Is it possible that the concept that everyone has at least one book in them could be transferred to music as well? Are there billions of unrealized good records walking around masked and withheld by the demands of daily survival? It's a bit of a stretch, but every time I hear a solid, make me stop whatever banal act I am engaged in and listen intently, debut disc by an artist I start thinking maybe that theory isn't too fantastical.

For her first full length-solo outing, German based artist/model/mother Juillerat has created the type of album many musicians would struggle their entire careers to make... but I'm getting a little ahead of myself. Initially, I considered Soliloquy a decent collection of laptop electronica, a nice listen and not too much more. As I devoted more time to listened to the disc however, I became more aware of a primitiveness lacking in most computer-sequenced music. A little digging revealed that Juillerat relies on hardware, not software, to make her wondrous sounds. She at once explores the possibilities of music by using electronics almost exclusively and well the past of the German underground. Throughout Soliloquy's 13 tracks, images of Can, Einst?rzende Neubauten, and Amon D??l are pleasantly abundant but not so much so that they act as the core of the compositions. Comparisons to these sound originators would be unfair as Juillerat works hard to create her own niche. In this case she worked for a number of years with a variety of synths, sequencers, and drum machines layering track over track over track in her home studio. The result was an album itself flows seamlessly through soundscapes, minimalist piano and electronics pieces, breathy Nico-esque Teutonic electronica, and a remix of a Bjork track that was submitted to a UNICEF contest with occasional forays into harsher electronics, lullabies, and darkwave too. If this is the only album this woman ever makes, and I really doubt it will be, it is already more substantial and more relevant than others have come up with over the span of decades. 8/10 -- Chris Jacques (28 June, 2006)