Lost Trail creates a beautiful holding pattern with their music; nothing ever ends within their realm of electronic mists. The arching drone of the guitar creates a baseline of consciousness with every sampled sermon or patch of silence like a thought peaking it’s head through. It’s liminal music, always peeking right at the edge of some kind of breakthrough or understanding, as if the moment of insight lies just beyond the listeners grasp.
The vortex of sound settles on the edge of a goodbye, prolonging the few moments of an experience or with a person for just a little longer, unwilling to take the steps forward that will lead it away. This makes the album’s sprawling length a place to get lost in; a fugue-state where dream and memory enmesh within the sea of radio-crackle and feedback as rippling electronics light a path into the crushing depths of possible recollection.
And then a calm breaks before it’s needed; a distant hum and tinkling piano or the sound of children setting off fireworks. We are back at the start and the journey towards remembering must start again.
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