7/10

Some records want to be heard, while those like 'Blinded' want to be absorbed like a cold breath at 3 a.m. French alchemist Bastien Pons emerges from the shadows with a debut that refuses to hold your hand or offer tidy conclusions. Instead, he hands you a lantern and dares you to wander alone through the corridors of your own psyche.

From the moment 'Blinded' begins, Pons makes it clear that this is no passive listening experience. Opener 'Babi Yar' doesn’t so much introduce you as drag you under its uneasy drones and tectonic rumbles, evoking a landscape where the ground itself feels unsure. The mood is claustrophobic yet strangely inviting, like an abandoned theatre where you can almost hear echoes of forgotten applause. The haunting collaboration with Frank Zozky on 'Black Clouds' only deepens the unease. Metallic scrapes and ghostly layers swirl around you, a swirling fog of sound that feels alive, breathing and shifting in unpredictable ways.

At the centre lies the title-track, an almost sacred pause and meditation in grayscale. Here, the artist trades rhythmic structure for a heartbeat that falters and flickers, guiding you further into the labyrinth. 'I Did Not Kill Her' then pushes the journey into even darker waters, filling the void with spectral whispers and shapes half-glimpsed in the dark.

In 'Blinded', Bastien Pons exposes a raw, inner landscape that’s as disorienting as it is magnetic. It’s a record for insomniacs, wanderers, and anyone who’s ever searched for meaning in the quietest hours of the night. Approach carefully, and be prepared to lose (and maybe find) a part of yourself along the way.