Echoing like some kind of sonar searching the depths for a lost city, the watery textures of “Launching On Every Wave, I Find Eternity” slip through the music. They’re deep sounds; they’re sounds of the deep. They envelop your soul. As Vidya progresses, we lift higher and higher. This kind of ambient music takes you away. At this altitude, you could be walking barefoot over the white, fluffy clouds. No ifs and buts, when you connect with ambient, you enter another, higher state, and music is the only thing that can send you there. The ambient tones wash over you, holding you up in this placid zone thanks to a pair of golden wings. Vidya is heavily ambient.
Daniel Turner is an ambient guitarist. As The Infinite Calling, he shapes the music note by note until it resembles something utterly dreamy and spiritually ethereal. It feels close enough to touch, but it still just about eludes you. Saying that, the notes are for the most part crystal clear. Up here, you can see clear. At times, the ambient is abstract. It folds in on itself and then, after a time, spreads its wings to reveal a riot of colour, like a beautiful butterfly about to take flight for the first time. Vidya is interesting in that it pushes itself away from popularized ambient structures. So often in ambient guitar music, the root and the third of the chord become a reliable refuge. With a less-is-more attitude (which is always a positive thing when it comes to ambient and chilled music), the two, lean notes make perfect sense, and they make up most of the progressing harmony. The rest of the chord is abandoned as fat, despite there being plenty of room for healthy, full chords. Vidya does it differently. Here, little, lilting lines and looped phrases echo outwards. Deep synths stab at the guitar’s ever-evolving melody. Deep-sea drums swirl as part of an underwater romance. It’s shamanic meditation.
You don’t want the music to feel busy when you’re trying to unwind, and Vidya has a nice, natural balance. Your eyes get heavier. The music’s embalming you with its lazy-in-a-good-way tones. The music’s pillow-soft, the pale light as fine as an October morning. “Liquid Continuum” is arranged into four parts. Light percussion drips onto a single, low drone that throbs softly. It then reverses, and as we go deeper into the second part, deep pads undulate and the sparkling electric guitar stretches itself out. The fluid textures return and flow through the beating heart of a lost Atlantis. It’s not without its experimentation, but the frequencies are always pretty and they all converge. As you listen, your heart rate drops. And the clouds continue to pass on by. Infinitely. (James Catchpole)