On her sophomore album, Teresa Winter calms down her rhythmic impulses to explore deep introverted caves of sublime atmospheric amble. We are at once trapped, cocooned, holed up inside an echo chamber of thought and sinew. Shut out from the world but glowing with a crystalline green pulse that’s entirely organic, yet seemingly otherworldly, the album is frothing with sounds that are wet and humid. At first blush this would seem to suggest that the metamorphosis is real and brought about by purely natural means. But wander further and there are also mechanical creaks, clicks and crackles that suggest that we’re not at all entombed of our own volition, or without the help of sinister outside forces.
As the flora on the cover might suggest, though, this is an album of self-reflection and well-inclined to the kind of psilocybic experiences that offer up deep dives into the mirror of consciousness. Winter eases us in with the opener, “Oh,” before dropping the ground out from under the listener entirely with each progressive track. It’s not until we reach “Anatomie De Lenfer” that it seems the eardrums pop and with a gasp of breath the room begins to take shape once more. She surrounds the listener with voices. Whose voices? Are they talking to us? About us? The closing track springs back to life and light. The experience behind us. No cocoon, no abrupt descent into the ground. Just, it appears, chemicals working their magic on the brain. The final track crackles with an almost sunny electricity that leaves the previous isolation as not terrifying, but maybe just the respite we listeners needed all along.
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