As if laughing at me, Emulsion drags itself gently along on its belly as the minutes tick away on this review. My point of reference lies in a number of ambient comps that have held my attention over the last couple of years, many of which have massaged my cortex long after sleep has embraced me. I enjoy a large variety of ambient bands, but I find the best interact with me-- they swallow my subconscious into some sort of altered state, coloring the sky and washing my beard with flowers. These things can happen when I'm awake, but only drugs give me the patience to wait for them.

Still, Emulsion laughs. Having resided in the #3 slot of my changer for about a month, it has unobtrusively slipped itself into my day numerous times. Often, before I'm even aware I'm listening to it, it's ending. The sounds are some of the most minimal and dry I've heard. Many tracks lack anything that could rightfully be called a "beat," and some tracks approximate natural sounds so closely that, were it not for the mood of the album, Emulsion might fade into the background entirely.

Distant factories and white flashes of sun bound around the inside of my skull when I drift away from wakefulness under the influence of Emulsion. While the record begins with something that certainly falls into the definition of "song," the cycles of four somber organ notes backed by thunder and distant, unintelligible voices of "Hello Young Lovers" is so unobtrusive as to take on the immediate feeling of background. It literally gives your space a few sonic flourishes. It's all mood, though-- Emulsion offers a gently lapping tide of sound-- not the crystal blue tide you find in Australia or Tahiti, but the deep-green, almost-black tide of the Jersey Shore.

Tear Ceremony's record isn't comforting or soothing like many ambient albums. Instead, it possesses a dissonance that's achieved through other means than ham-fisted screeches and atonal freakouts. It's patient in its slow action, repetitively layering a few sound cycles on top of one another, most of them mechanical or literally industrial (like the sound you'd imagine if you were standing a half mile away from a sawmill). It all results in a drone that renders an illogical feeling of urgency, loneliness and impatience in the listener. Yet, this discomfort never becomes troubling enough to merit a trip for your finger to the "track forward" button. I've found myself quietly listening, awake, but drifting in an atmosphere that evokes rusty machinery, dilapidated industry and vast expanses of nothingness. It is to drift, that Emulsion speaks.

That said, I'd only really recommend Emulsion to those familiar with fans of ambient. Emulsion won't fly with Joe Superchunk-- in fact, the Hippie commented on its "scariness." And it is, in much the same way as incidental music in horror films. Emulsion will put that background in your room, if you can handle it.

-James P. Wisdom