As legend has it, in the early 2000s the daughter of a Sri Lankan freedom-fighter slash visual artist named Mathangi “Maya” Arulpragasam (AKA M.I.A.) was introduced to the iconic Roland MC-505 sequencer and drum machine.

Despite having no musical experience of her own, she immediately saw the 505 as a tool to broadcast political messages to a society obsessed with entertainment. She could use hip-hop and dance music as a megaphone to amplify the struggles of marginalized people around the globe.

The resulting work was an explosive, guerilla-style electro that was impossible to ignore—specifically by her absentee father, for whom this record is named. Her mother said, “the only thing he gave you was his name.” Maya figured that if she created an album named for her father, he would eventually find it and seek her out—which indeed happened.

But even beyond its personal and political purposes, Arular is a masterful piece of music—especially when you consider that she had never made music before. She allegedly approached a number of Caribbean singers to contribute to the record but was turned down. Ultimately, this was for the best, as it introduced the world to one of the most impressively unique voices in pop music. Could you imagine someone like Rihanna singing “Bucky Done Gun“?

Her anarchic art style translates perfectly to an aural medium. While it scans roughly as hip hop, its spirit is much closer to the Clash than Run DMC. Maya is cutting and irreverent, attacking white imperialistic foreign policy (“Sunshowers“) as readily as toxic dating culture (“U R A QT“). And I can’t think of many calls for revolution catchier than “Pull Up the People.”

Admittedly, this is the M.I.A. record in my collection that has seen the least amount of time on my turntable. But after remembering just how fresh and brave it still is, I’ll be revisiting it much more frequently.