In typical Andrew Chalk manner, “Blue eyes of the March” comes in a splendid package, a blue-tinged cover with a photograph of a solitary house in a desolated area. The sounds – which at first I had perceived as processed guitars and bass and instead derive from an acoustic piano – are mixed low and distant, disguising the attack of the notes in a fog which lets only glimmering reverberations and layered harmonics free to diffuse through the surrounding air. This deliberately unclear sonic morphology connects the two movements of “Blue eyes” to the hallowed power of an Indian ceremony, like in an imperturbable mantra where even frequency clusters appear like small praises to an invisible dominion. Once again, Chalk’s music necessitates of our silence, as we try to identify the energies that this artist is able to bring out and let loose in his profound analysis of the inner self through the study of resonance; when we don’t know if a sound makes us happy or sad, it’s usually a clue that no evident message is necessary to understand. Andrew Chalk’s luminescent signals of awareness are a link between sorrow and illumination and I pity the ones who miss them.