Panabrite's Norm Chambers has been nothing if not prolific in the past few years, teaming up with Digitalis, Aguirre, Tranquility Tapes, Bathetic and Hobo Cult among a dozen others to bring immersive synth soundtracks to the world. Now he's skipping over to Immune, another obvious home for his worn page ambient journeys, with Pavilion, a darker side to his dissociative universe. The album begins with the patter of rain, a nod to his Northwest homestead, and links its eight tracks into a weave of bubbling distraction, translucent calm and meditative headspace. The record, as with most of Chambers' works, winds up rather cinematic, feeling like a thread looking for the needle of a camera's eye to truly give it purpose. At once gorgeous and ethereal but strangely claustrophobic and anxious, Pavilion has a way of feeling like the waking edge of a dream caught while sleeping on the job, the sounds of machinery fading to the edges but always pulling at the focus so that you can't just float away with the receding tide of calm hallucination. The album works best between the nestle of headphones, where the enveloping qualities of Chambers' world can best block out the encroaching chaos of the outside world. The rain seems to pop in and out of Pavilion, a recurring sense of ennui that perfectly matches the nervous, pit of the stomach sadness that encapsulates Panabrite's universe. Sure its a bummer, but its a perfectly engrossing bummer, and one that feels as necessary as ever these days. There are many to choose from but this stands as on of Panabrite's best.
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