Tetragram stands apart not by shouting, but by inviting you to lean in. It’s an album that rewards repeated listening, each play revealing a micro-detail that had gone unnoticed. In a crowded field of ambient releases, PureH’s latest reminds us that true depth comes from the spaces between notes and the stories they hint at: ancient volcanoes, melting ice floes, and the unseen forces humming just beneath our daily lives.
Simon Serc’s latest sonic odyssey under the PureH moniker, “Tetragram”, feels like stumbling into a hidden amphitheater carved from glacial ice and fog – an otherworldly space where every hum and whisper seems to carry a secret. Best known in the Slovenian underground for weaving field recordings into warm analog drones, Serc here expands his palette with upright bass, guitar loops, vintage synths and pedals – plus live drums on one track – to conjure landscapes that shift from submarine calm to celestial swirl.
Right from the opening pulse of “Paracusia”, you’re caught in a net of low-frequency vibrations and crackling air, as though the world itself is listening in. The second piece, “Slumber”, lives up to its name: Martina Testen’s shoreline recordings drift in and out like tides, while softly bowed bass and singer-songwriter–quiet percussion lull you toward reverie. It’s not elevator music – it’s a slow, deep dive into the soundtrack of your own dreams.
Mid-album, “Tasukete” (Japanese for “help me”) introduces vaguely anxious tones – a reminder that even the most beautiful soundscapes can harbor undercurrents of unease. Serc’s digital manipulations never feel gimmicky; instead, they underscore a composer who’s equally at home tinkering with loopers or pocketing an audio recorder on a mountaintop. By “Metatron”, his synth lines swirl overhead like an angelic choir remixed by science fiction, a wink to his long fascination with cosmic themes.
The title track, nearly thirteen minutes of tectonic shifts and rising harmonics, is an exercise in patience and reward: textures unfurl gradually, like arctic fog lifting at dawn, and you realize this music isn’t background – it insists you listen. Finally, “Polynya” brings the ice back in full force, using granted Alfred Wegener Institute samples of Arctic melt to remind us how fragile our world can be.
Serc’s CV reveals a restless explorer: founder of the Biodukt collective, collaborator on research-driven sound installations, and steward of a personal archive that reaches back years. His insistence on recording many tracks live – some dating from a single 2017 session – gives “Tetragram” an immediacy too many ambient works lack. And while there’s a seriousness to this material, the album isn’t without sly humor: it’s easy to imagine drifting off into a nap only to be jolted awake by a sudden bass flourish that feels both alien and oddly comforting.
“Tetragram” stands apart not by shouting, but by inviting you to lean in. It’s an album that rewards repeated listening, each play revealing a micro-detail – a stray bass overtone here, a library-recording wind gust there – that had gone unnoticed. In a crowded field of ambient releases, PureH’s latest reminds us that true depth comes from the spaces between notes and the stories they hint at: ancient volcanoes, melting ice floes, and the unseen forces humming just beneath our daily lives.