RV Paintings open this split effort with clean, analogue tones of thin metal and glass. There is a sinister tone that gets deep under the skin – as if accompanying the approach of something unearthly. The ever growing and breathing sounds move in fog-like formations, trafficking imagined nightmares, like Du Maurier’s bleak moors. Things get ever darker adding a loose tapping and scraping percussion that seeks solidity on a shifting surface - unseen. As all collapses on unstable ground the drones make way for strumming, thumbing, calling sounds. The sound can be likened to Richard Skelton’s ‘A Broken Consort’, fusing droning strings and odd acoustic improv in long, brooding compositions. Towards the final chapter the tone shifts to a hopeful sound, lighter in both weight and brightness. Dawn approaching, yet tinged with the foreboding mist of recent night. Things unravel to low drones and animal sounds of unheard chattering. Spooky.

Taiga Remains continue the imagery of exotic, bleak, half-imagined landscapes with sparse tones of percussive origin. Voices seem to coo in an unseen distance. Drones issue forth from gongs or metal bowls large and small. A shimmering light dances, as if marred by leaves or oddities in some otherworldly folly or grotto. The meditative tones wash and then evaporate in a series of ephemeral puffs. Deep in a tin cave the sun passes quickly, met by the stars and then a sky of aurora hues. The imagery evoked is utterly spellbinding. It’s not often meditative drone offers more than tranquillity or filmic resonance, yet here it blossoms as a life giving catalyst. The final part buzzes and pulses in a haze that shifts with insect wings. Gradually a dark and evil presence crushes the hopeful dreaming of before. Back to some harsher reality, wanting to be let alone and return to the beginning. 8/10 -- Peter Taylor (19 May, 2010)