I had just finished annoying myself by listening to some verbose, pretentious wannabe and was pretty discouraged; immediately after starting to enjoy this wonderful album by Chartier, my whole being felt much better. “Tracing” is minimalism with a purpose, in the strictest meaning of this abused term: an intimate procession of gaseous particles starts from silence to gradually penetrate our psyche, like a necessary guide helping through a hazy environment with a fog lamp. The orbital period of this impalpable shroud of frequencies is extremely slow, giving our body the chance to adapt to a new condition in which alertness and tension decrease inexorably until reaching the limit between conscious and subliminal. As it often happens to yours truly, the awesome radiance of these recurring icy daydreams is perfectly contextual in a cold, grey gloomy morning where the faint light coming from outside seems to decompose and refract very distant, afraid of disturbing the perfection of Chartier’s memorable piece, for sure one of his very best.


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