In Ferneaux

In its amorphous flow and stately pace, In Ferneaux is a little less immediate than some of Blanck Mass' previous music, but its fully realized, cathartic musical journey is just as powerful.

In Furneaux, a travelogue split into two durational phases, is explicitly built around archival sound recordings accrued from across the globe over a 10-year period, and emerges as a ferocious and often anarchic statement of intent from the noise composer.

In Ferneaux is evidence that even if one guy has conceivably "done it all," there's still plenty more to do.

Usually, Blanck Mass records should be listened to at intense volume, whereas In Ferenaux is so densely packed and beautifully mixed that headphones whilst walking alone late at night are your best option. Trust me, you’ll thank me for it later.

As the headiest entry in the Blanck Mass catalogue, In Ferneaux is more edifying than satisfying; abandon all hope for bangers, ye who enter here. But taken holistically—and repeatedly—In Ferneaux reveals the intellectual and emotional journey as the reward.

The cumulative effect is melancholy, generally compelling and often beautiful, a haunted dancehall of memory and loss. [Apr 2021, p.25]

In Ferneaux is everything most Blanck Mass albums are not: patient, subtle and disarmingly low-key. It was made in confinement, but it takes Power to surprising new places.

A product of lockdown isolation, it comprises two lengthy soundscapes that blend his trademark layers of coruscating noise with sounds found on his travels over the past decade. Set out of context, these field recordings become for the most part wilfully abstract and very much open to interpretation.

Far from a dud, and most definitely something that will divide audiences rather than be seen as a unanimous failure or success, In Fernaux nevertheless reveals itself to be the work of an artist that appears to be enduring a period of reflection, rather than looking forward to the future.

In Ferneaux is arguably Benjamin John Power’s most subdued effort under the Blanck Mass moniker. It’s a slower, more meditative affair which deviates significantly from its predecessors and whilst there are gleaming examples of Power’s sonic craftsmanship, they’re hindered by sections of profound aimlessness that move against the defined conceptual direction to be found elsewhere on the album.