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Second solo album by Arthur Satan, released on Born Bad, after 'So Far So Good', his pop solo debut, which was a pleasant surprise for fans of his notthat-garage group JC Satan 'A Journey That Never Was' is so big you'll need special furniture to accommodate this unreasonable, maximalist parade, crammed full with 1960s pop influences.

The record plays with heritage like a kid would unabashedly plan for a birthday party. No stupid treasure hunt, we're bowling with the heads of our foes, guitars are literally bleeding through the mix. T-Rex burgers, fountains of chocolate choruses dripping on Brian Wilson - shaped giant cookies: let's indulge. Each song is a musical family, each verse is an album, each riff is a title. In his Christmas gift list, Arthur probably circled absolutely every toy: his taste for completism never disappoints. He played almost every instrument, mixed the album and designed a whole graphic universe to go along with it. A visual artist by trade, also made a point of drawing a monumental fresco spreading out the fantasy landscape that haunts this album.

Ware began as an experimental electronic duo back in the 1980s, when you had to know what you were doing. Comprising Sacha Galvagna, who went on to play with acts as diverse as Rosa Mota, Horsepower, Charles Atlas, Crown Estate, The Last King of England and Carta, and Andrew Wilson a producers’ producer, noise machine maker and DJ, who found underground acclaim for his Crossed Wires output, the band reconnected earlier this decade when they found themselves with some unexpected time on their hands. From across continents the pair took advantage of 21st century technology to resurrect a sketchpad of aural experimentation that would become the foundation of Star Catalogue, Ware’s long overdue long player set for release through Absent Music.

Setting out with the spectral cha-cha of title track Star Catalogue, Ware chart their passage through diaphanous arrangements that veer off mid-song into unexpected new spaces, melting into liminal vibrations that render large parts of the album as continuous pieces inherently connected by overtones and sentiment. Threading its gossamer sounds into a surprisingly unyielding whole, the album takes in the phantasmal glam of Nerve Agency, Sable Bay’s prismatic ache, the infinitesimal disquiet of Eigen State, and the nylon strung desire of New Model. As the pair impart the unhurried entreaties of The Splintered Woods, which gives way to the cabin fever of My Life as a Ghost and its switch up into ebullient arousal, the unexpected focus-pull of Frame, the shadowy elegy of Nepenthe, and the apparitional house of The Apprentice Pillar, Ware artfully draw the listener into a heady intimacy that is a striking contrast to the cookie cutter soul-bearing histrionics of modern pop music.

In an era in which the thrill of anticipation has been extinguished by the attention-free instant gratification of streaming’s ‘what you want when you want it’ model, Ware have delivered a piece of work that is greater than the sum of its exemplary parts. Painted in exquisitely fragile figures that lead inexorably onward through its 11 tracks, Star Catalogue won’t be so vulgar as to demand your attention, but it unquestionably deserves it.