The professor sat on the terrace of an abandoned tech facility. Once, solar panels were tested here. Now, it looked as if even the Sun itself had lost interest. A few stubborn bushes survived thanks to the rain and defiance. Overhead, an old floodlight kept short-circuiting — a flicker in memory of shifts that would never happen again. Maybe silence had chosen this forgotten perimeter to speak finally.
By his feet sat a flask of Japanese whisky — a gift from Cat. The very one given after their first clean mission. Spacelunch stared into the dark, trying to sense the outlines of life. Things used to be simpler. A home on Earth. A garage where a pet — once just a cat saved from a burning room as a cub — first spoke. “I should’ve never started those experiments,” he thought. But the images came anyway — the action, the laughter, the arguments — all of it made sense once, as long as someone was walking beside him, who could meow outside of protocol. Somewhere between the missions, the mistakes, the tall tales — their bond had dissolved. But by now, it was far too late to analyze anything.
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The professor sat on the terrace of an abandoned tech facility. Once, solar panels were tested here. Now, it looked as if even the Sun itself had lost interest. A few stubborn bushes survived thanks to the rain and defiance. Overhead, an old floodlight kept short-circuiting — a flicker in memory of shifts that would never happen again. Maybe silence had chosen this forgotten perimeter to speak finally.
By his feet sat a flask of Japanese whisky — a gift from Cat. The very one given after their first clean mission. Spacelunch stared into the dark, trying to sense the outlines of life. Things used to be simpler. A home on Earth. A garage where a pet — once just a cat saved from a burning room as a cub — first spoke. “I should’ve never started those experiments,” he thought. But the images came anyway — the action, the laughter, the arguments — all of it made sense once, as long as someone was walking beside him, who could meow outside of protocol. Somewhere between the missions, the mistakes, the tall tales — their bond had dissolved. But by now, it was far too late to analyze anything.
Symbiotical Records presents “Far Away” — a five-track release from French producer Dust Yard, offering a measured and introspective take on deep minimalism.
The title track “Far Away” begins the journey with a meditative framework: soft pads, pulsating low-end, and a harmonic drift that feels suspended in time. It evolves at its own pace, drawing the listener into its orbit with quiet certainty and gravitational stillness.
“Higher” follows with a warm, fluid groove. The rhythm is steady and subtly accented, allowing analog textures and micro-elements to breathe in unison. There’s spaciousness in the mix, a natural clarity that lets emotional undertones rise organically.
Ki.Mi. offers a refined reinterpretation of “Higher”, bringing architectural precision to its warm undercurrent. The remix expands the original’s depth, layering morphing tones and nuanced shifts in momentum. It’s an immersive reconstruction — composed, restrained, quietly dynamic.
“Sunrise” brings a change in mood: brighter, more melodic, yet still grounded. The phrasing appears with care, as if tracing the edge of something just beginning. It’s music for transitional hours, not fully awake, not entirely asleep.
Closing the EP is Tm Shuffle’s version of “Sunrise”, leaning into dubby resonance and echoic space. Here, elements blur and dissolve, reframing the original into something more expansive. A final exhale that hovers in the air.
Dust Yard delivers a focused, emotionally weighted record — subtle in structure, deliberate in motion, and rich in atmosphere. These are pieces that open slowly, revealing their presence in silence as much as in sound.
Available now on all platforms for streaming and download.
@dustyard
@symbiotical-records
spclnch
The professor sat on the terrace of an abandoned tech facility. Once, solar panels were tested here. Now, it looked as if even the Sun itself had lost interest. A few stubborn bushes survived thanks to the rain and defiance. Overhead, an old floodlight kept short-circuiting — a flicker in memory of shifts that would never happen again. Maybe silence had chosen this forgotten perimeter to speak finally.
By his feet sat a flask of Japanese whisky — a gift from Cat. The very one given after their first clean mission. Spacelunch stared into the dark, trying to sense the outlines of life. Things used to be simpler. A home on Earth. A garage where a pet — once just a cat saved from a burning room as a cub — first spoke. “I should’ve never started those experiments,” he thought. But the images came anyway — the action, the laughter, the arguments — all of it made sense once, as long as someone was walking beside him, who could meow outside of protocol. Somewhere between the missions, the mistakes, the tall tales — their bond had dissolved. But by now, it was far too late to analyze anything.
