On Wild Palms, Iguana Moonlight transports the listener out of Ilya Ryazantcev's cold and bustling home of Moscow and into a playground of cosmic isolation. The record, part of a cluster of full-lengths soon to be released on Not Not Fun, proffers a delightful relief from spatial and sonic claustrophobia: in its hazy meanderings, Wild Palms nurtures an unhurried space that sounds truly otherworldly.
The record's final track—"VI"—represents perhaps the most alien transmission from the Russian "bedroom voyager." As found sound of ocean waves plod about the track's woozy atmosphere, a form trickles out of an arpeggiating pattern that gently swells into shape. The result sounds like an excavation, a deep probing of the fissures between each bleep and a spectral analysis of each bloop. But Iguana Moonlight's ethereally "equatorial" conjurings don't fall prey to a reactionary escapism; rather, the extraterrestrial landscapes he hallucinates project an uncanny gut-punch of the sublime, as visceral as it is beautiful. Like the white sand of Ryazantcev's imagined beach, "VI" worms its way into the cracks between toes and lingers there, tickling the skin.