A brief missive from dusty corridors, ‘A church is a hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints’ finds Black Classical summoning haunting and desolate piano rumblings, obscured by vinyl crackle and tape hiss. Desolate and lonely, the music sounds dredged rather than recorded, scooped from a fallow existence on some forgotten floor; discovered on a tape reel unspooled in oil-streaked puddles; a warped and crab-scratched gramophone disk wedged between smashed crockery on a drifting abandoned ocean-liner. Soft piano notes unfurl in the air gracefully but heavily, their progress arrested in short tracks, like excerpts of a larger whole; the rest lost to irretrievable audio-senility.
This EP is all the more affecting for its brevity, a fleeting glimpse of empty rooms, pregnant with memories but lost to time and waste; a collection of instrumentals from the fog, and returning to it.
Buy it here.