With Music for Lovers, the Swiss drummer and electronic musician Samuel Rohrer does many things right. The sound design and mix are luxurious, and the album overflows with an abundance of delicious synth sounds. Precisely for that reason, the absence of the most essential ingredient – the songwriting – feels all the more disappointing.

The opening track, »The Parish Bell«, exemplifies how the songwriting fails to unite the otherwise quite strong individual elements into a satisfying whole. Analog drums play interesting patterns, while synths bubble and sparkle – cold as needle points and soft as cotton swabs. Yet nothing really develops, and the track ends up feeling like a snapshot stretched over seven minutes. This is the case for nearly all seven tracks on the release, plus the eighth bonus track. It feels like a soundtrack lacking the listener’s emotional connection to the medium it is meant to underscore. Here the music stands alone, and it often struggles to carry that weight.

There are highlights: Nils Petter Molvær’s ever-compelling trumpet guesting on »The Gift«, the sublimely sounding space-ambient intro to »Celestial Body«, and the motorik drums that emerge halfway through »Schizophonia«, which, as a rare occurrence, tear the music out of its narrow comfort zone. But still, the songwriting falters, and so while it may be music for lovers, it is unfortunately not music for me.

One of the most mysterious – and at times boundary-pushing – interviews ever captured on tape is Meatball Fulton’s 1967 interview with Pink Floyd’s Syd Barrett. Filled with broken sentences, incongruous word combinations, questions and answers that seem to bear no relation to one another, and pauses that feel endless, the interview pushes the limits of what can meaningfully be called communication at all. »Your impression of me… which you must have… would you care to tell me? And be like absolutely honest… Do you have one?« the interviewer asks at one point. »In words?« Barrett replies.

In Words is also the title of multidisciplinary artist Alexander Tillegreen’s debut album, whose closing composition samples a full seven minutes of the interview. It is not difficult to understand what Tillegreen hears in this peculiar exchange. For someone who, in his artistic explorations of psychoacoustics and phantom words, has consistently probed sound’s possibilities and limitations as a carrier of meaning, the interview must appear as a rather sensational example of the illusory nature of language.

None of this would, of course, be of any interest if the music were not as strong as it is: richly atmospheric, detailed, texturally varied, emotionally potent, and filled with pleasing, warm synth tones that recall 1970s German Kosmische Musik. The fact that a large part of the compositions originate in earlier installation works often leaves me with the strange feeling that there is a dimension or context I do not fully grasp – which, of course, is entirely in keeping with Tillegreen’s spirit.