Dedicated to the birth of his newborn daughter, Evelyn, Drew Lundberg’s ambient music gazes at a new world – a changed world for a father, a new world for a daughter. With fresh, doting eyes, its ambient music sleeps like an infant in perfect rest.
“I wanted to use music to create an environment that would comfort her the way that it does me”.
The drip drip drip of water hypnotizes the listener, and a light hiss is also able to support those ambient lulls. Drew Lundberg’s self-titled album is as ambient as they come, as engaging as it is soporific. Inducing a healthy yawn or two, Sea & Breathe is also an active album, a cocktail of excruciating pain and unbridled joy, of things finally coming to sweet fruition after years of battling. The music’s always moving, changing, wrapped up in a warm, womb-like cocoon, protected from the dangers of the world. The distortion that occasionally embeds itself is like a constant thorn in the side of the music, the incessant pain of childbirth digging into the grooves of the track. But something is forming inside the music’s troubled spasms, and something is being born out of the static. The clean harmonies are made to look all the more beautiful after riding through the gritted storms of distortion, and the same applies to childbirth. Its skin is soft and fresh.
With the number of single parents increasing, a father figure can, for one reason or another, be sadly absent. For some dads, it’s their first. For others, today is a day of remembrance. The music, though, is pure love, and this record is a love letter. (James Catchpole)