In the dim, fogged chambers of Lauren Duffus’ aurals, there’s a palpable tension between ruin and rebirth, each moment teetering on the edge of dissolution before lurching into a shadowed clarityculpted from shadow, unyielding structures redolent of dredged choirs and the flickering whisper of shrouded lanterns. Drawn heavily on witch house’s haunted atmospherics and the somber pulse of drill’s mournful chords, Duffus channels this into cinematic compositions reverberating with the catharsis of unspoken emotions, supplicating a sublimation of personal pain into soundscapes that creak and shriek.

Grief threads itself through this sonic architecture, jagged and unpolished yet almost tender in its stark honesty: a fluid interplay of fragmented cries, guttural basslines, and transient moments of harmonic respite. Even in its harshest crescendos, Duffus’ music has an oddly inviting warmth—its melancholia wrapped in the nostalgic glow of a dusty Saturday sound system or the gauzy shimmer of childhood memories refracted through loss.

• SULK, by Lauren Duffus

• SULK, by Lauren Duffus