Yet everything continued to melt restfully into everything else. The trip began with an infinitely long held pedal note over which the radiograph of a faltering heartbeat sounded. It sounded like the last gasp of Arnold Schonberg and the next stop is space. Stroll on, but don't listen too intently or it will disappear. It is very private music, strictly for itself, and perhaps for lone dancers.
Most music is composed for people to listen to.
This is not. It makes no compromises. There is no concessionary access as it slithers along. Kazazian is on strong ground here. There is nothing to listen to, yet the sound does go on.