This beautiful, bewildering collage from French artist (and frequent Pascal Comelade collaborator) Olivier Brisson was released back in Spring, but only came to our attention recently, thanks to a recommendation from Nick Horn O'Plenty (ta). Sure enough, it's a stunner, exhilarating and disarming in much the same way as Graham Lambkin's Salmon Run or, more recently, Frances Plagne's Moss Trumpet. Brisson drew on his experience in psychiatry and mental health to create this work about "frames and boundaries" and sure enough he's created a sound-world that blurs the internal/external and seems to mirror - dare I say it - the ebb and flow and strange porousness of consciousness itself (yep!). When more obviously musical themes emerge from the blur of voices (belonging, for the most part, to mental health professionals and their patients) and field recordings, they're surprisingly lyrical and heart-rending, as pungent and elusive as memories - a minimal, repeating, Satie-esque piano motif, for instance, or a tape-corroded, world-weary jazz waltz for clarinet. Poignant and transporting, It's the kind of thing you like to imagine will flash before your ears in the hospital bed as you prepare to breathe your last (you should be so lucky).