The Seven Fields of Aphelion may be a member of Black Moth Super Rainbow, but with her debut solo outing Periphery, she’s left the tweaked dance floor glitches in the black forest, and wandered into a hazy sun-dappled meadow. Swirling vintage synthesizers and piano dwell amongst the grasses, flowers and ruins of abandoned factories in this forgotten place.

Over twelve tracks, Periphery acts as a travelogue through otherworldly, yet somehow soothingly familiar sonic landscapes. Synth layers grow slowly and organically into swells of pulsating tone so palpable, you’d swear that
they are breathing. Haunting piano lines effortlessly dart their way in and out of the mire, like a group of pilot fish fearlessly zipping around a Great White. But there is also a very real and warm emotion in this music. Periphery plays like a shoebox of curling yellowed photographs, lost in an attic somewhere that has only recently been unburied and rediscovered, giving faded-color evidence to half-recalled memories.

Each of these wordless tales is an exercise in trying to bring back the stories behind those frozen-still images that were captured in front of the Super 8’s and Polaroids of lost times. Similarly, the album’s artwork (featuring multiple exposure photography from The Seven Fields of Aphelion) conjures up old thoughts and dusty emotions through a carefully applied lens. Perhaps these aren’t your memories, but there’s a certain déjà vu quality to them that has you second guessing yourself; maybe you have been to these places before. Periphery is as comforting and warmly familiar as finding your favorite childhood toy, but carries with it the same discernable sadness that comes from knowing those times have passed. Its fragile, ambient soundscapes of piano and synthesizer reflect
glimmers of forgotten feelings with each gentle inflection and shift in tone.