Listening to A Deeper Silence, cochlea bathing in its luxuriant fathoms, begs contemplation regarding the inexorable march of time, particularly as this year’s already slipped into the eve of its final quarter; in fact, speaking in senses both chronological and philosophical, notions of time, of fleeting moments and indelible memories, thread the conduit binding Steve Roach’s first handful of 2008 releases. There’s a simultaneous longing and exuberance across the span of these three recordings—embracing things past and things current yet remaining anticipatory towards the future, Roach nevertheless recognizes the unerring arc of the circle. Dots are connected, lines are re-drawn and re-calibrated, the ghosts of muses past beg for exorcism; amidst Roach’s work, time is truly the fire in which he burns. Sounds might rest temporarily, occupying relatively safe havens until their oasis is shattered by the next cyclonic statement, yet in Roach’s slipstream, psychotropic fulfillment comes from bridging the id of then with the momentum of now. It’s beginning to and back again.

Out of the barest sliver of eclipsed sunlight illuminating the top of the front cover, an infinity symbol subtly emblazoned over the tray card’s near-blackest ever black, years bloom, flare, fade, and are reborn within the tableau of A Deeper Silence. Ostensibly a continuation of the themes augured by 1987’s Structures from Silence but allowed to naturally expand across a far longer bandwidth, when the soft machine tufts of A Deeper Silence first emerge it’s as if they always existed, ready to unveil themselves to whomever chooses access. Like ancient solar winds, gravity thinning their entrails across limitless parsecs, the disc’s beauteous tones achieve a perfect symbiosis between reflection, sensation, and environment. “Immersive” these elastic, whispering filigree are, yes, but it’s a far different tenor (though the aesthetics are certainly shared) than that displayed on Roach’s earlier Immersion series. On those 2007 recordings, Roach’s dronic maps availed themselves of braided, gelatinous, and indeed minimal, textures, eerie fugs of sound that engulfed you in startling ultraviolets. Play A Deeper Silence in varying situations—as a preternatural listen, precursor to sleep, or perchance to dream—and each time its sparse opiate narcotizes different corners of the soul. A more profoundly introspective skein of sound, yielded via the “cold” ions of electronics, one would be challenged to find—embodying ambient music, in fact codifying Eno’s own behavioral maxim for such musics, the subtly instictive tow of A Deeper Silence not only suspends memories, but left to its own devices, displaces the very flow of time itself. - Darren Bergstein

Most of the Steve Roach releases we have reviewed in these pages are on the Projekt label. Timeroom Editions is his private label, offering additional releases from this prolific artist, available for purchase on the website. Many times I’ve written about the innate suitability of much of Roach’s music as perfect accompaniment for relaxation, meditation and slumber. There are a few things that can work against this, though (and I suppose this is subjective, but I’m writing this review, so…) One is driving electronic sequences that overwhelm all else, another is drumming, and the last: seemingly endless patches of dead silence between tracks. Nothing wakes this writer up quicker than silence. I’m happy to report that these two releases contain none of that: both are essentially continuous pieces of music lasting well over an hour with no breaks. Landmass does contain six tracks, recorded and composed live on Chuck van Zyl’s Stars End radio show, but all six pieces flow together into a seamless whole. There are sequences and percussive sounds (drums), but they are fairly muted and masterfully flowed in behind the more prominent cyclical waves of drones and ambient coloration, making a perfect soundtrack for the downward spiral at the end of a stressful day. A Deeper Silence starts two or three steps further down the consciousness ladder, 74 minutes of pure deep space drone, very dark and at times so quiet that I needed to boost my volume a few notches just to keep it audible. The sound breathes and grows in formless fashion over seemingly endless cyclical evolutions, but the sonic palette here bears little color, and no sequences or percussive content of any kind. Both of these are excellent releases, but very different. – Peter Thelen

Indulging in excessive minimalism, this music is offered as one long track that the liner notes recommend listening to on low looped playback to generate an infinite sonic environment of relaxation.

Ethereal tonalities emerge from a silent darkness and drift through the murky climate with no attempts to generate illumination. The tones luxuriate in extended waves that defy perception, establishing a steadfast drone of barely discernible definition. Gradually, far too delicately to be clearly noticed, the density of the soundscape increases into a rarefied atmosphere of sighing pulsations which in themselves are still too drawn out to detect movement.

In truth, the music features an assortment of changes, but these evolutionary transformations occur over such prolonged periods that their development remains too subtle for detection. Effectively, this is the nucleus of this release's charm: the music resolutely passive nature. The harmonics rise from near silence and achieve a whispery softness that one must strain to recognize.

This composition is designed to provide the listener with an intentionally unobtrusive background flow whose entire effect happens within the brain. These ephemeral tones smooth all psychic waves with their own languid resonance, instilling a sense of calm and expansive serenity.