The late Rolf Julius was one of those not-enough-sung artists whose work with sound – particularly in his installations – contained crucial messages clothed in somewhat deceiving naturalness, which in a way corresponds to the famous “meaning of existence” that philosophers and researchers all over the world have forever been trying to set into words, miserably failing (unless you keep trusting “teachers”, the worst choice for a person’s delusional “improvement”). For the good luck of non-talkers, life’s sonic constituents are more than adequate for emphasizing the pathetic sterility of both written and verbal concepts when an individual needs to “know”. The title track’s atmosphere of soaked contemplation permits an experience that is concretely auditory and psychological at once, the listening environment filled by sharp frequencies prevailing amidst the hissing undercurrents generated by the downpours (and substantiated by the wind’s inconstant intensity). This, in turn, sets in motion a series of repetitive events – the creaking of the trees’ branches, assorted rattles, an unidentified cyclical whistle – that ultimately represent the piece’s trademark. It’s just marvellous, the overall vibe vaguely reminiscent of Nurse With Wound’s Salt Marie Celeste (minus the droning ebb and flow). This is followed by another resplendent example of “minimal innocence” called “Weitflächig” where gushing richness, praying insects and remote electronic emissions (think “amassed video games left to self-destroy in the rain”) depict a patchwork made of thousands of vital impulses while completely annihilating whatever theoretical “analysis” we could have attempted to conceive in the meantime. Unfortunately much shorter, “Music For A Glimpse Inward” concludes this exceptional album with a wet nocturnal soundscape apparently dominated by birds and crickets, but decisively enhanced by inscrutable faraway reverberations that add a touch of impalpable mystery, leaving the listener in a state of puzzled suspension when everything’s gone.