Gradual+grand expanse would probably be an understatement, torpid traipse would likely denote a lack of patience -- cuz as far as the amalgam of atmospheric lingering/refined pacing/conceptual drama goes, Eno and his trailblazer-status evidently still have it down pat. Propelled by a massive pair of ponderers that incorporate obtained-through-senectitude low-C vocals+creaks-n-moans which are all too befitting for sinking into an ocean and haunting image-conjures of young soldier retrospection+"humans turning back to clay"; and for the xtra extraneous weird, there's gasping robots and ticking time-bombs and accelerated bilingual phone-operator chitchat. Clinched by a comparably bare-n-brief Peter Serafinowicz reading and Velvet Underground send-up: the former perfectly proper+somber, the latter perfectly heavenly+gratifying, and, well, perfect.
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