Sun is rising in the hills of Tracia.
(Wind Atlas’ music has gained in nuances, drifting smoothly from dark dream-pop and new-wave passages (which remind us of Dead Can Dance) to gloomy postpunk atmospheres similar to those of Crispy Ambulance, Durruti Column or In Camera. Music to think of an unknown continent, to look for the lost alchemical formula, to eventually discover Talos the robot hurling rocks at the Argonauts. Music that requires to do nothing but listen, a task that nowadays appears almost impossible.
The message is conveyed in an imagined language from a terra incognita, the lingua ignota. Each song is like an accent or a period, like a comma, a verse, a whole chapter of a liturgical chant).
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