Peculiarly bracketed by two rather unmemorable short tracks of minimal piano patterns half-mangled by distortion, the fundamental content of Crater is made explicit by the longer episodes, replete with commanding drones of varying acoustic genealogy interspersed with flashes of field recordings.

After so many years spent with Daniel Menche’s music – among other instances, a splendidly invigorating mental balm in my daily urban adventures, when the necessity arises of being delivered from all kinds of shit – it’s nice to find him immersed in slightly different surroundings, although akin to settings we’re acquainted with. Aaron Turner and Faith Coloccia provide copious doses of essential harmonic muscle to the gradualness of these pieces, thickening the textures through an oneirically threatening palette; the results are thankworthy. “Husk” sketches fluorescent trajectories in the blackest sky, whereas “Alluvial” escorts the body into places where vibrating as one with the natural elements does not appear as an impossible task. “Breccia” wallops the soul with consonant resonance inside a sonic tissue that roars like an enraged engine. Above all, “Exuviae” – born from echoes of rain, ritual pulse and superimposed clusters – connects the sympathetic listener to the sockets of the evolutive resources before turning into an achromatic soundtrack to the ultimate dethronement of hope.

Notwithstanding the elation, we’re still capable of detecting an admirable veracity in what these people do. This type of creative decency positions the album miles ahead of the packs of cheap imitators and pitiful wannabes. Most of the sounds contained herein will remove the need for anything else, provided that you put the hours in. We might even decide to shut up for a couple of days, if that option is feasible.

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