My Magic Dreams Have Lost Their Spell

Twenty-five kinds of gentle and all kinds of warm, played on eleventy billion instruments. I wish more one-man bands were this patient and unpredictable. You could maybe call a fifth of this “new classical” music, maybe? There’s also a pulse, and the pieces are also a little corny in all the right ways. And, more than once, it just erupts into scraping and non-tonal washes of sandy noise. A walk around a town, a little Ulysses in a foil bag.