I feel that very few cinematic/ambient music artists manage to find their true sonic identity, especially within albums.

I know a few who have: leaving aside the ambient side, since a good half of his work leans more toward the uptempo dimension, the immense Arkana has produced tracks of grandiose quality and complexity—and no, my words are not hyperbolic. I’m thinking of the album Iskatallith, particularly the tracks Istento Eternum, Umi and the Serpent, and Silentium, rich with chills, tragic scenes, and divine battles. This is a prime example of a perfectly respected sonic identity within an album, and more broadly, an artist. I will likely return to his brilliant work later on.

There’s also the very good Zack Hemsey. I listened to Mind Heist a lot (back when the Inception trailer came out...), The Way, and the excellent soundtrack of The Candidate. His best work remains, in my opinion, the album Goliath, which explores a surprisingly intelligent range of emotions through a minimalist musical foundation. I could also mention Atrium Carceri, though more cautiously, as I feel like their tracks could all fit into the same album... if I'm exaggerating a little. Despite this, I tend to listen to the same songs repeatedly, especially Shrieking of Angels for its grand bursts of terror and its morbid fascination, teetering on the edge of the infernal, which reminds me of the sublime R'lyeh by Sephiroth.

Two years ago, I randomly stumbled upon an Instagram account with a very binary name (literally). The guy behind this page, Ego, was sharing, and still is today, AI-generated art, in Renaissance/Biblical Dark Fantasy tones, like hallucinated icons and decayed paintings from great long-lost masters. And recently, Instagram added a cool feature that lets you play music on static posts (like photos). And Ego played some sounds by... Wordclock.

The audacity of "Self-Destruction Themes"

The first track that caught my attention was 32 Walls, specifically the passage around 3:45 where a long unholy murmur merges with the soft rhythm and notes that remind me of weary rain. In fact, it piqued my interest because it was entirely unique. None of these isolated sonic layers are particularly disturbing, but combined, they create an atmosphere that is quite sinister and captivating.

32 Walls is a track from the album Self-Destruction Themes, which starts off quite timidly (the first tracks, from Here We'll Be Gone to Something More, didn’t feel all that original to me). But it seems that towards the end of the album, starting with Every Shade, Wordclock dared to take quite a bold turn.

With Every Shade, the album stays within the established theme of floating, dreamy softness, like the flight of a great eagle over a red autumn forest, but there’s an undercurrent of discomfort that's hard to articulate. It only sets the stage for the next track, undoubtedly my favorite from this album: Something Else.

With Something Else, we dive straight into horror, but not the vulgar, aggressive kind with screeching strings, cymbals, and drums. No, it’s a carefully crafted terror, beginning with a perfectly constructed background ambiance and a violin that slowly, insidiously transforms into a monstrous wail, like the sound Cthulhu might make as he stirs in his slumber. Above all, it instills an absolutely fascinating dread that continually reminds me of a scene from a story my best friend is writing, where a girl’s carefree world is shattered in an instant when she stumbles upon a massive cathedral of human flesh lying dormant beneath her lifelong village; and though horrified, she presses on, much like Something Else, chilling, yet making you want to indulge in it.

After the icy wind unleashed by Something Else, 32 Walls picks up, rebalancing the horror with fascination. This track, as I wrote earlier, reminds me of weary rain falling on a ruined church, with the saints in the shattered stained glass whispering a curse born of mankind’s neglect... A pilgrim might venture there, seeking a sign from God, in vain.

Finally, Lack of Language sheds the horror aspect, raising the album’s gentle tone again to end on a hopeful note, though slightly disappointing, as a more fully committed descent into horror would have been much more impactful in my opinion. Lack of Language even faintly echoes In The Wake Of A Giant, the beautiful conclusion to Zack Hemsey’s Goliath, and to a lesser extent, The Workers of Art by The Cinematic Orchestra.

What I love about this album is simply its completely unexpected tonal shift, and above all, above all, above all, this magnificent astonishment that strikes me over and over, even after a hundred listens, whenever I hear Something Else.

"A Greater Bliss", a blessing

Here’s an album that truly lives up to its name. And I like things that make sense.

Nine tracks with evocative titles, supported by a cover design worthy of a radiant icon, sacred choirs, Tibetan bowls, cosmic rustlings, and strange voices that sound like the cherished confession of a saint to the God of a forgotten civilization at the edge of the universe: all these elements work together beautifully to weave a diegesis so credible, so extraordinary that it’s hard to believe it’s intangible.

Everything fits together perfectly. And it’s rare that I enjoy all the tracks on an album equally. Even with my favorites: Iskatallith (Arkana), Good Faith (Madeon), or even Self Destruction Themes by the same artist... there’s always one or two tracks that feel a little behind the others; not bad, just not as good.

It would be futile to try to describe exactly what this album makes me feel. Entering the golden monastery in By Becoming It. Strolling through the hanging gardens in Meant. Attending an ancient mass in The Spirit Chokes. Climbing a dune before dawn and watching the sunrise in Weighed Upon Us. Hearing the hallucinatory blessing in The Less of Me. Observing sacred relics in Binding With Briars. Discovering with awe the forgotten splendor of a lost mound in Beatific, receiving the mad confession of an excommunicated soul in Unbecoming, and finally reaching enlightenment, perfect harmony in Come, Triumph, a brilliant conclusion to this musical masterpiece.

This album is the kind that obsesses—and it truly obsesses me. It would make you regret, more than any other work of fiction, not being able to physically enter the universe it describes.

So listen to Wordclock.