MaeBeaNot - "Blinding Darkness"
- Adam Jones - MusicFarmer5
- 12 minutes ago
- 3 min read
MUSIC FARMER 5 - Review by Adam Jones
The Darkness Isn’t Empty—It Sings
With Blinding Darkness, MaeBeaNot pulls the listener into a haunting, cinematic dimension that floats somewhere between a dream and signal loss. Inspired by sonic pioneers like The Caretaker, Sigur Rós, and Aphex Twin, this album doesn’t follow the conventions of structure or genre—it dissolves them. It is not here to entertain. It is here to envelop.
The album opens with “Omniscient,” a track that feels like stepping through an ancient doorway into a room the size of a galaxy. Mechanical echoes churn and flicker, like forgotten machines slowly waking. A heavily treated vocal line hums in the background—distant, almost reverent—blurring the boundaries between human and machine. This is music that doesn’t so much play as it materializes.
“Cold Darkness” lives up to its name. It’s the sonic equivalent of drifting through the vacuum of space, tethered to nothing but the sound of your own breath. Fleeting signals cut through the black—a ghostly ping, a warbled memory of home. There’s something cinematic and terrifying about its restraint, like the final moments of a film that refuses to resolve.
“Nothing but Wind” introduces a swelling, near-sacred energy. There’s an eerie, Gregorian undertow—a mass sung by ghosts of forgotten machines. Chords bloom and retract not through traditional instrumentation, but through the layered interplay of effects. If there’s a bell tolling here, it tolls for some forgotten epoch.
With a title as surreal as the song itself, “Looking Beyond the Realm of Imagination Could Evoke” builds from whispers of static and breath-like synths into a wide, star-shot expanse. Growling textures rumble beneath sparkling melodies, like tectonic plates groaning under cosmic light. At its peak, it feels like tumbling weightlessly through a meteor shower of ideas.
“Moments of Peace” offers a gentle reprieve. The track begins like an orchestra quietly tuning in zero gravity, before settling into a soft, suspended hush. It doesn't ask for attention—it simply waits, like a still pond reflecting distant constellations.
“Less and Less of Being” arrives with the quiet wisdom of dissolution. This is the sound of letting go. Built on a subtle drone, the track gives the listener space—literal, emotional, spiritual—to process what’s been heard and felt so far. It's minimal, but far from empty.
