This is what the imminence of extinction sounds like. Immersion is born on that strange perimeter of presence that gazes, eternally, into the unending twilight of absence. Death is only a matter of time. Even though these sounds (organs forcing out cold extended breaths, bass frequencies ghosting dormant engine rooms) have faded to the shade of cement, the knowledge that they are soon to die gives them a certain vibrancy, forcing out final emissions that feel especially vital for their proximity to death. I’ve never heard grey glow before.
It’s all in the title. Immersion is renewed appreciation. If I stand back to inspect the landscape of both of these pieces, they are colourless countryside murk. The edges are so soft that I don’t even register them, while the chords droop like willow branches, too withered to even resonate properly. I stare into swamps of drone so opaque that my reflection doesn’t even materialise . And yet the longer I dwell within them, the more detail starts to form: I hear buildings crumbling about 100ft in front of me, cymbals whining as dry horsehair bows are dragged down their edges, string quartets rising out of the rural dirt to play in slow-motion, dragging out a solemn symphony as if it’s the only thing postponing the band’s expiry. Once my ears adjust to the delicate contrast, Immersion becomes rich with historical secret and chilling, translucent intricacy.