Tate goes a little backwards in his own era, presenting a new work that closely recalls some of the earliest outings on Fungal, the ones where the untailored quality of the assemblages seemed to be more important than any sort of structural design, thus confirming an often acknowledged worship for Dadaism. This particular record consists of a single 39-minute piece starting with gradual synthetic glissandos, continuing with a few electronic touches and a little spacey wavering, ultimately stabilizing (so to speak) into a coalescence of nocturnal urban ambiences – cars passing by are the predominant colour – that, as the time elapses, is progressively defined by nearly insubstantial splashes of guitars and keyboards, played with the same candor of a young kid having an initial approach on the instruments, with a modicum of echo. At about 23’30” a splendid droning undercurrent appears, and the earth loop’s hum is also very “in your face” over the final minutes, utilized – like all the rest – as just one among not many hues in a basic palette. At first, the resulting music sounds almost unimposing; already at the third listen, we’re finding ourselves once again enraptured by this man’s tenuous yet incomparable visions. If there is a musician who engendered a style definable with just that person’s name, that must be Darren Tate.

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