A room limits space and direction. It’s so obvious that I don’t often consider it, until a record like In A Room demonstrates how to navigate a space with such conscious awareness for the surrounding walls and a sensitivity for the other peoples present. I feel the edges of In A Room in how those nimbus synthesisers curl and stop just before they reach them, while other electronic surges leave slithers of headroom to allow for beams of high frequency to scan across the ceiling. It’s a delicate study of mutual occupation; the soft blunting effect of compassionate compromise, encouraging new sounds into the gaps generated by selfless recession.
I see the sounds on In A Room as various multi-coloured vapours, diffusing across the air of a spotless, gallery-sized room; they linger in the air as loops of phantom orchestra, quivering like candlelight, bleeding gently into neighbouring gases to form slim overlaps of compound shades. The space never grows – the walls are fixed and movement is ultimately minimal – and the energy of album is nurtured in feng shui shifts of balance and absence, rolling the central axis of the room around like a marble upon the palm of a hand. All motion is gentle and self-aware.