Somewhere in an old mill in Yorkshire, a man – maybe – has been buried under patch cables, feeding electricity through modular synths long enough for the hum to be part of the drizzly landscape. That no one really knows who they are feels appropriate. Their anonymity has become part of the machinery, like an unlabeled switch. Sidings is the latest in a long drift of releases, a third double album that doesn’t move forward so much as nestle deeper into its own circuitry.
The word “sidings” tells us a lot: the quiet track off the main line, where trains go to rest, or wait, or rust. That’s what this record feels like. Music built for those in-between hours when nothing needs doing and no one is expecting you. Where 2023’s Standers felt like slow travel, Sidings feels…

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