When Kyle Bates holed himself up in his Pacific Northwest apartment to record an album about isolation, grief, and personal trauma, he had no way of knowing how universal those feelings would become by its release. On the other side of lockdowns, protests, and relationships frayed by the above, Bates’ examinations are endlessly relatable—however, they still sound deeply personal, almost as if he never intended to release it.

The production doesn’t exactly invite intimacy. The vocals are often muffled and heavily processed as tape loops, vintage drum machines, distant guitars, and field recordings combine to create a soundscape that is as alien as it is comforting. The songs wander through these sounds like a dream. And like a dream, it transforms in subtle ways that you might not notice. One moment you’re listening to slowcore, then everything flattens out into a void of drone synths before a squall of screeching violins and guitar feedback emerge like a nightmarish beast you must escape from

Yet despite the panoply of sounds and moods, it never feels haphazard or scattered. Every single sound is intentionally placed, even when the juxtapositions might raise an eyebrow when you hear it described. Take for instance the flutter of xylophone dancing beneath droning guitar fuzz on “Three Faces (Cyanoacrylite),” which is far more harmonious than you might guess.

As universal as the subject matter of Wane Into It might be, it doesn’t aim for accessibility. Despite the moments of syrup-mouthed hooks, the record is deeply experimental (what else do you expect from The Flenser?). But for those willing to wade into those murky waters, a rich world exists beneath the surface.