Sounds are fantasy, ruins in a stream of history in which listening is a mere faint mirage left by a precipitous concatenation of resonances found within transition, dispossession and expropriation. In a careful approach to the sonic continuum, Lawrence English immerses listening on its own impossibility, not ripping its shadow but showcasing its reality as a disguise, as a theater in which the actors are echoes from a lost music of irrefutably subtlety that makes the listener variable, like a ghost in a mirror: without body and yet perceived in time, here acousmatic, hidden, and fleeting. A nameless narrative lies in magnificent textures that extrapolate references to glimpse melodies that whisper the transcendence of listening and gradually lead the composition to a secluded pilgrimage to an uncanny ambivalence that blurs the ontological thus opening a universe that yet essenceless, articulates thousands of grains into a sublime atmosphere. (ROOM40)
