o The Dust... demonstrates some astute needlework as Charles Atlas gather old strands of bucolic guitars, plaintive piano and subtle electronics squiggles, interlacing them with meticulously layered drones and quietly frantic, almost neo-classical, underpinnings. And while each piece from Worsted Weight made sense when looked upon as a whole, like chapters in a novel, each part of To The Dust has a beginning, middle and end all its own, as though it were a bound collection of short stories. If these are, indeed, like short stories, the shifting, fluid nature of the plots together with the multiple traits fleshed out in the character of each instrument (the starry-eyed piano on “Primo Levi”, the sedate glockenspiel from “Corono Norco”) suggests each story has passed through numerous drafts. The end result being that this carefully meditated montage of menacing reverb, clanking percussion and tender piano refrains establishes clear themes of late night melancholic reflection. Despite this, the record doesn’t brood. Indeed, one of the albums finest moments arrives in the form of “Chapultepic”, when what begins with an interplay of sporadic, vacillating piano picks up its step and joins a crowd of instruments, where one finds a bubbly electronic beat, trombone flourishes and spirited guitar playing, as the formerly sullen expression turns into a quiet joy.

Many of the pieces in To The Dust... are themselves bipolar: while the melody remains lodged in its groove, repeating endlessly in post-rock fashion, the textures evolve beautifully. “Signal Flags” opens in this way, with a solemn guitar arpeggio soon attaining a sharp, echoing quality, while chiming piano walks in and out of the piece as a marriage of woeful strings and trombone swell and gasp. Although largely an instrumental effort, “Edith” reveals the delicate, feathery voice of Odessa Chen. Her intimate whisper is difficult to understand unless listened to attentively on headphones. Her soothing voice, however, seeps well into the extended reverberating tones and piano, thereby avoiding a pitfall common to such circumstances, whereby the voices lone appearance emerges awkwardly, breaking the album’s rhythm (see Fennesz’s Venice). Near the end, Chen’s voice undergoes faint editing, her breathy sighs isolated and reconstructed with the simple glee of a child taking apart a clock.

Elsewhere, the group allows the compositions to breathe freely, while a constant tension and balance is similarly maintained. “Seven Digit Clock”, with its reedy guitar pattern, whirring generator-like drone and gritty, crackling radio transmission is mechanical yet loose, with minor events and differences temporarily diverting the clock’s pulsing repetition. At last, To The Dust fades away as “Dipole Moment” borders on the territories of a sound collage, reminding of Set Fire To Flames. Rustling squalls are oppressed by an unending hum whilst astringent, quivering electronic murmurs and a strangled, despondent guitar escalate for a moment until carrying on in their somber stride. There is no release, as always, instead once again finding a reflective state that speaks to both the band’s engaging maturity and the album’s underlying themes. An admirable effort.