Silent since 04's triumphantly glassine "A Strangely Isolated Place," Ulrich Schnauss picks up where he left off, laying down carefully hewn hallucinogenic orchestral flips and gauzy atmospherics. The key is how timeless it all sounds, splitting its axis between nostalgia and no tomorrow. His unimposing electro-compositions are as quietly perfect as an unfettered expanse of emerald summer grass.

There's no need for this Berlin producer to front with cartoonish, show-offy effects and slapshot beats; his unimposing electro-compositions are as quietly perfect as an unfettered expanse of emerald summer grass. Silent since 2004's triumphantly glassine A Strangely Isolated Place, Ulrich Schnauss picks up where he left off, laying down carefully hewn blocks of hallucinogenic orchestral flips and gauzy atmospherics. "A Song About Hope" is the soundtrack you want for the day you abruptly quit your job, call up your craziest friend, have a Leaving Las Vegas-style bender, and feel more free than you possibly ever have in your life. The track is a skittering exercise in full-on ambient hypnosis at its best, a complete-nutrition meal in one glorious five-minute-55-second drop. You'll want to keep it at the very top of your iTunes library; maybe renaming the artist "Alrich Schnauss" would be a good plan.

Elsewhere, Schnauss controls his carefully bubbling cauldron of trilling, ticking, and pinging, until it all comes to a glossy cacophony that feels as good as a sunset in the city. The key is how timeless (yet, strangely, futuristic) it all sounds, splitting its axis between nostalgia and no tomorrow. The paper-thin, haunting vocals and heavenly heartbeat of "Shine" stir up memories of Eno, Slowdive (a moniker that seems to forever be hitched to Schnauss, and that's all right) and even their later incarnation, Mojave 3. Judith Beck's aptly sedating utterances are as purposeful as a boa, capable of wrapping around and holding captive any glorious noise (or in this case, event-horizon pitch) Schnauss throws in her path. "Medusa," which appeared in condensed version on the Quicksand Memory EP, skips its way through a gravelly wall of fuzzed-out guitar samples and creepy choruses -- call it nu-gazing. It all ends with a whisper, just as it should. [KO] (July 3, 2007)