Around 1992 or so – the age in which your then 28-year old correspondent was introduced to the dark ambient milestones of that time – he would have thrown himself right inside the Lustmordian resonant domes of a record like this with pleasure. There was a genuine interest everywhere for something that was previously unheard of, and the association of “oneiric”, “intimidating”, “entrancing” audio landscapes with topics associated to the possibilities of life beyond the here and now was promptly pursued by many people (though I still preferred B-movies and boxing, exactly as today). Then, as it always happens, it became a trend, occasionally facilitated by the acquired ability in emailing gullible masters of the game, extorting their trust through systematic adulation and professed eternal friendship, being helped in coming out with laughable albums consisting of nothing but lack of talent camouflaged with reverbs, humongous ooohs and aaahs and remote clattering (on average, Korg presets). This turned the genre into a parade of fake deep spirits doing the same things over and over, releasing a CD per month, starting labels and sub-labels, inventing names that refer to arcane mysteries and terrible punishments. Not to mention the hints to Buddhism and other kinds of arguments, by now the subjects of supermarket conversations and books superficially read on the subway together with gossip magazines. Is this the fault of Belgian Miguel Boriau, who was born in 1978 and started recording in the above mentioned era? Of course, no. Simulacra’s is just one of the thousands of records made of unchanged features: no compositional effort whatsoever, bottomless hums, blurred colours, stratified echoes, unendurably sluggish melodic movements swallowed by the quicksand of inconsequentiality. It can easily be kept cosy and warm amidst the mountains of related releases, without particular merits or shame. Yet it’s also another symbol of the globalization process of a once-interesting musical area.