Tele by Norwegian duo Pjusk sounds like a grimier, more opaque version of Maps and Diagrams at their spaciest. It’s this spacy element that gives Tele its appeal, a hark back, in part, to the cosmic ambient of the FAX catalogue or even aspects of early The Orb, smudged and obscured with the help of contemporary processing power, and the addition of Scandinavian field recordings and an isolationist background.
The nine pieces of Tele seem densely packed with myriad elements, low end throbs, creaking wood, anonymous whoosh, yet held tightly together like a snowball, the airy twinkle clinging to most pieces making it more like a Christmas bauble. The brassy bass blasts of ‘Greis’ threaten to crack speakers, until the weighty drone calms and light, shimmering vistas are exposed. ‘Flint’s is all spacecraft hum, dotted with the fizz and clamour of a crumbling satellite. Pjusk are best where the lighter elements are brought to the forth: ‘Krystall’, a choir of ringing glasses, albeit dusty and old; the looped bliss of ‘Kram’, which recalls Aphex Twin’s finest ambient moments; and the stunning ‘Polar’, gently chugging like a wispy form of dub techno, made of marshmallows and adorned with pastel sparkles.