Staring at an extraterrestrial landscape, sorrounded by a red red dusk, while Holly Miranda and Keep Shelly in Athens are sitting right next to me peacefully singing chilly, pop-ish songs, waiting for the sun to set. That’s what I’ve been  feeling all this time while listening to MMOTHS. Now the night has come, bringing its impenetrable darkness; friends’ voices are gone, melted in the shadows, and Luneworks has slowly risen from the outmost places of my consciousness. Gloomy rithms for even darker tracks open the latest work from the irish electronic composer. It’s not (only) a matter of deep intimacy – we’ve already dealt with it in Jack Colleran’s previous releases, and it’s been wonderful – it’s somewhat a research in the concept of intimacy itself, which tries to lead  the sound to an ancestral, elemental level. And when everything seems to become way too tangled and elaborate, wandering between hollow  echoes and undefined trails, we slowly but definitely find ourselves  able to see what is the real matter of all this incredibile circle of intimacy: piano. Piano is what our thoughts are made of; piano is what the songs of a renewed MMOTHS are soaked in. Piano makes music so fluid, so immeasurably ethereal. As the songs flow like a continous, liquid stream of consciousness , everything becomes easier, simplier, and kind of brighter. Few notes, stretched to infinity, bring us back to the dreamy landscapes we’ve been missing for a while. Light has come again, and now it carries the sound of beauty, the name of Naoko.