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No Time is the second installment from Brighton based solo musician Dan Reeves (aka Soft Walls) - a follow up record that omits a more focused and confident attitude than its precursor. Released through Trouble In Mind, No Time is an album that seems to float by in an instant. It builds upon the psych-folk elements of Dan Reeves' first project, but delivers them in a way that leaves you at the mercy of their power.

'Won't Remember My Name' sets the tone for the album; establishing long, minimalist bass and guitar lines and analogue drum beats that get your head nodding. They build upon one another, as if each sound is a step up onto another feeling. Before too long, you are paralyzed in a kind of endless time warp, pondering upon the reasoning behind Reeves' musical hypnotics. It carries with it a kind of Arabic, sitar saturated mood, and his vocals sit between his instrumental world.


Although it is hard to decipher Reeves' vocals, every now and then you hear a reference to the philosophical concept of time and his reactions with it. 'Never Come Back Again' is the album's six-minute psychedelic riot, hammering those repeated words into your head until you lose sense of time yourself. Perhaps this is Reeves' intention, and as an artist perhaps he is stuck in the common creative curse of having so much to say but not enough time to say it in. "I wish this feeling would never come back again..." harrows Reeves' brain - and he utilises drone-soaked organs and a banging analogue drum to deliver it. It's psychedelic, it's addictive, and it's effective in delivering his restless message straight to the listeners' core.


'Early In The Day' and 'Slumbering' act as interludes of white noise that perhaps reveal an intent for a concept album. They split up the often uniform feeling of jangle, low-fi pop and give the mind time to reflect, or perhaps even drift away. This is the appeal of No Time as a piece of art; whilst Reeves clearly has intent to share a state of mind, however elusive, he places the interpretation in the ears and minds of his listeners. His unique brand of distorted pop brings with it a curiosity to understand its truth. The instrumental ender 'Transient View' expresses this. It uses Reeves' musical algorithm of minimalist keys, bass and drums (complimented of course with sporadic, explosive bursts of whimsical guitar), but then leaves us with white noise. It leaves us with seemingly so little, but actually a great deal to ponder - now, if only one could decipher the reverb-drenched vocals that lie deep within Reeves' world...


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