A spider-webbed feedback crack runs through “Un Peu De Neige Sans Raison.” Think of this as hypertensive ambient: droning celestial glow-worms, piled high, crawling tentatively over and under and around one another in a quiet pile, inflaming the surrounding atmosphere while starving it of something crucial. Take a step or two outside the metaphorical and these are organ-like tones that, separately, would delight, but collectively suffocate.
The listener is placed in an uncomfortable position. Though this music wants to encourage some spa-treatment—some languor, some leisure—these duplicated, diplomatic motifs come across as malevolently crepuscular in juxtaposition. Then there’s the canine-provoking frequency feedback oozing through gaps in a dense mix that evokes church bells, tuning forks, foghorn, and grocery-store cake frosting more plangent than most Peavey amplifiers.