We live in a noisy world. Our cities and towns fizz with an almost permanent tinnitus of machine-generated sound. And even if, by some fluke, all that noise is temporarily absent, most of us are left with the din of our own mental machinery churning inside.

To disengage from all that noise requires a drastic amputation from our usual environment: a trip to some distant wilderness perhaps, or an afternoon in a floating tank. Sometimes we try to approximate the absence of noise by sitting in a garden or a park with the hum of the traffic or roaring jet planes swept into the distance for a brief hour or two. Or we listen to ‘relaxation’ tapes of rhythmic sea-surf, dawn choruses and celtic harp music laced with saccharine.

Clychau Dibon by Catrin Finch & Seckou Keita isn’t one of those tapes. Believe me.

With kind regards,