Malm means ore: something buried, heavy, waiting. These pieces sound like weather in an empty place, a light that won't move, a melody frozen halfway through a thought. Nothing here hurries. Layer settles on layer until the room feels different, colder and closer at once. Nine years on, it still asks for the same things: darkness, time, and the nerve to let it get near.
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For the artist and the label: put it on your site, it links back to this deep cut.
