaving you on edge in the best way possible.

Grief and Human take a quieter approach, enveloping the listener in dreamy pads and fluid melodies. Grief flows with an airy elegance, Rudy Love Jr.’s vocals gliding over ever-shifting electronic textures that whirl like a storm. Human, on the other hand, feels heavier, pairing layered vocals with a tense rhythm and synthetic backing harmonies that dissolve and reform. It’s a danceable track with an edge, straddling the line between club anthem and introspective jam. Add sweeping string elements, and you have a rich, atmospheric experience.

photo by @2lotlive

Then comes Arrow of Time, where 2ŁØT truly flexes their experimental side. This track soars with dynamic vocals and a constantly evolving arrangement. It’s a moment of pure innovation, driven home by the inclusion of Michael Kang’s electric mandolin—a surprising yet seamless blend of soul, electronica, and a touch of bluegrass mystique. The message is clear: embrace the present moment, no matter the chaos around you. The energy here is unstoppable, pushing the boundaries of what the band—and music itself—can be.

Call For Me takes a softer turn, offering a breezy, optimistic sound grounded in shimmering guitars and a pop-leaning rhythm. It’s light yet substantial, following the journey of a woman finding strength and support in her recovery from addiction. The heartfelt narrative shines through, as does the band’s commitment to social good: all proceeds from this track go to The Phoenix, a nonprofit organization supporting recovery communities. It’s rare to find a song that balances commercial appeal with genuine emotional weight, but Call For Me does just that.

Never Knew You introduces itself with reflective vocals and a gentle rhythm, setting the tone for a single that feels as meditative as it is catchy. It’s a track about connection, or rather, the complexities of understanding the people around us. The closing track, also titled Never Knew You, is a near eight-minute odyssey. It’s the album’s most adventurous piece, shifting through styles and genres like a cinematic montage of life’s highs and lows. There’s an almost interstellar quality to it, as if the music is transporting you through galaxies of sound—each distinct, each exhilarating. The structure defies convention, leaving even the most seasoned listener marveling at its craftsmanship.

When I first hit play, I expected a typical debut: an ambitious attempt, a few standout tracks, and maybe some filler. But Entropy doesn’t play by those rules. The deeper I went into the album, the more I started to notice a pattern—or, rather, the lack of one. And the strangest part? It works. Somehow, this chaotic swirl of genres and messages left me feeling grounded, even optimistic.

What I love most about Entropy is that it doesn’t care if you’re comfortable. Maybe that’s the point of Entropy. It’s not trying to bring order to chaos; it’s trying to show you that chaos itself can be beautiful. It’s messy, imperfect, and alive—just like us.