Paradise Palms Records is excited to announce the release of the new ambient album "Places I have never been" by The Reverse Engineer. The album takes listeners on a sonic journey through imaginary landscapes and surreal environments. "Places I have never been" is a captivating exploration of half-truths and subjectivity, woven together with field recordings that transport the listener to another world. The Reverse Engineer, locked down in his home studio, tells a mesmerizing story of a trip that never happened using recordings from trips that did. The album features 8 tracks and three incredible reworks, each one building upon the previous to create a cohesive and immersive listening experience. The delicate soundscapes and intricate textures showcase The Reverse Engineers skill as a producer and sound designer, creating an ethereal atmosphere that is at once dreamlike and haunting. Its unique blend of reality and fiction provides a refreshing take on the genre, inviting the listener to get lost in a world of sound.
On remixes, three contrasting takes, presenting a musical insight too three different mindsets.
Goodnight Louisa offers a beautiful synth pop take of Bathysphere, soaring lead vocals transform it's foundations into the purest ethereal bliss.
PGP contrasts again with Back in Slow Time, a dance floor break beat belter, with it's core orbiting around a dirty dub moon.
The Reverse Engineer does a loop around in driving dance of 'Against the Bass World.' Transporting you into the back room of Berlin house night, the kind you regretfully have to leave at 5pm next day.
Places I Have (Never) Been - K. D. Tembo
I went ahead, which was the same, in the dim speckle, as returning out. Reversed in flow, a high entropic disabused of the fear of jinking and cracking up and coming apart. All around me fast and slow. Know becomes disappear and the pulsing time is as heavy and distant as its own tide, bursting the slate in its blue bent bones to beaded alluvium. Roiling back-warded, ancient as pillars that withstood the steel in the wind, that squinted my searching eyes as they warbled in their orbitals, mumbling a wet search in a trajectory that describes the jitters of an encelograph picturing the contoured liniments of bad news. Trying and distant and peeled and popped. The remains of zatarra, bobbing against the sea world.
What would it mean to them to say when they return and I go out, we meeting briefly in the interconnected loops, like ghosts of ideations that were given another half-chance to grow out their half-lives. Exorcised of potential, cursed in a haunting of missed moments come again hoping to crash hard enough to spark against our litany of misfirings - tell me what would it mean to them to say that the sphere of sound, the membrane of the Round, is softed with hiss, which thrums, darkbourne turbine tripping over the uppermost air, snag and boost, with echoes of things in flight. The voices, of doom, of stymied steps to dupe the limits and tread, as if on cobbles of cobalt, toward a life outside everything. Out there, in the busy mist. Out there, in the empty pale wash of a perfect day enhazed. Alone and struck by the weight of light, fixed in lines, as your window casts a shadow.
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