Undergarments were twisted in frenzied tizz when the aforesaid highlight was slipped out into the well-oiled mechanisms of the WWW and yep, it still traces the sonic resplendence of the still-effervescent Desire Lines. Yet within the context of this nigh on flawless collection it slides back into comparative insignificance. From the arenaceous acoustic dawdle of Dusty Rhodes to the oneiric lusciousness of its Untitled intro it's a thoroughly affecting listen that commands attention whilst banishing all form of bravado to the outermost recesses of Pundt's mind. He may be Bradford's best bud although his approach quite patently couldn't be more antithetical. In fact so soft, airy, unassuming and estival is each track that they feel almost like spherical satellites orbiting Pundt's evidently irradiate musical intelligence: Monoliths is as tearily magnificent as moribund weeping willow; Eveningness as evocatively picturesque as an interminable sunset scattered out upon unending oceanic expanse; Jet Out of the Tundra as mirthfully searing as oven warmth in the Antarctic.
Thus Pundt extracts a vast spectrum of emotion from the corporeal listener like an illusionist yanking an endless stream of polychromatic thread from upturned top hat. However this splendiferous feat is achieved via the medium of instrumental minimalism, with the majority of his pieces comprised merely of sturdy rhythms redolent of those contained within Halcyon Digest, guitars, and insouciant synth loops. The spectral washes of Remember Our Days cocoon such concept quite neatly as does the enlivening pounding of Out Of Touch, its chorus quite bizarrely acutely akin to that of Stoke-on-Trent's beeriest belly Robbie Williams' chef d'œuvre, Strong. It's the turbulent squall of White Galactic One that, perhaps rather appositely, propels Spooky Action At A Distance to an ever more ethereal domain though where it simply must remain long beyond the recommencing of hunting season...
