How many times has the name “Lustmord” been uttered or typed, when it comes to music impassively conveying the darkness of abyssal cavities, or a hypothetical illustration of atemporal void?
Now, seeing a Brian Williams release on Touch is one of those natural events that for a reason or another had not happened, but was meant to. Dark Matter is the obvious culmination of a process destined to engender a classic; and boy, is this record a classic – with the capital C. Consisting of three extended tracks, it’s perhaps the most profound cycle of quasi-standstills and stupefactive climates ever conceived by the California-resident Welshman.
Born from elements of cosmological activity, the electroacoustic lattice conjures up imponderable ubiquities, foggy prospects and heartrending remote calls. Not a surprise, of course. Prohibitively low ranges represent the predominant factor in the mix; a severe immensity derived from layers of immeasurable sub-pulses and altered tones. Prior to reading explanations, I was hearing whales in there. The mind, you know.
Contrarily to the myths surrounding the deus ex machina, we’re quite distant from the evocation of malign spirits, and never for a second we perceived a “rich soundtrack for black hole tripping” smell. Instead, Williams is a master of confluences, diverse sonic currents uniting in a huge tidal wave of brain-nourishing frequencies. These atmospheres appear more submarine than lunar to these ears, though; one is sure that there are dangers lurking, but is equally convinced that it would be preferable to push the existence through this lucid numbness rather than come back to hear squalid everyday characters polluting silence.
Imitators, dissolve yourselves in a pool of tears: in this playground, Lustmord remains untouchable.