With something of a twinkling, naïve romance – synthesisers whirring triumphantly over the dainty sprinkle of chimes – Music To Disappear comes into being. On one hand, the record is one of rich, almost exaggerated emotional response; unflinching declarations of love fall instantly into inescapable minor-key misery, as if Perry Frank is experiencing each feeling for the very first time and thus senses its intensity through every pore. It splays itself over the extremes of the emotional spectrum – from bliss, to excitable angst, to elation – plunging fervently into each point of emotional interaction, shimmering like tears (of both joy and despair) out from reverent organ chords and soft synthesiser flutters.
Yet there’s something unnerving about the speed of Frank’s mood transitions. An unexpected ambush of rhythm and distortion ruptures the album’s serenity during “CandleLight”, climaxing in a piercing, Matt Bellamy-esque falsetto note before falling almost instantly back into a graceful guitar-piano interplay on “The Sound Of Memories”. There’s an instability here. As a listener, I become hesitant about collapsing into those paradisiacal waves of melody – some of which border on the synthetic “chill out” stylings of Mediterranean holiday ad soundtracks – once aware of the temporal nature of Frank’s blissful refuge. Unexpectedly difficult listening at times, but a most distinctive flavour.