If listened to cursorily there is little to distinguish Wyndel Hunt’s Oblivion from the glut of gloomy grit-filled drones by bedroom laptop-field recording instrumentalist producers, but listen closely and there’s a wealth of tiny, subtle barely perceptive details to get lost in. Field recordings from his native Pacific Northwest mingle with treated bass guitar and harmonica but these origins are difficult to determine, their details remaining abstract tones, subservient to the overarching compositons but, unlike previous recordings, remaining more naked.
The title piece lays slamming doors, working noise and indistinct industrial clamour over a undertow of gently flowing low end; ‘Elision Field’ envelopes possible rain and lost birds in white noise. The final ‘Everything That Rises Does Not Converge’ slowly unfurls sinuous threads of tone; it’s resonant whistling, like sculpted breeze wound through a thick forest, is the album’s most understated, sustained and sensual.
Joshua Meggitt
