Ilios, Coti K and Nikos Veliotis are Mohammad. Except for the first and the last track, in which there’s a sort of vague hint to the structure of a “tune” (actually, a couple of passages in the opening “Vildblomma” remind me of the mellotron intro to Genesis’ “Watcher Of The Skies”…) the whole CD is constructed upon what these guys are better known for, which translates into “low frequencies” and “subsonic throb” (and, yes, let’s add it: “drones”). It’s one of those albums in which we can hear the walls quivering depending on our position – it even happens when entering an adjacent room – and walking around becomes in effect the best way to enjoy the prevailing mass of tremors, independently from the presence or less of a preconceived design. A fascinating characteristic is the absolute impossibility of defining the sources (that is, if you don’t surf the web: contrabass, oscillators and cello is the answer), whose fusion works wonders on our neurological responses. The haunted quality of some of these tracks doesn’t leave any residual space for smiles, letting us alone in a bleak perspective of sunless reflections and exoneration from joy. The rattles and the groans do the rest quite successfully. A sturdily murky good album.