Recorded in an abandoned water tank in rural northwest Colorado and inspired by Muriel Rukeyser’s circa-1935 poem of the same name, violinist Leslee Smucker explores the range and saturation of intense natural reverb on Breathing Landscape. The artist pushes her instrument to the limit –by turns percussive, sweeping, and scraping– and, on several tracks, utilizes her own voice as well, resulting in an album that combines breathtaking beauty and visceral texture. Leaning into the meditative quality being present in one moment can provide, this is music you can feel on your skin, calling out from our decomposing modernity into the indifferent sky above. Conjuring deep time but captured in one day, the album is simultaneously immediate and vaporous, primeval-sounding yet unapologetically modern. When you travel out of the mountains down into the rangelands of what we know today as western Colorado, the horizon opens up to reveal an ancient and scarred land. Cell phone coverage is spotty at best and towns are sparse. Time escapes our efforts to contain it and is instead etched into the hot, dry canyons. Approaching The Tank, outside the settlement of Rangely, oil pumps work ceaselessly on the other side of the gravel road, extracting a grim future. Inside The Tank it is 20 degrees warmer than outside, a zone of strange harmonics, exchanges of sound and stillness, and explorations of landscapes both exterior and interior. In what she describes as a "sauna of sound", Smucker "was transported by the reverberation to another realm. Birds and trucks passed outside, while the wind was an integral part to the sound making