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Seht, "The Green Morning"
Inspired by a German audiobook of Ray Bradbury's The Martian Chronicles, the tracks on this album suitably evoke contact with distant landscapes that may or may not be inhabited. An eerie otherness pervades these songs, as if anxiously awaiting the arrival of alien emissaries.
Although at first it may seem as if the drone-heavy songs on this album are fairly static, closer listening reveals turbulent nuances unfolding beneath the surface. In "Valles Marineris," it's as if some scientific reconnaissance device is transmitting data streams in the background, providing statistical information to complement the mixture of awe and unease. "Olympus Mons" contributes some light mechanical rhythms and a brief, repeating harmony before the ambient soundscape converges once again. The atmosphere builds throughout this track like a dense, aural fog in which shapes dart in the mist, just beyond reach.
A rhythmic pulse also infiltrates "Way in the Middle of the Air," but rhythm finally dominates in "Cydonia" with a loop that could have been created with battered rocks. As a counterpart, two alternating tones emerge to form a semblance of melody. The last track, "Chryse Planitia," is the most exhausting at nearly 20 minutes in length, but it also has the most rewarding complexity. Starting with a sort of sticky static, the familiar overtones appear but this time they're accompanied by a delicate mirage of shimmering microtones. A commanding machine-like swath overpowers the others, pulling the song toward a conclusion. There's quite a bit seething underneath the main sounds here that, as is the case with the other tracks, benefit by a bit of volume.
There's no such thing as static motion on this disc. Like the best ambient music, each track here constantly evolves, transporting us as far off-planet as they're willing to go.
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