It was an image of a hand that first drew me to aya —a clammy hand reaching out into the void, holding a wad of crumpled trash like a sacramental offering. The mysterious photo on the cover of im hole , the 2021 debut album from the London-based musician, beckoned me inside her fascinating, sometimes frightening world of sounds, like club music as envisioned by a sleep paralysis demon. Over industrial textures, gummy basslines, and brittle breakbeats, aya pitched her voice to sound like, well,