Some albums have the rare ability to draw you in instantly. A few beats, a single sub, and you’re already immersed in the most beautiful sonic terrain. Margaux Gazur’s Blurred Memories is one such record. The French-Vietnamese musician crafts subtly flowing rhythms with an organic pulse. Right from the opener »Agata«, the album casts a spell – hypnotic tones, tactile textures, and a sense of quiet depth set the tone for everything that follows.
Spanning nearly 70 minutes, Blurred Memories explores Gazur’s search for her Vietnamese roots after spending five years in the country of her mother’s birth. She weaves together field recordings, traditional instruments, and the sonic environment of Hanoi’s streets, grounding them in gentle bass drums and minimal harmonic shifts. Much of the album’s lightness stems from tracks like »Someday« with its delicate melodies, or the carefully sculpted analogue aura of »This Is Always«.
Throughout, the music is marked by warmth and looping motifs that embrace each other with ease. The result is an intimate weave of fragile sounds and ghostly voices, devoid of any clear beginning or end. Margaux Gazur conjures an atmosphere that asserts itself in the best possible way – not mystical, but quietly magical. It’s the subtle gestures that matter most here, the care in how each piece is constructed. What remains is a contemplative space you may happily lose yourself in.
Blurred Memories
