William Basinski and Janek Schaefer gradually produced their first collaboration over an eight-year period, working from their respective homes in Los Angeles and London. The five parts that make up " . . . on reflection " generally consist of scattered piano notes drifting like flower petals that have softly fallen onto the surface of a pond, while chirping birds, traffic noises, and other sounds are audible. Compared to some of Basinskis other piano-based works, such as The Garden of Brokenness or Cascade, this one is clearer, less melancholy, and more tranquil. Albums such as those are longform pieces you put on when youre in a certain mood and you need to burrow inside of a massive stream of sound that changes almost imperceptably, and remain inside that space for a while. This one is more delicate, and the variation is more obvious, even if much of it stays within the same peaceful zone. The pieces with panned, softly overlapping piano notes are all incredibly lovely, particularly the second one, which gradually becomes more insistent, revealing that theres a much more deliberate placing to these notes than it might seem at first. The third piece is a rolling, grainy cloud of atmospheric synths and faintly crackling tape loops, with sparse piano notes and bird calls only appearing during the last two minutes. The fourth part slowly segues between rushing water, hissing steam, and beeping cars, while the echo increases on the pianos, intensifying the feeling even though everything appears to remain still. The album makes a fitting soundtrack for a period of reflection, of course, but its intricate layers of sonic detail will reward listeners willing to dive deeper. ~ Paul Simpson

Rovi