My sleep schedule has been thrown totally out of whack this past week or so, it’s something that’s been plaguing me increasingly often in the past few years too, difficulties in falling asleep and so forth. I’m taking this opportunity to go for the hard reset and pull an all-nighter in the hopes of fixing my disjointed cycle at the moment so for the first time in a long while this is a late night review, which is appropriate because Sun Curves in Glades profer up a dreamy and somnolent excursion in their waves of guitar and synth forged drones.

We’re thrown straight into the thick of it in opener “New Galaxies”; immediate drones launch us directly into its ethereal arms, its smeared tones creeping along tentatively as it begins to explore the edges of this limitless escape, tentative in its construction and approach but luxurious and thick in presentation and deeply aware of itself. There’s a sort of black spaciousness detectable in the darkly echoic thrums that peek through but before we know it we’re cut off and launched into our next experience in “Leaving White Via Arc”. As we pass along this album arc we find ourselves exploring increasingly clear and realised music, the fluffiness of the opener somewhat lost now as we become caught in waves of softly thrumming guitar urging the drones forwards, collapsing into wavering indecision in thin drones at its similarly abrupt conclusion.

It’s as though we’re increasingly finding ourselves filled with wakefulness as “Turquoise IV” arrives on its bed of simpering, crystalline drone lines all vying for attention, prismatic in its presentation, or perhaps as though sunlight finding its way as shafts through slatted blinds, each new wave a step in the onset of morning. It’s incredibly blissful and comforting, especially as it finds itself lost in a watery mass of field recordings in its closing moments, lulled by their fluidity. Those last precious moments of sleep find their way in “Soft Landing, Asleep Nearby” and its impossibly fragile constructions, its thin drones a rapidly evaporating fog, distant sounds beginning to find their feet as we come to, creeping through the waking haze. It’s then that the grandeur of 12 minute finalé “The Sun Is Always Rising” is loosed and the album finds itself at its head.

It’s an exquisite closer and perhaps one of the better and most realised drone singles I’ve heard this year; its expanded scope allows it more space than previously possible for its slow turnings to emerge, nothing more than an effortlessly crafted and slowly rising crescendo of optimistic sound, its climbing drone expanse a rich and consistent entity that wants nothing more than to submerge the listener in its hope and light, an endless vista of bright confidence and possibility in the face of a new day. The longer I listen to this the more I fall into its ridiculously consuming charm and the longer I want it to go on for; I’d quite happily listen to it all day, but it must come to an end and it sets us down rather more gently than its predecessors, carefully and precisely closing the curtains on our little nighttime journey.

This is a great little release that I think deserves a bit of love; you can stream it free or consider buying it for the exorbitant sum of £1 in the Bandcamp below.