France Jobin - The Illusion of Infinitesimal (CD Baskaru)

Three lengthy tonal pieces by the Montreal-based composer whose work, like so many others of a similar disposition, glides through a network of gentle hums and wisps of gossamer-like sound so light Iím sure he needed nailing to the floor to snatch them in the first place. Naturally, it all sounds rather endearing in its own right, but itís hard to distinguish one such artist from the next, I find. Maybe I miss the point, but I canít understand why anybody would want to produce music (of any kind) that doesnít go anywhere a hundred other albums havenít already been or, indeed, have much to even try and substantiate it.  In this age of everything having been done before, I donít expect originality, as such, but I do at least crave a modicum of personality or just a thread or two that might lend a little weight to the proceedings. For all of its sounding Ďniceí and Ďpleasantí, The IllusionÖ ultimately reeks of rent-a-ambience to me. RJ.

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