The 2007 of Ilios starts with one of his most impenetrable ever releases, its sonic wastelands touching so deep that their uniquely gloomy atmospheres constitute the key that open doors leading to seriously affecting auricular awareness. The music is set in motion by superimpositions of unhurried parabolas and glissandos made of muted timbral exhalations, instantly throwing the listener into an unescapable state of apprehension; it sounds like a choir of shooting stars highlighting our fear of being unqualified for sustaining hard times. The third movement features an undetectable Nikos Veliotis on cello amidst intrusions and interferences that break the initial continuity, a thousand shortwave pulses lyophilized into meaningless dust. Ilios then recurs to alternating short silences and digital warp, gradually focusing his attention on the discrepancy between frequencies until a potent surge from the low region nailed me to the couch, making the whole room buzz with sympathetic resonance in one of the most impressive moments of the disc. It cuts to an apparently calmer hiss, but a deadly stinging discharge has “protect yourselves at all times” stamped all over it: it’s the noisy zenith of the album, whose final part features heavily processed adulterations of urban pandemonium, then forces us to further raise our aerials to detect the last radiations from this world of forebodings that nevertheless allures. Try to figure out the components of the last ten minutes and you’re likely to come up with a dozen answers, or plain none. This is not an easily digestible work, yet one absorbs its glacial beauty with each new listen, as Ilios creates mysteries that are better left unsolved.