Grafts

Uncompromisingly distinct while redolent of modal minimalism, 70s, new age, and folk music, it effectively blurs distinctions between traditional composition and more open, overlapping genres that hover in the half-light between acoustic and electronic refinement.
Rather than anything grandiose or explicitly seductive, the effect of Grafts is best compared with the subtle intoxication of micro-dosing on LSD or the clarity afforded by quiet meditation, in a sense dilating the listener’s focus to a heightened awareness of the piece’s intricate peripheral tones as much as its melodic centre ground, with a beautifully understated, surreal resolution. The piece flickers with gentle optimism, never at random, illuminating unseen spaces that quickly gradient into nothingness.
In both concept and execution, Grafts resonates with Kara-Lis Coverdale’s established roots as an improvisational virtuoso and accomplished pianist as much as her academically informed approach to electroacoustic composition that showcases a distinct omnivorous appetite for the digital.
It’s a record that seems to unravel in perpetuity; exposing new layers with every repeated listen. It never fully commits to a resolution either, lingering like a slowly dispersing plume of smoke as you reach its end and head straight back to the beginning - something we've done countless times.
If you're yet to sink into this incredible piece of music - we genuinely envy what's in store for you. If you're familiar with it already, you'll know exactly what we're talking about.