First press 2025.
A slow-motion transmission from the outer edges. Yorke drifts in and out like a ghost over Pritchard’s ambient electronics and skeletal beats. Nothing here chases hooks or resolution. It’s textural, haunted, and quietly beautiful in that way only they can pull off. More of a mood than a song. One track, one moment, and it lingers.
FFO: Burial without the crackle, Radiohead dissolving in a dream, Andy Stott without the dread, ambient that stares back at you
