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The band is a four piece, employing ghostly rock and non-rock instruments. For instance, a luminous, idealized guitar tone carves through “Canada Geese”—that’s Tom Connolly who also plays violin and synths, as singer/bassist Barney Matthews murmurs elliptical verse. Big drums pound in chilly, artfully constructed soundscapes—Leo Fini on the kit—and unearthly textures unfold from synths, tape manipulation and electronics, courtesy of Matt Griffiths. There’s a great deal of swirl and swoop in the tune, the fiddle caroming up high in the mix, but also a cerebral remove. Even at the loud parts, and this is a band that makes full use of the dynamic spectrum, the music attacks the brain and not the body.

“Black Kites” is likewise austerely gorgeous, a swipe of violin cutting across slow vocal ruminations. “Now’s the time…for self-expression,” sings Matthews with a flourish, as the fiddle wails and the drums swagger quietly. A sputter of field recordings lit by mournful string sounds might remind you of King Creosote’s work with Jon Hopkins. Or, less specifically, the coolness and remove of it might suggest certain Radiohead tunes. Or you might go all the back to Talk Talk for music so airy and so rich, so orchestral and so full of negative space.

In any case, you could look a long time for a music that evokes the loneliest spit of rural land as much as it does the shiny shapes and arts of the technological age. The past waters the present and makes the future possible, here, and it’s beautiful all the way through.