Benjamin Finger is one half of Norway's Beneva vs. Clark Nova, who are quite excellent. I know that because I immediately had to hear them after I was blown away by "Woods of Broccoli". The two projects are both centered around shimmering acoustic guitars and subtle electronic flourishes, but Finger's solo work dispenses with the glitchy percussion of his parent group and instead strives for a dreamy, pastoral minimalism. In less skilled hands, that would probably be quite boring (and undoubtedly swathed in reverb). Finger, however, is not boring at all, and he has crafted a mesmerizing, warm, and understated masterpiece here.

I feel somewhat stupid and helpless trying to describe this album, but it is essentially like having an extremely beautiful, bittersweet dream (perhaps involving reuniting with a lost-love and probably inexplicably featuring unicorns) while a distant Bjork-like female voice tries to wake you up. All of the tracks here are simple, organic, captivating, and elegantly melodic. However, that simplicity is deceptive, as Finger masterfully uses subtle (and often beautiful) layers of electronics and field recordings to create a haunting surrealism (I especially loved the mournful, crackling vocal loop in "Unestablished Gossip"). Incidentally, the label's description of the album mentioned that Finger has been compared to Arvo Part, which initially struck me as insanely presumptuous and wildly inaccurate. However, "Unestablished Gossip" actually justifies that comparison and calls to mind a more innocent and childlike "Spiegel Im Spiegel". Not an easy feat.

There is not a weak track to be found here, but the most immediately gratifying moments generally feature female collaborators. "Cat Yowled Weak Jaws" features layered wordless vocals from Inga Lill (Children and Corpse Playing in the Street) over sparse, almost improvised-sounding piano. "Watermelon Deserts" features some guitar work and vocals from Crisis De Jour, and marries a blissful, swirling cloud of twinkling acoustic ambience to wheezing electronic throbs and a mournful cello. It is Therese Aune that steals the show, however, as her disjointed and heavenly warbling anchors two of the album's best tracks ("Little Sparking Mist" and the devastating and disquieting closer "Howl (at the Buffalo Girls)"). The unexpected plunge into a nightmarish rabbit hole of David Lynch-iness at the end of "Howl" is the perfect end to a flawless album. It is difficult to imagine anything that Finger could've done to make this better. Brilliant. 10/10 -- Anthony D'Amico (10 June, 2009)