Blurry The Explorer released their debut LP last year (2021), a collaboration headed by experimental composer Jeremy Gustin in collaboration with Ricardo Dias Gomes, Ryan Dugre, Leo Abrahams, and experimental Japanese pop group Tenniscoats (yes, we have a band inside a band situation here). Named for a character invented by Anne Frank (the one you are thinking of) the collective performs a kind of impressionistic sonic rendition, reminiscent of an abstract sculpture painted with the texture of lullabies and speculative poetry. It is a project defined by motives and wisdom that is only fully comprehended to itself, and even then, it is somewhat of a enigma. A tower in the center of an ancient garden with consequential adornments weaved and wound around its facade in a crown of kaleidoscopic roses with coded messages etched into their stems like living manuscript of prophetic morse code. Their music will fill and expand your core like a cosmic wind, exhaled from a living planet, lonely in orbit in a galaxy without a center, waiting to receive a postcard from you in the shape of a distant, satisfied sigh. It contains caribian funk played on aluminum trees connected by taught, gummy, cords of taffy. It shuders with the sway of shambolic folk with black sand leaking from its gills that is as sweet to the tongue as confectioners sugar. It contains histories of invisible civilizations. It has the scents of extinct flowers. You can't know a thing until you experience it and even then, Blurry The Explorer will remain tantalizingly elusive, yet unexpectedly near and reassuringly close.
