Faith

Sailing beyond the boundaries of electronic music, Purelink embrace liquidity on their second album, washing live instrumentation and exposed vocals over their patented cascade of dubbed ambience and ebbing rhythmic experimentation. Since 2020, Tommy Paslaski (aka Concave Reflection), Ben Paulson (aka kindtree) and Akeem Asani (aka Millia) have channeled their most euphoric musical whims into the Purelink project. Drifting between brittle '90s drum 'n bass and dub techno on their cult debut 12" 'Bliss / Swivel' and vaporizing Windy City jazz and post-rock motifs with muggy soundscapes on 2023's critically revered first full-length 'Signs', the trio have managed to define a painterly signature sound that's reflective but not reverent. Sure, Purelink's music can be graceful and bucolic, but it's powered by their innate devotion to the dancefloor's soundsystem. 

  'Faith' illustrates a period of upheaval for the three friends; relocating from Chicago to New York City, they found themselves surrounded by new scenery and fresh inspirations that permeated their compositions as they adapted to the change. On their previous records, the production process was relatively simple, just three laptops jacked into an interface in Paslaski's living room. Here, they augment the intermixed electronics with acoustic and electric timbres, opening up space for vocal contributions from Hyperdub luminary Loraine James and poet Angelina Nonaj. "Always time for rest," James ponders candidly on 'Rookie', "we settle." Her voice floats like smoke over the trio's familiar pattering rhythms and light-headed synths, now enhanced by capsized guitar motifs and subtle bass plucks.

  On 'First Iota' meanwhile, Nonaj's deadpan narration grounds Purelink's dissociated echoes, sub swells and delicate improvisations. "Not everything beautiful has to be real," Nonaj repeats as organic and digital sounds sublime into a lysergic haze. And the softly propulsive 4/4 thuds that steered 'Signs' haven't disappeared entirely, either. On 'Kite Scene' a heartbeat-like pulse underpins Purelink's balmy pads and acidic synths, tactfully disrupted by hollow live percussion, and 'Yoke' muffles its chugging, broken beat sequences with swaddled trance hallucinations, gesturing cautiously towards euphoria. Each element falls into place on the album's final track, 'Circle of Dust', when Paslaski, Paulson and Asani find a fertile middle ground, ornamenting the kinetic, reverberating beats with evaporating whispers, evocative instrumental scrapes and hopeful, ecstatic harmonies.