Infinite Light
Not Waving and Romance take inspiration from Botticelli's 'The Birth of Venus' on their third full-length, teetering at the edge of sacred music and secular sounds by muddling vaporous liturgical chants with saturated strings. Weightless, intoxicating gear that's a must for anyone into Malibu, The Caretaker, Arvo Pärt, GAS or that killer last Moritz Von Oswald LP.
Cracking thru dense ferric mists like a dazzling celestial ray, Alessio Natalizia (aka Not Waving) and Romance's latest statement is as resplendent as the renaissance painting featured on its sleeve, decorating historical shades with vivid contemporary halos and ornate psychedelic smears. If you heard the duo's last couple of records you'll have a good idea where this one's heading, but they've tightened their focus, letting Botticelli's pearlescent vision of polytheistic divinity shepherd their dense, cloudy ambience. Honestly, it's a breath of fresh air in a landscape that's humming with po-faced liturgical laments; the duo’s take is as joyful as its subject matter, a dewy afterparty soundtrack that draws from Thomas Tallis and Arvo Pärt as much as it does GAS and Leyland Kirby.
The album's centrepiece is its glistening title track, a 10-minute thrum of grandiose chamber loops and ghostly, smudged chorals that gently morphs as it shimmers with prismatic radiance, obscuring droning synths, crumbling its rhythms into phasing, disintegrating throbs. 'When the Rose Every Petal Doth Unfold' anchors its soaring strings to ratcheting, cassette-warped hi-hats and a chunky, dub-faded 4/4 that wouldn't sound out of place on a Chain Reaction 12", and 'Let the One Love Tomorrow.' is a crepuscular fog of cryptic chimes, screwed piano hits and reversed exclamations that suggests a rhythm before snatching it away, burying it beneath incandescent hiss.
Romance and Natalizia's strength lies is their ability to approach sacred music with an arched eyebrow and revel in its often saccharine, churned-up beauty. Aesthetically, these themes and sounds still haunt the edges of popular culture and the pair are acutely aware of it; just as Romance dissolved and eulogised Celine Dion on 'Once Upon A Time' and pulled apart soap opera soundtracks on the 'River of Dreams' with Dean Hurley, this album observes a different facet of the mainstream environment, chewing it up with tape, noise and reverb instead of letting it spiral into algorithmic meaninglessness. On 'Anima Mundana', the affecting chorals and washed synths sound almost like canned new age music remoulded into a devotional hymn, and on the album's eerie finale 'Fairest to Behold', they shroud voices in so much reverb and white noise that it might as well be a black metal intro, or a dungeon synth RPG tribute.
Pure beatific bliss by two of the decade’s leading, incandescent ambient spirits, no less.
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Not Waving and Romance take inspiration from Botticelli's 'The Birth of Venus' on their third full-length, teetering at the edge of sacred music and secular sounds by muddling vaporous liturgical chants with saturated strings. Weightless, intoxicating gear that's a must for anyone into Malibu, The Caretaker, Arvo Pärt, GAS or that killer last Moritz Von Oswald LP.
Cracking thru dense ferric mists like a dazzling celestial ray, Alessio Natalizia (aka Not Waving) and Romance's latest statement is as resplendent as the renaissance painting featured on its sleeve, decorating historical shades with vivid contemporary halos and ornate psychedelic smears. If you heard the duo's last couple of records you'll have a good idea where this one's heading, but they've tightened their focus, letting Botticelli's pearlescent vision of polytheistic divinity shepherd their dense, cloudy ambience. Honestly, it's a breath of fresh air in a landscape that's humming with po-faced liturgical laments; the duo’s take is as joyful as its subject matter, a dewy afterparty soundtrack that draws from Thomas Tallis and Arvo Pärt as much as it does GAS and Leyland Kirby.
The album's centrepiece is its glistening title track, a 10-minute thrum of grandiose chamber loops and ghostly, smudged chorals that gently morphs as it shimmers with prismatic radiance, obscuring droning synths, crumbling its rhythms into phasing, disintegrating throbs. 'When the Rose Every Petal Doth Unfold' anchors its soaring strings to ratcheting, cassette-warped hi-hats and a chunky, dub-faded 4/4 that wouldn't sound out of place on a Chain Reaction 12", and 'Let the One Love Tomorrow.' is a crepuscular fog of cryptic chimes, screwed piano hits and reversed exclamations that suggests a rhythm before snatching it away, burying it beneath incandescent hiss.
