Review: Ben Frost's Aurora has inherited a rare, lucky crowning achievement: it's one of those "introductory" records - touted by new ambient music neophytes online - used to initiate rookies into the so-called true ordinances of real taste. Divesting ourselves of this knowledge for a hot second, we prefer to draw attention to the fact that Aurora has reached another milestone: its tenth anniversary. Frost, the renowned Iceland-based Australian composer, crafted a tense yet glacial record back in 2014: Aurora's implicit takeaway seems to be the that to explore a polar land isn't a far cry from the act of exploring another planet; little context is grafted onto the sheer, real cold sound of the record, though the references are tentative if obvious: 'Nolan' and 'No Sorrowing' allude to "epic" cinema imagism - the lost causes and "no, go on without me" moments native to the seat-edge nailbiter soundtracks of survival flicks - whilst the utter dystonia of 'Diphenyl oxalate' lends a chemical influence, recalling a harrowing, cliff-edge SOS scenario aided only by the dim glimmer of glowsticks and flares, brandished by hazmat-suited heroes, lost, stranded far from the research station. Frost now shares a limited edition red vinyl edition here, limited to just 300 copies and including alternative artwork as well as an exclusive download of his blistering 2014 live performance of the record, at Berlin's Berghain.
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