So it seems God drifts once more under the subtle seduction of gravity, each orbit a test, each parsec as infuriatingly philosophical as the last, carried by the mutterings of memory. Origins is an album weaved from translucent tendrils of thought, a narrow web of neural splendor, deliberate and spectral, music embracing great, chilling gaps of silence, vast distances of tranquility defined by scintillating swathes of ephemeral agitation.
Suppose the Laws were tweaked in such a way as to allow stars to revolve around the focused void, forming great, perfect spheres rather than discs. What if the irrationality of Pi took precedence over that of Phi? Equidistant, balanced, becoming artificial, they would create reverse Dyson spheres – the stars themselves as satellites feeding the endless hunger nestled at the core of such a structure. God Is An Astronaut make music to bounce between these satellites – cool detachment purified to incandescence, patience and equilibrium vibrated into being, time constrained into morsels of docile submission, always with an abrupt, unexpected termination, as if contact with such a world could only be maintained long enough for a mere glimpse, requiring the observer to suddenly surface for air. Each successive submersion brings new vistas, new colors to the spectrum, radically different, essentially unsustainable, super-heavy elements born of speed and collision and destined to glow in arcane light and blink out of existence.
Origins has a very patterned construction, remarkably stable and enticing in its placement of peaks of musical intensity and stretches of meditative exploration. The album as a whole is pulsing with delightful regularity, achieving that elusive musical goldilocks zone between projected familiarity and surprising freshness. It’s also quite modular, as each track can function on its own very well, while also falling perfectly into place in the larger ensemble. The overall impression created is that very little is arbitrary when this record is concerned. The edifice may be ethereal, but it is also impeccably disciplined, and not out of an arid conception, but because that is simply how it needed to be, naturally, effortlessly. And herein lies another aspect of its beauty – a musical journey into such remote, intricate, moebian spaces, made relateable, even allowing for toe-tapping and head-bobbing. It is amazing to me how unpretentious God Is An Astronaut are in their emanation of such expansive music.
Enjoy your trip, if you will, in this double-jointed musical universe, and tell me of your journey! I would be delighted to find out what you’ve seen, should you return.
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