A transgendered blend of ominous aural warnings, remote sonic entities, unfathomable poundings, celestial isolationism and randomized electronic discharges. Thus one could lyophilize in words the latest effort by John Gore under the mask of his Kirchenkampf alter ego. With The Syntax Of Mercy we have luckily returned to the sort of scarcely predictable abstractness that is typical of the man’s best output: nonspecific structures and indistinct echoes prevail, though there is space left for a couple of galactic battles where the noisiest eruptions might scare those who had fantasized about a comfortable “dark ambient afternoon”. Gore knows better (indeed he’s among the few remained in this area able to steer clear of routine), never exceeding the right doses of salt in the recipes. Translation: leave the music do what it was supposed to do without interfering with the mind, and the results will be congenial to your motivation in avoiding any surplus of logical fanaticism. This is how the machina functions when its deus is so liberal-minded.