Most Perfect Solitude by The Third Sound is a sonic journey, an exploration of shadow and light that twists and turns through a maze of emotions. Like wandering through a dreamscape where reality blurs and dissolves, this album invites you to sink into its atmospheric depths and drift between its shimmering highs and brooding lows. It’s the kind of album that feels like a film, one that plays in slow motion, with each note painting scenes that linger long after the music fades. Led by Icelandic musician Hakon Adalsteinsson, who also lends his talents to The Brian Jonestown Massacre and Golden Hours, The Third Sound emerges here with a new line-up and a fresh approach. The result is an album that feels like both a continuation and a departure, like opening the door to a familiar room only to find it’s been transformed into something entirely new. There’s a warmth here, a glimmering light that wasn’t as present in previous works, but don’t be fooled—it’s still haunted by shadows, flickering on the edge of something darker.
“Another Time, Another Place” is one of the standout tracks that immediately envelop you in its jangly 12-string guitars, reminiscent of 60s psychedelia. It feels like walking through a sun-drenched field, the wind gently tugging at your clothes, with the world spread out in all its golden glory before you. But even in this brightness, there’s a sense of something deeper at play. It’s not just the sun, but the long shadows it casts. The melody sways like tall grass, but the rhythm feels grounded, like the earth beneath your feet, pulling you back to reality even as you’re tempted to float away. There’s a cinematic quality to Most Perfect Solitude—it’s an album that could easily be the soundtrack to a road trip through desolate landscapes, where the only company is the sound of tires on asphalt and the vast, empty sky above. This theme of travel is echoed throughout the album, in both the lyrics and the music itself. Hakon has spoken about how the songs were written during a rare break in his non-stop touring schedule, and you can feel that sense of motion, of being in-between places, running through every track. It’s like standing at a crossroads, uncertain whether to stay or go, with each path leading somewhere unknown.
Then there’s “Wasteland,” a heavy, fuzz-drenched track that stands in stark contrast to the breezy openness of the album’s lighter moments. Here, the guitars are thick, almost oppressive, and the drums hit like the ticking of a clock counting down to something inevitable. It’s a song that conjures images of a crumbling city, a place where everything is falling apart, yet you can’t tear your eyes away from the destruction. It’s hypnotic in its repetition, the kind of track that builds and builds, until you feel like you’re caught in the swirl of dust and rubble. But just when you think it’s going to overwhelm you, it pulls back, leaving you standing in the wreckage, breathless. This balance between light and dark, between movement and stillness, is what makes Most Perfect Solitude so compelling. The title itself, borrowed from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and Werner Herzog’s Of Walking In Ice, hints at this tension. Solitude can be peaceful, a refuge from the chaos of the world, but it can also be isolating, a reminder of how alone we truly are. This album captures both sides of that coin. You can almost picture Hakon, alone on the road, watching the world pass by through the window of a tour van, caught between the thrill of movement and the loneliness of being perpetually in motion.
Tracks like “On Returning” feel like a gentle sigh after a long journey. There’s a wistfulness to it, a sense of looking back on something that’s already slipping away. The melodies are soft, almost tender, like the last light of day fading into dusk. It’s the kind of song that makes you want to sit by a window and watch the rain, lost in thought, while the world goes on outside, untouched by your solitude. And then there’s “Veiled,” a slow-burning psych-rock drone that feels like being swallowed by darkness. The guitars hum and buzz like distant thunder, while the drums pulse like a heartbeat, steady and relentless. It’s a track that creeps up on you, starting out almost innocuously before building into something much heavier, much darker. There’s a sense of menace here, a feeling that something is lurking just beneath the surface, waiting to break through. But even in its heaviest moments, there’s a warmth to this album that sets it apart from The Third Sound’s earlier works. It’s not a cold, distant kind of solitude—it’s a solitude that feels lived-in, like the comforting weight of a blanket on a winter’s night. There’s a softness to it, a sense that, even when the world is crumbling around you, there’s still something beautiful to be found in the ruins. The album closes with the title track, “Departure,” a meditative piece that feels like the calm after the storm. The guitars shimmer like the surface of a still lake, while Hakon’s vocals float above them, distant and ethereal. It’s a song that doesn’t rush, that takes its time, allowing you to sink into its quiet beauty. It’s the perfect ending to an album that’s as much about the spaces between the notes as it is about the notes themselves.
Most Perfect Solitude is an album that feels both intimate and expansive. It’s a record that invites you to get lost in its soundscapes, to wander through its highs and lows, its light and darkness. It’s a journey through the spaces we all inhabit—those moments of solitude, whether chosen or forced upon us—and it’s a reminder that, even in our most isolated moments, there’s always something beautiful to be found if we’re willing to listen. This album doesn’t just play in your ears—it seeps into your skin, filling the silence with its own kind of poetry. It’s a slow burn, the kind of album that stays with you long after the last note has faded away, leaving you alone with your thoughts, in your own most perfect solitude. Head to Fuzz Club for more information about ordering this psych-rock / post-punk gem on vinyl.
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