“Time of hayfield” is one of the sweetest-sounding releases by Andrew Chalk, a collection of eight delicate pastels whose melodic content is a little bit more pronounced when likened to the blurs of heartrending indetermination which the composer has grown us used to in recent years. In truth, this music could almost be compared to certain pages of Brian Eno’s book, such are the gentleness of touch and the trembling lights that the sounds project, just like the sun rays when they get refracted by the droplets hanging on the windows following heavy rain. As it happens, the ideal setting to enjoy the album is a slightly disturbed silence, letting the dampened poetry of these muffled phrases come out and penetrate, softly, every niche of your self at a whispered volume. In a short while we’re completely bewitched by an aura of intangible sadness that, at the same time, reveals secrets and intuitions belonging to a different way of thinking, possibly a different era. The reminiscence box opens slowly, perfumes and old photographs brought back to visibility after having been forgotten for decades. This is the moment when we realize that developing a deep relationship with vibration should be the sole thing that beings really need to accomplish in their cycle. An alluring fleeting dreamscape – as always accompanied by a gorgeous sleeve artwork – to which Vikki Jackman contributes by playing electric piano in the final track “Seven suns”. If every artistic gesture only possessed half of the purity of Faraway Press’ productions, there would be a weak chance to see again places and situations where inner values still count for something. But let’s not delude ourselves – this is a hallucination.