A fluid, mysterious and enchanting crystallization of Chui Wan’s heavy-psychedelic mind flights; a steadfast exploration of sound and structure at the outer edges of beauty and psych-rock geist.
"Let the word be transformed…"
Speaking cryptically, if at all, Chui Wan invites the listener once again to the other side of the word, the flipped script of song, on a bold and confident journey to the outer edges of beauty and psych-rock geist. The Landscape the Tropics Never Had locks you in from song one, “Lunar Sea,” a kaleidoscopic reverie at fever pitch.
"If one sentence is a split second of another sentence…"
This album, Chui Wan’s third, is the clearest crystallization of the band’s sound yet — as crystals do, it refracts the seen world into a rainbow of perceptions, a cold burn moving fluidly across time and space, steeped in influence but sounding always, inescapably new, now. Strict rhythmic repetition — a matter of both discipline and artistry — has always given the band its backbone, and the steady ground here serves as a foundation for higher highs, a dynamic tension that holds taught across the entire album.
"Perhaps the eye hears a bit more clearly than the ear
Perhaps remaining silent surpasses conversation"
The Landscape the Tropics Never Had is filmic, but it avoids the image just as it avoids the word, like a long, panning shot of a desert vista where the only movement comes from imagined waving lines of heat, sands shifting as imperceptibly as the wind itself. The Landscape the Tropics Never Had unwinds something inside the mind, transforms the word — it eludes the spelling and dials in the spell.