Here is the google translation :
Patience in isolation, beauty in agony and Winter Is Coming (I dare).
Yes, I know Beautumn is the project of Russian Alexander Ananyev . No, I have not dug more than that his previous albums so far. At the same time, I do not know him before this edition release in offense ten years after its previous album Northing , I consider myself half forgivable (because there still is a little lazy at the bottom of it) . But I know from cons offense has already released some pretty tasty pieces, including a Along the Mantic Spring of Pausal and the meeting between Pleq and Offthesky entitled A Thousand Fields , which synthesize their own way the best of the atmosphere. Today it covers and invites itself in colder countries with Bordeaux .
Forming the soundtrack of a late autumn that never ends, the new instant colors ranging from gray and ocher, speckled blue and purple, seem to belong only day of the winter solstice, marking the transition between the decline and immobility. Always modestly accepted, the compositions parent of little tricks, but this silent missive to minimalism that gives a suggestive force to Bordeaux . The ambient tablecloths originally soft and temperate are weakened by a cold filter winter melancholy stray transmissions in the air and other Rattled hardware buckle indefinitely such pieces of memories whose meaning has been removed, continuing now traveling aimlessly after the non-existence. There we find comfort in sadness, beauty in agony, harmony in dissonance. A little more reverb in the low frequencies and it's like well in a dark ambient album, genre of choice for those in search of isolationism fatalist and irreversible.
However, perhaps more than the loneliness is slow, enveloping us in these pieces. So many dumb declarations of love to the absent contemplation, that we lose in drilling pads barely fog of pale pulsations, where timid records stand the hair on our backs as the frost stings our ends. Personal pinnacle of this album, the track giving his name to the work: the sporadic incursions of a violin ghostly look to shine one last time in Bordeaux , offering us a swan song of those who are engraved in our interior grooves, one of those furtive meetings that mark the soul forever. A mixture of tenderness and melancholy. An unstable balance between regret and hope. It is as fragile as it is touching, and it is especially devilishly handsome.
These 48 minutes exploring the final moments of life before the winter stasis resonate deeply despite the apparently simple (but not simplistic) of Bordeaux . They imply a false blueprint of the harsh winter and withdrawal, but imply a real invitation to patience and cocooning. For in the image of the cover, even if it is a kind beaten by the blizzard that sees, it is especially necessary there guess the moments of life that burrow deep there, waiting for their call to start another cycle .