There’s no need of a foreword. As soon as we push the “play” button, the flux of a familiar, barely animate hum comes out of the speakers; high-pitched frequencies predominate but the unobtrusive, subtle interaction is more active than our first instinct would suggest. The sound causes a psychological reaction, instantly directing the concentration towards the third eye region; amidst the transcendental dirtiness of Korber’s electricity and Kahn’s analogue synth, Weber acts like the gong player in a Zen ritual, liberating the trio from the absence of a pulse via tolling hits of the bass strings or by joining the quasi-static correspondence of intents with sculptural arco drones. The most rewarding aspect of this self-regenerating inscrutable mechanism is that the voice of each of the three involved artists remains perfectly recognizable, even if the whole sounds like a conscious condivision of blurred ideals rather than a recorded session. The subtle work of Kahn on cymbals is a welcome trademark occurrence, his caressing overtones sending signals of perceptiveness in between a collapsing concreteness; the minute components of Korber’s guitar, including the flicking switches and the pickup noise, enhance the sequencing of events rather than obstructing the overall scheme of things; yet his timbres are nowhere near prominent, constituting instead an invisible yet fundamental muscular tissue. Subdividing this work into six movements seems to be more an encouragement for us to change the listening settings at every try than a real necessity for the music, which remains as continuously entrancing as a single idea of abstraction from the corporeal necessities but, in a way, still comes from the guts. All three artists confirm their deserved status, once again enriching our personal experience with their sensitive, masterful manipulation of the proximities of muteness. At least for the time being, this is Longbox’s last release; Adam Sonderberg’s label couldn’t have ended its history in a better way. Go get a copy now.