By now, when listening to field recording-based music, I can easily detect pretenders and unmask them, even when the production is so glossy and nice-sounding that they might catch you guardless on a first try and appear more profound than they really are. On the other hand, take a record like “Low ground” by Coleclough, Potter and Tim Hill (credited in two sections) and sit – or walk in your room – after pressing “play”: not only you’ll get austere, concrete and carefully detailed sound documentaries, you’ll also be able to penetrate a resounding vibration, that droning aura typical of these artists’ craft. Sometimes it’s an everlasting string resonance, somewhere else electronics start pretty calm, only to gain in volume and complexity as the time elapses, finally transporting us into a maelstrom of frequencies (listen to Potter’s “Sinister Dexter” to better understand these words). Wind, birds, water, engines, distant reverberations of human presence appear every once in a while, forcing us to listen with the heart more than the ears. Then again, what I really love in this superb group of soundscapers – which includes Darren Tate, Andrew Chalk, Christoph Heemann and a few more – is the manner in which they always hide their light under a bushel, never releasing music just for polishing their “personal outer surface”, only moved by what I perceive as respect for the basics of life.