Postulate soundtracks a shattered life, mixed and strewn beneath your feet. The album vibrates with menace, as if every track were cut from the same glass that explodes outward in the poem accompanying it. “To your fear, another is added — the fear of windows. / Your transparent, imagined shield has become a weapon of entropy, / tense and ready to kill, / piercing your fragile flesh with a thousand fragments. / Stay away from windows. / Better to move through corridors. / Remember the rule of two walls.” Ujif_notfound transforms this fear into a sonic condition, a landscape where transparency is a lie and safety is an illusion. The record refuses mediation or softening; it is angry, unfiltered, and unapologetic, and it has earned the right to be so. Every sound here is a shard, thin and piercing, singing with terrible clarity. The cover art’s infinite splinters find their echo in the music itself: glass not just breaking but crying out, as though each fragment were born of a scream with no mouth.
As a follow-up to Hypogonadism and Metanoia, albums that reasoned, mocked, and argued their way through war’s absurdities, Postulate abandons the pretence of explanation. Moving from the digital battlefields of Metanoia to the sonic assault of Postulate the latest album signals a shift in timbre: more organic, more tactile, with Ujif_notfound returning to the physicality of the guitar. In contrast to earlier pre–full-scale invasion work like TER.RAIN, where synthetic textures dominated, here the guitar strings feel like exposed nerves. There is no reasoning left, only the brutal energy of defiance, the fury sparked by frustrations too long contained. Shattered windows never fall silent; they keep sounding underfoot, grinding into the soles and the heart alike. In this world, silence is extinct replaced by a music of collapse and warning, where every step and breath carries the echo of an explosion. This is not a tribute to resilience but a testament to the raw power that remains when resilience has been exhausted. Glass becomes sound, sound becomes memory, and memory does not forgive. (Gianmarco Del Re)
a closer listen 