I'm not sure where to start. There isn't really anything out there like Graham Lambkin's Salmon Run. At least, not anything I've come across. And that's a rare and marvelous thing. But it's really so unlike anything else I've heard that I'm still grappling with it, digesting it all. From the first listen I was drawn in and overwhelmed. It sounds like a collage of audio outtakes from memories you didn't even know you had. Phantom memories. There's laughter, lots of snaking piano, a digital watch alarm maybe, operatic singing and strangled half-yelps, maybe failed gasps?..I could go on and on, breaking down and attempting to describe all of the many and varied sounds that make up this album, but that's not really the point. It's not the individual parts that matter so much; it's the hypnotic whole, a masterly weave of seemingly incidental fragments that make Salmon Run a shimmering, ghostly, marvel.
The work as a whole is a removed, shadowy affair (and I don't mean that as a pun of, or in comparison to, Lambkin's former band The Shadow Ring). It feels like you are listening in on something that maybe you're not supposed to be a part of. Or, it feels like you're peeking in on something and only getting a portion of the whole. Only some of the sounds are coming through, but it?s the background sounds and ambient noises that are in the forefront. There are these moments of bliss, but its strangled bliss, leaving me light headed and lethargic. The labyrinthine flow of these sound clusters puzzles me on each listen and it's never felt so magnificent to be lost.
Muzzy. Until now I've never had the legitimate opportunity to use the word muzzy. It means mentally hazy; coming from Muddled and Fuzzy. This album leaves me downright muzzy. 9/10 -- Adam Richards (24 July, 2007)