In tribute to the ethos behind Lost And Found, this review has been written entirely during 30-minute lunch break at work. If I wanted, I could drill within the record indefinitely; there is always inference within inference, with three new avenues of pursuit created with every asserted conclusion. And yet, to postpone the point of publishing until I have exhausted the record’s depths would be to reach a sphere of purely introverted sensory reference points. Perhaps the review would never be published at all.
This three-hour collection acknowledges both the potential and the impracticality of eternal re-evaluation. On each day throughout the month of March, Lund completed a previously forgotten song sketch. It’s a remix record of sorts, using creative distance and the fluid transit of age to cast each piece into fresh light. Hidden intention bubbles up from within the phantom world of subconscious action, and in an act of time travel (both forward and back), Lund’s former self communicates projects forth a message that only his future self would be able to decrypt. Given the unstoppable flow of environmental variables, each of these tracks could have been deconstructed and rebuilt again and again, until the constant interplay between erasure and reconstruction formed a mess of creative intersection and contradiction. To prevent the exercise from spiralling out of control, Lund ceased work on each track at midnight, regardless of its state. The track is complete, as the clock had declared it as such.
A consistent sensation emerges in the overlay of present onto various pasts: I witness a light show while crammed within a barrel of nuclear waste, dragged between nausea and euphoric numbness. Thick worms of bass bore into my digestive tract, while hard flashes of synth and withering guitar outlines thicken and disappear to the left and right. On “Brainfog”, dubstep comes in a series of titanium hammer blows, knocking holes in a pressurised container until the soundscape fizzes and gurgles under a jet of toxic gas; on “Friends Fade Away” the gravity turns off, as guitars hang like crystal clouds and the melody becomes a tectonic threat beneath me. Rhythms shifts between that of a leaden wheel and the soundless bounce of a seahorse; technicolour sparks emerge in the friction of former and future persona, as a haze of correction and reversal in the colours of sea azure and sunset amber.