TEXTILE RANCH - Bird Heart In Wool

Indie jack-of-all-trades Glen Johnson conjures up another

little gem of pop craftsmanship.

His main project Piano Magic is already an extraordinary

force in recent years of independent music, and this album

only fully confirms his extraordinary compositional skills.

Sketches, truncated songs, voices, noises. Examining the tracks one by one

would never capture the true meaning of this masterwork.

Sounds stolen from the world,

uprooted from the simple flow of time. Time that treads a path of

glittering beauty. Something familiar can be felt running through the

tracks. We lose ourselves and find ourselves again before this jumble of tones

materials, essential, granite-hard.

Loops, creaks, beats, whistles,

yearnings, disintegrations, overflowing sonic extraneousness.

Electronics go

hand in hand with all of this, tagging along as if following the same main

road, as if there were no distinction between what is concrete and what is

fake.

The sounds created by machines reproduce an obsessive beat, thick,

invasive, evanescent. A touch of non-humanity lent to a shamelessly pure

sound.

Deformed acousticity, never present in its

natural form. Instruments disguised, steered off course, diverted, destabilized. Percussion,

xylophone, guitar touches, who knows what other instruments. The result is

something crystalline, decisive, precise.

The voices stay outside of it.

They don't want to be too intrusive, they simply don't feel like it. They intone their

presence with subtle, minimal, measured, delicate words. Women's voices,

the very essence of sweetness.

Listening to this record is like

being transported to a different world, perfect, elegant.

Never an intrusion, never

an ill-intentioned interference. Our body is never assailed. Our

ears are never threatened. Absolute peace reigns in our

mind. We let ourselves be carried away by these lands that speak, that never stop

emanating something called songs. Songs we'd want to hear

every time we're alone, whenever our spirit is afflicted by unspeakable

pains. Songs steeped in a golden aura, coated in a

gleaming patina, enriched with earthly wisdom.

A work with no

limits of classification, impossible to place within any musical movement.

All it takes to define it is to listen. Calmly and passionately. In front of a fire. With

eyes closed. Alone. Admiring without saying a word. In silence.

Ride the wave of great music

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30/04/2026