For fans of LA Timpa, William Basinski, Hedgehog, early post rock, and wondering if the ant on your floor sees you looking down it at and also wonders what you’re doing there, Purpurea by Molia Vis immerses us in a downright horrifying ambient space, blending intimate, minimal performances with an encroaching, droning sense of doom. Raw acoustic guitar riffing drifts between meters and keys aimlessly, following a limping stream of consciousness as a dull roar grows ever more present in the background. These two elements seem to fight one another at points, with new layers on both fronts entering briefly and drawing this quiet, distant album to an understated crescendo. However, the pure vastness of the ambient hum inevitably wins in the end, fixing our point of view at a distant point above the performer as threateningly empty space sprawls out on all sides. If we take this exercise to our perception of ourselves, we become these absurd little things, plucking away at our strings as every sound we make gets swallowed by the abyss.
