I’ve spoken frequently about the critical role that atmosphere plays in creating immersive ambient music, and more importantly, how that immersion manifests itself in experience. A coworker of mine recently asked what was meant by the term in reference to music. I told him it’s when the only acute, working descriptions of the music are physical — something you feel as much as you hear, if not more so.

I was born, raised, and still live in a small corner of the Ozarks. The rapid, unprecedented growth over the last 20 years has put the area on many radars, and endless opportunities seemingly abound. There’s a little something here for everyone. Still, I’ve seen others leave, lamenting the tragedy that was the first two decades of their existence in an area with limited nightlife, pigeonholed career opportunities, and little artistic merit to stand on. Some stay, some go, some return, and others I never hear from again. Everyone has their own story, and subsequently, opinion, of this place. I enjoy it here. It’s enough for me. I’m a homebody who lives on the Internet, so it doesn’t surprise me that I don’t have high expectations for the place[s] I reside. Still, I see enough good in this place to make a personal obligation to attune myself with it.

The chance happenings of our daily lives are all subterfuge for the unique familiarity we have with the place we inhabit. When you dig up the weeds of surprise, it’s shocking how much we know about what exists underneath. Amazing how much information the subconscious can store. It’s not until something is out of place that we take note of it. Plume notates this, affirming the familiarity we have with our surroundings, lest we admonish them. It reminds me of random moments I spent as a child in the backseat of a car, counting people, electrical poles, houses, etc. on the way home from school. As insignificant as these moments were, I still remember them, and maybe that counts for something.

Sometimes I get the shaky feeling that life’s repetition will be what finally does me in, and I won’t realize it until it’s too late to do anything about it. These are the moments when I go home, take my shoes off, and kick back with Plume in the background. The album oscillates between hazy recollection and precise clarity. Regardless of what it’s doing, it’s always operating inside that which we’re familiar.

Occasionally I have to remind myself to do the same.