Limen illustrates how the most intense experiences arise not from unabated eruption, but by relentlessly rendering the promise of it. The energy here is one of accumulation – gathering, compressing, assimilating – with clouds darkening overhead and surface explosions pointing to a volatility that runs right to the core. Yet Limen never blows wide open, instead harnessing the power of the apocalyptic forecast. All the ingredients for the worst-case scenario are here, just not deployed simultaneously, and in mercifully insufficient quantity. There are minor calamities, minor recoveries. It’s just a matter of time, and this is very much the sound of the world riding its luck.
The dynamics are unruly and ambiguous, as if caught between two magnetic poles. Atmospheres bloat and contract within seconds; slugs of barbed electronics seem to thicken gravity and then relieve it; distortion smothers the edges of sub-bass before retreating. It’s impossible splay focus enough to keep track of everything. If you manage to poke your head above the depths of dread for a moment, it’s astounding to perceive the seemingly infinite layers of whistling sine, static jolts, infernal ambient serenity, pseudo-theremin, insect chatter and fragmented techno. Notable is the 21-minute “Ruined Abstractions”, which hits an eerily subdued midsection that feels like staring up at a flaming asteroid, caught between the serene splendour of its journey across the sky and the unfortunate fact that it’s heading straight for us.