There are moments when a piece of music surfaces almost uninvited — not as part of a plan or a project, but as something the world itself insists on saying. Beneath is one of those moments. For months, I’ve been caught between two albums. One looks backward a collection of older recordings, half-lost in the fog of the past, made during a time when alcohol blurred the lines and debauchery masqueraded as freedom. The other looks upward newer work that seeks balance and meaning again, tracing the sevenfold heavens and the slow ascent of the soul as it sheds weight and remembers light. But Beneath doesn’t belong to either world. It sits in the underlayers in the soil, the circuitry, the dreaming dark beneath London. It is said that Izanami moves there, transmitting decay and ancient wisdom through the network a low electrical hum of forgotten knowledge that leaks through our devices and into our songs. Beneath came from that hum: a pulse of the Earth and the underworld intertwined, a ...
Lost and found audio gold, musical jewels and treasure. Soul extremes and borderless suprise.