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There's a moment when you listen to a truly great album, where everything suddenly falls into place. The textures, the ideas, the suggestive qualities of the music finally make sense and you realise that all of a sudden you're wide awake, ever so slightly more enriched than you were just moments before. Often you'll remember when this happened (if not the time and date, then at least the track) but sometimes it'll just happen organically and you'll suddenly notice how the music is moving you, or the higher appreciation you're showing for it, and assume that it was always this way. Hopefully the same will happen for you when you listen to Polar Bear's gorgeous new record In Each and Every One.

The label says jazz, but it's best to leave any genre distinctions at the door, thank you very much. Opening track 'Open See' goes some way to shattering any pre-conceived notions about genre and stylistics - although given this band's pedigree, and that of its members, you should be well aware that this is not going to be a straight forward release. The opening washes of electronica, ever so slightly distorted as though they were long forgotten fragments that were discovered and re-purposed during the recording process, are far more ambient and atmospheric than anything produced by this band before. The saxophones of Pete Wareham and Mark Lockheart, meanwhile, are sultry and elusive. They fade in and out amidst whirrs, whistles and whines - if ever the first day on earth needed a soundtrack then this, surely, is it. 'Open See' is reminiscent of Vangelis' extraordinary score for Sci-Fi Noir Bladerunner and also the mellower moments of Yoko Kanno's inventive Cowboy Bebop soundtrack - the result is a frankly futuristic take on ambience, with jazz just a historic reference point.

Throughout the opening track one band member has been surprisingly quiet. Seb Rochford, band leader and drummer, is notably absent from 'Open See' and this is just the first indication of a change in his approach to making music. During the album's production Rochford is rumoured to have turned to Leafcutter John (responsible for electronics and guitars) for creating most of the albums beats, allowing himself to take a more active role in the album's overall production. As a result the percussion is a blend of distorted, crunchy drum loops and soulful live percussion. Far from taking a back seat of any kind, Seb Rochford merely made the band more collaborative and as a result created a record in which every member gets to take the spotlight and also support the others - in many ways evoking the traditional spirit of jazz players such as Miles Davis and Art Blakey.

The album's lead single, 'Be Free', is the first to feature any kind of beat. Though for a moment it would have you believe that perhaps even this track is to eschew conventional percussion. After a subtle electronic beat fades in and out in mere seconds, we are treated to snatches of percussion, the soft notes of a saxophone and a quiet bass riff - as though the band are just warming up their respective instruments. This continues for a minute before a saxophone announces the true start of the song and the bass and percussion properly kick in. 'Be Free' is a somewhat skittish track, Rochford's quiet off-kilter drums often give way completely to electronic mangling, distorted and looped along with other beats to make it difficult to separate the real from the artificial. Meanwhile the bass plays a bouncy riff that proves to be infectious enough to set a head nodding, if not a foot tapping. The saxophones trade passages between each other, sometimes harmonising, at others sitting back whilst the other plays.

The result is a kind of freewheeling performance that feels as though it was constructed just once and committed to record. The track's progression is an almost organic movement from tuning up to the smooth, contemplative jazz of 'Be Free's final moments. Seb Rochford expands further on this by stating that he approached recording by "experimenting with production as we were recording it, using the studio as a tool rather than plug-ins after the event." It means that whilst each track is the result of a considered composition, Rochford allowed himself and the band to experiment and perform around the fringes of this in order to see where this might take the music. "I didn't want us to analyse what we were playing," Rochford said about the album's recording, "just use our instincts."

The result is extraordinary tracks like 'They're All Ks and Qs Lucien'. Opening with Rochford primarily playing cross stick percussion, with an electronic rhythm underneath, the track at first seems to be the most straightforward of any on the record. The saxophones don't challenge this with a lead that plays with delicate, fanciful riffs, whilst the bass meanders in the background in hypnotic fashion. Then about three minutes in the saxophones almost disappear (faded out so that you almost don't notice), with just the rhythm section driving on and swells of electronica rising and falling in the mix. There's a pause, a yell, a sudden up-swing in the beat, and the saxophones return, more cacophonous than before. The drums (live and electronic) and the bass grow louder and seem to coalesce. The whole thing builds until it's unclear which instruments are playing, or whether we're just hearing the manipulation of the instruments we heard moments before. It's sheer noise and, almost as soon as it arrives, it fractures under its own tension and falls away to that same ambient void which opened the record.

In Each And Every One exemplifies the idea of music as an experience. Whilst it might not pull the tropes of a soundtrack album, it does have a cinematic quality. The loose, freeform nature creating visceral soundscapes that are often hard to ignore. 'WW', which immediately follows 'They're All Ks and Qs Lucien' is perhaps as close to free jazz as this record goes. There's no hook, the drums are played with such ferocity that it's almost like Seb Rochford is channeling Animal from The Muppets. 'WW' staggers in to view and then proceeds to spend 4 minutes clattering down the stairs.

In many ways it might be that the insanity of 'WW' has messed up the rest of the album, because what follows is 'Lost in Death 2' (the first part of which follows a few tracks later). Here Tom Herbert's bass playing gets to take centre stage - first with a powerful, driving opener and then throughout the song, as his deep notes are almost impossible to ignore. Electronic sounds ping around the track like sonar, or laser-fire deflected from a wall.

The latter half of 'Lost in Death 2' really shows Pete Wareham's influence on the record as the saxophones adopt the middle-eastern rhythms and inflections that characterised last year's Melt Yourself Down album. With an ominous opening (deep bass and melancholic saxophone), only to then transition into something far more liberating, it's almost as though the song itself is trying to compel you to feel something other than your own human mortality. There's something distinctly playful about ordering a duo of tracks named 'Lost in Death' the wrong way round, especially when one is followed by 'Life and Life'. Some kind of cosmic joke.

The song's opposite number meanwhile is a mellower piece. An eastern rhythm and scattered saxophones play over ambient waves. There is a sense throughout In Each And Every One that we're being lead in circles. Just as soon as you think the band is moving towards more traditional jazz styles, it transports you back to the desolate ambience of 'Open See'. There's a song cycle here, but it's worth considering that the band have purposefully constructed its fragments in the wrong order. Or perhaps that's the joke? Why search for rhyme or reason when there is none to be found? There's no logic here, just music. Hopefully you feel, or maybe discover something that keeps you coming back for more. Some strange seductive quality you can't give a name to but will enrich your existence.

The album ends with 'Sometimes'. It opens with a single bongo and is slowly joined by a drum and then a bass line, before sultry, echoing saxophones join the mix. It's possibly the most atmospheric moment on the album (which is strange given the ambience of 'Open See' or the haunted electronics of 'Two Storms'), but unlike the other songs its direction remains shrouded. Is it ominous? Melancholic? It's unclear. The rhythm never lets up, but all the other players move in and out of the song, passersby from other lives, glimpses at worlds beyond. There are saxophone squeals like the ones on 'Two Storms' and 'Life and Life', their are swells of electronica like 'Open See'.

It is, personally, the perfect way to end an album that is at times transcendent, fantastical and chaotic. It ends as it began with the players slowly fading out one by one. A great silence falls, one that feels like a natural end to an album that is truly captivating throughout. Polar Bear have created an album so rich and textured that to hear silence at the end of 'Sometimes' is almost like an existential question; is this silence the promise of imminent life to fill that void, or is the end of all things - death?