Romance and Natalizia's strength lies is their ability to approach sacred music with an arched eyebrow and revel in its often saccharine, churned-up beauty. Aesthetically, these themes and sounds still haunt the edges of popular culture and the pair are acutely aware of it; just as Romance dissolved and eulogised Celine Dion on 'Once Upon A Time' and pulled apart soap opera soundtracks on the 'River of Dreams' with Dean Hurley, this album observes a different facet of the mainstream environment, chewing it up with tape, noise and reverb instead of letting it spiral into algorithmic meaninglessness. On 'Anima Mundana', the affecting chorals and washed synths sound almost like canned new age music remoulded into a devotional hymn, and on the album's eerie finale 'Fairest to Behold', they shroud voices in so much reverb and white noise that it might as well be a black metal intro, or a dungeon synth RPG tribute.
Pure beatific bliss by two of the decade’s leading, incandescent ambient spirits, no less.
Not Waving and Romance take inspiration from Botticelli's 'The Birth of Venus' on their third full-length, teetering at the edge of sacred music and secular sounds by muddling vaporous liturgical chants with saturated strings. Weightless, intoxicating gear that's a must for anyone into Malibu, The Caretaker, Arvo Pärt, GAS or that killer last Moritz Von Oswald LP.
Cracking thru dense ferric mists like a dazzling celestial ray, Alessio Natalizia (aka Not Waving) and Romance's latest statement is as resplendent as the renaissance painting featured on its sleeve, decorating historical shades with vivid contemporary halos and ornate psychedelic smears. If you heard the duo's last couple of records you'll have a good idea where this one's heading, but they've tightened their focus, letting Botticelli's pearlescent vision of polytheistic divinity shepherd their dense, cloudy ambience. Honestly, it's a breath of fresh air in a landscape that's humming with po-faced liturgical laments; the duo’s take is as joyful as its subject matter, a dewy afterparty soundtrack that draws from Thomas Tallis and Arvo Pärt as much as it does GAS and Leyland Kirby.
The album's centrepiece is its glistening title track, a 10-minute thrum of grandiose chamber loops and ghostly, smudged chorals that gently morphs as it shimmers with prismatic radiance, obscuring droning synths, crumbling its rhythms into phasing, disintegrating throbs. 'When the Rose Every Petal Doth Unfold' anchors its soaring strings to ratcheting, cassette-warped hi-hats and a chunky, dub-faded 4/4 that wouldn't sound out of place on a Chain Reaction 12", and 'Let the One Love Tomorrow.' is a crepuscular fog of cryptic chimes, screwed piano hits and reversed exclamations that suggests a rhythm before snatching it away, burying it beneath incandescent hiss.
Romance and Natalizia's strength lies is their ability to approach sacred music with an arched eyebrow and revel in its often saccharine, churned-up beauty. Aesthetically, these themes and sounds still haunt the edges of popular culture and the pair are acutely aware of it; just as Romance dissolved and eulogised Celine Dion on 'Once Upon A Time' and pulled apart soap opera soundtracks on the 'River of Dreams' with Dean Hurley, this album observes a different facet of the mainstream environment, chewing it up with tape, noise and reverb instead of letting it spiral into algorithmic meaninglessness. On 'Anima Mundana', the affecting chorals and washed synths sound almost like canned new age music remoulded into a devotional hymn, and on the album's eerie finale 'Fairest to Behold', they shroud voices in so much reverb and white noise that it might as well be a black metal intro, or a dungeon synth RPG tribute.
Pure beatific bliss by two of the decade’s leading, incandescent ambient spirits, no less.
Not Waving and Romance take inspiration from Botticelli's 'The Birth of Venus' on their third full-length, teetering at the edge of sacred music and secular sounds by muddling vaporous liturgical chants with saturated strings. Weightless, intoxicating gear that's a must for anyone into Malibu, The Caretaker, Arvo Pärt, GAS or that killer last Moritz Von Oswald LP.
Cracking thru dense ferric mists like a dazzling celestial ray, Alessio Natalizia (aka Not Waving) and Romance's latest statement is as resplendent as the renaissance painting featured on its sleeve, decorating historical shades with vivid contemporary halos and ornate psychedelic smears. If you heard the duo's last couple of records you'll have a good idea where this one's heading, but they've tightened their focus, letting Botticelli's pearlescent vision of polytheistic divinity shepherd their dense, cloudy ambience. Honestly, it's a breath of fresh air in a landscape that's humming with po-faced liturgical laments; the duo’s take is as joyful as its subject matter, a dewy afterparty soundtrack that draws from Thomas Tallis and Arvo Pärt as much as it does GAS and Leyland Kirby.
