On Negative Space, Monoteur steps out from behind the veil of instrumental electronica to sing — not in pursuit of clarity, but to further complicate the terrain. His voice is one more texture in a soundworld where acoustic and electronic elements blur, unfold, and sometimes contradict one another.
Unlike the bass-driven weight of his previous record, the low end here recedes, reshaped into a subtle structural guide. What rises instead are layered arrangements that seem to shift mid-song: melodies rerouted, perspectives flipped. There’s a deliberate instability to it — like walking through a landscape that rewrites itself with every step.
The album arcs from an opening sense of wonder into colder, more brittle textures. Disenchantment, cultural erosion, and the unsteady status of language haunt the edges. Yet the tone never lapses into despair; it remains suspended, unresolved, like the negative space of the title — absence shaping presence.
This is not music seeking resolution. It’s a record that listens back.
This track is a reminiscence to a great director. He had a strong connection to water and other nature elements. You can hear and see it in his films.
