Assembled after the London-based composer took a trip to Portland, Oregon and the surrounding natural spaces, this 10-minute piece evokes the moment that the senses acclimatise to a new environment. A heightened, crystalline sensitivity emerges in the midst of new aromas, different humidities pressing upon the skin, or the sound of unfamiliar birdsong. It is cyclical, or respiratory rather, with the breath assembled in mosaic from wind-rustled leaves, soft plumes of chords and recurrent cicada jets – an acknowledgement of how these sensory experiences enrich the awareness of one’s own body, folded into footsteps and inhalations. Textures surge, fall quiet, surge again.

Yet despite the immersive immediacy of this space, it nonetheless carries the surreal, chronologically unspooled air of a memory. There’s an ambiguity over whether we are there – back in Oregon, walking through the forest – or simply remembering it. Does the distinction even matter when we’re lost in the fullness of daydreaming? Reverb is applied in varying degrees, rendering some sounds crisp and others in semi-recollected spectres, while some sounds are more overtly looped than others, as if inviting reappraisal for a reason that escapes consciousness. 10 minutes isn’t long, but you can re-enter Near any time you please.
— Jack Chuter, ATTN: Magazine