Released two months (actually a few days short) after Spirit of the Wardrobe, Koji Asano's 25th album on the label Solstice is the complete antithesis of its predecessor and thus comes back to a more familiar sound. The album (once again a single extended composition) presents an uninterrupted soundscape of tortured elongated tones and wailing electronics. The piece is made of layers upon layers of treated sounds orchestrated by a general movement toward swelling as time goes by (which does not forbid the occasional reverse process). There is a lot happening amidst the sonic currents, alterations, variations, and clashes of microtonalities. The colors of this dense shroud keep changing hues in a post-apocalyptic version of a hippie light show. The listener is trapped in a sound sphere set to spare no-one. Even though from a macroscopic point of view the structure is acutely obvious, even static, once you dive in the music becomes very difficult to describe. It just happens. One of the best qualities of Asano's music is to ally both human and machine-like qualities. These are the cries of robots desperately trying, through possibly horrible mutilations and experiments, to tap into the essence of humanity. Painfully beautiful and certainly not for everyone. Once you are done contemplating the music, just hit the stop button. Don't take the duration of 73 minutes 32 seconds as absolute; the end cut sounds as arbitrary (and brutal) as any you could make yourself. This release can sound close to The Last Shades of Evening Falls and Autumn Meadow, if you are looking for similar sounding Asano compositions.