Leo Robinson has a lot a feelings. As Cult Party, he sings like he’d rather you not know it. His voice plays a dispassionate narrator, only to burst into emotion seemingly at random, sounding not unlike Silver Jews’ David Berman. The two men’s similarities largely end there, however, with Robinson far more interested in melody and beauty than observational wit.

Mount Eerie’s Sauna is a more ready musical companion, with opener ‘Hurricane Girl’ bringing to mind Elverum’s more ambitious work with its pretty backing vocal harmonies and impressive length. At twenty minutes, it makes up far more than half of And Then There Was Sound’s hardly over half-hour runtime. That there should tell you a fair bit about this project.

As Cult Party’s sophomore LP, Sound has a go-for-broke nature. As if to say, “Well, hell, the audience didn’t really turn up last time, if this doesn’t do it, what will?”, the album is tirelessly ambitious, with Robinson and crew pushing themselves towards invention. The two years since their last effort were clearly well spent; the music Cult Party makes has never felt bigger.

The album is designed to feel like a statement. Once that opening behemoth chants its way to a close, only three tracks remain. Each are over five minutes, but naturally pass in a blank compared to their robust eldest sibling. Rather than feeling cheated, it lends And Then There Was Sound a charming feeling, like walking home after a nice chance conversation, or waking up from an afternoon nap, happy to lull about.

The world here in general has a dreamlike quality. Never too clearly; rather, whatever innerworld Robinson has invited us into lies just out of sight. A bit of grey in the corner of your eye. It never quite lifts you off the ground, but nor will you find your feet on the floor.