The pace of Adnos is meticulously judged. The swells and recessions within each of these pieces could be due to my ears delicately shifting focus between each strand of detail – thus subconsciously teasing certain frequencies to the fore and sending others into near silence – or they could be genuine evolutions happening in the music, at a speed akin to flower buds creeping open. Listener and composition dance like planet and moon in orbit; I entwine with its omnipresent hum, sometimes losing sense of Adnos as composition and subconsciously re-interpreting it as a sonic presence: a shadow draped over several of the walls, or a smoke curling upward in the centre of my lounge.
While at some points I cannot imagine any human intervention guiding these pieces forward – their unfolding seems to run in exquisite parallel with nature’s own blooming, reproductive inevitability – at others, I can perceive nothing but an organic body; the deep frequencies gliding up and down in respiratory arcs, or miniscule pumps of rhythm that nudge blood through the circle of veins. I am encapsulated in a moment of dream and paradox: liberated from flesh as a weightless particle powder floating through the air, and simultaneously an agonising accumulation of muscle tension, as a forceful transfixion within a solitary state.