about the record

Circling guitar lines; the rise and fall of delicate bass; deep, breathy horns: sonic elements that exist in a state of slow, perpetual motion, like ideas sprouting from some kind of cognitive compost. With wonder and charm, G. S. Schray’s album, Whispered Something Good, evokes a realm of growth while offering a fitting soundtrack for its exploration, as if tailor-made for both the daydreamer and silly adventurer.

We start in the darkness of “Unlit Center” with elliptical phrases of jazz guitar. A conversation between double bass, synthesizer, and piano plays out on “In Tears Twice A Page” before we’re ushered into the reflective zone of “Another Haunted Mirror.” There is synth mist, through which trumpet cuts decisively like a shaft of sunlight: warm and clear. As the album proceeds, firmer rhythms coalesce. On “Prelude for Probably,” clattering drums lock into a triumphant groove with horns. And then, to close, the instrumental art-pop of “Gone in Amber” probes not necessarily towards a final destination but another stop-off, one of distant birdsong and the faintest flicker of synth.

Intimate and inviting, the act of listening to Whispered Something Good is akin to digging through an imagination. It’s a place of subliminal melodies blooming into rhizomatic musical shapes, stray musings coalescing as bolts of inspiration—change fostering yet more change.