The album's centrepiece is its glistening title track, a 10-minute thrum of grandiose chamber loops and ghostly, smudged chorals that gently morphs as it shimmers with prismatic radiance, obscuring droning synths, crumbling its rhythms into phasing, disintegrating throbs. 'When the Rose Every Petal Doth Unfold' anchors its soaring strings to ratcheting, cassette-warped hi-hats and a chunky, dub-faded 4/4 that wouldn't sound out of place on a Chain Reaction 12", and 'Let the One Love Tomorrow.' is a crepuscular fog of cryptic chimes, screwed piano hits and reversed exclamations that suggests a rhythm before snatching it away, burying it beneath incandescent hiss.
Romance and Natalizia's strength lies is their ability to approach sacred music with an arched eyebrow and revel in its often saccharine, churned-up beauty. Aesthetically, these themes and sounds still haunt the edges of popular culture and the pair are acutely aware of it; just as Romance dissolved and eulogised Celine Dion on 'Once Upon A Time' and pulled apart soap opera soundtracks on the 'River of Dreams' with Dean Hurley, this album observes a different facet of the mainstream environment, chewing it up with tape, noise and reverb instead of letting it spiral into algorithmic meaninglessness. On 'Anima Mundana', the affecting chorals and washed synths sound almost like canned new age music remoulded into a devotional hymn, and on the album's eerie finale 'Fairest to Behold', they shroud voices in so much reverb and white noise that it might as well be a black metal intro, or a dungeon synth RPG tribute.
Pure beatific bliss by two of the decade’s leading, incandescent ambient spirits, no less.
Edition of 300 copies pressed on turquoise vinyl, comes with a foldout poster plus a download of the album dropped to your account.
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Not Waving and Romance take inspiration from Botticelli's 'The Birth of Venus' on their third full-length, teetering at the edge of sacred music and secular sounds by muddling vaporous liturgical chants with saturated strings. Weightless, intoxicating gear that's a must for anyone into Malibu, The Caretaker, Arvo Pärt, GAS or that killer last Moritz Von Oswald LP.
Cracking thru dense ferric mists like a dazzling celestial ray, Alessio Natalizia (aka Not Waving) and Romance's latest statement is as resplendent as the renaissance painting featured on its sleeve, decorating historical shades with vivid contemporary halos and ornate psychedelic smears. If you heard the duo's last couple of records you'll have a good idea where this one's heading, but they've tightened their focus, letting Botticelli's pearlescent vision of polytheistic divinity shepherd their dense, cloudy ambience. Honestly, it's a breath of fresh air in a landscape that's humming with po-faced liturgical laments; the duo’s take is as joyful as its subject matter, a dewy afterparty soundtrack that draws from Thomas Tallis and Arvo Pärt as much as it does GAS and Leyland Kirby.
The album's centrepiece is its glistening title track, a 10-minute thrum of grandiose chamber loops and ghostly, smudged chorals that gently morphs as it shimmers with prismatic radiance, obscuring droning synths, crumbling its rhythms into phasing, disintegrating throbs. 'When the Rose Every Petal Doth Unfold' anchors its soaring strings to ratcheting, cassette-warped hi-hats and a chunky, dub-faded 4/4 that wouldn't sound out of place on a Chain Reaction 12", and 'Let the One Love Tomorrow.' is a crepuscular fog of cryptic chimes, screwed piano hits and reversed exclamations that suggests a rhythm before snatching it away, burying it beneath incandescent hiss.
Romance and Natalizia's strength lies is their ability to approach sacred music with an arched eyebrow and revel in its often saccharine, churned-up beauty. Aesthetically, these themes and sounds still haunt the edges of popular culture and the pair are acutely aware of it; just as Romance dissolved and eulogised Celine Dion on 'Once Upon A Time' and pulled apart soap opera soundtracks on the 'River of Dreams' with Dean Hurley, this album observes a different facet of the mainstream environment, chewing it up with tape, noise and reverb instead of letting it spiral into algorithmic meaninglessness. On 'Anima Mundana', the affecting chorals and washed synths sound almost like canned new age music remoulded into a devotional hymn, and on the album's eerie finale 'Fairest to Behold', they shroud voices in so much reverb and white noise that it might as well be a black metal intro, or a dungeon synth RPG tribute.
Pure beatific bliss by two of the decade’s leading, incandescent ambient spirits, no less.