Haunted tape machines. Floating over mist covered marshes. A burning house. A choir of ghosts. By sheer breadth and composition these are some of the most sadly-beautiful pieces of experimental/neo-classical/drone music ever put to tape, complete masterpieces of expertly crafted soundscapes. I can't think of a more moving or gorgeous release this year. Coming to critics attentions in the last couple of years under the name The Caretaker, Kirby here unleashes a watershed of compositional brilliance whose sheer megaton load is eclipsed only by the intense emotional effect that it has on the listener.

Sounding like they are coming from another room, Leyland Kirby's ethereal drones and waves of down-layered synth surface up through the pavement and match the noisy buzz of the city streets. These perfectly executed ambient pieces, crafted around a piano, turntables and synths are the perfect addendum to the more straight ahead classical pieces that bookend the beginning and end of the album. The songs on Sadly, the Future are some of the most elegiac and pastoral imaginings of classical expressionism, evocative piano compositions atop layers of effect-laden ambience and lovingly crafted drones. Kirby’s expressionism is not your run-of-the-mill hipster laziness or random keyboard noodling. His arrangements hit you square in the chest, his exploratory divings into mood and emotion are backed firmly by a keen sense of classical training and compositional awareness. You can tell that Kirby is functioning on an entirely different level of musical virtuosity than many of his drone peers.

With four + hours of music on our hands, the argument can be made that Kirby’s sense of when to push the stop button is severely compromised by a rush comparable to the music of LaMonte Young or Steve Reich who compose ultra-marathon tests of listeners' stamina. Say what you will, but Sadly, the Future is an album proper. Well, actually several mini albums contained within a greater collection. Bookended by two neo-classical pieces built around a single piano piece “When we Parted my Heart wanted to Die” and “And at the Dawn Armed with Glowing Patience, We Will Enter the Cities of Glory (Stripped)” are sparse, elegant pieces played by a man in a room with a piano, with the weight of the world pressing down on those forlorn keys.

“The Sound of Music Vanishing” and “And Nothing Comes Between the Sadness and the Scream” take the classical elements and stretch them into ambient-drone country, recalling some of the best moments of William Basinski, The Fun Years, and Belong. The production on these nosier/dronier songs just kills me. The underwater instruments visiting for brief moments before they are pulled beneath the depths of crackling, distorted waves of noise. “I’ve Hummed this Tune to all the Girls I’ve Known” has a haunting whistle that floats above ascending and descending chord progressions with one of the few readily discernible melodies on the album.

One thing that I admire about Leyland Kirby is his unabashed adherence to form and theory on a highly expressionistic and experimental album. On any given track Kirby centers his arrangements around minimal chord changes, choosing to extend these to their most logical end and filling the spaces with lovingly crafted experimentation. These moves blur the line between all things drone and post-classical. This isn’t minimalism, it isn’t Satie-like technical exercises. It is something more difficult to define.

The songs flow together like a journey through an abandoned city. Sadly, The Future is No Longer What it Was is a sort of post-apocalyptic nostalgia. A requiem for all of our potential that has been squandered by our inability to cope with change. There are moments of terrifying swells of noise that serve as a trusting companion on your path, that let you know that danger always lurks near. But overpowering that is a prevailing sense of loss and memory. A profound nostalgic look back at how far our society has come, and everything we have lost. With this said, “And at the Dawn…” ends the album on a strangely optimistic note, the kind of feeling that you get at a graduation, or the end of a really great party. The feeling that something has passed, something that you will never get back again. For what it was, and what may happen afterward, the moment is gone, claimed by a past you can never revisit.

Taking the whole album in at one sitting is near impossible; within a few days is a stretch, but finding an hour and a half to be alone, with a book or walking home from school at night, Sadly, The Future... feels more like a gift than an actual album. Well, a gift that you spent $30 on. Oh, well. Before being formally released in its physical format, small snippets of each songs kept the monetary considerations far in the back of my mind. If there is something missing from your Christmas, make sure this is on your list.

Track List:
Disc 1:
1. When We parted, My Heart Wanted To Die (Friedrichshain Memories)
2. The Sound of Music Vanishing
3. The Beauty of the Impending Tragedy of My Existence
4. And as I Sat Beside You I Felt the Great Sadness That Day
5. Tonight is the Last Night of the World
6. To the Place Between the Twilight and the Dawn

Disc 2:
1. When Did Our Dreams and Futures Drift So Far Apart?
2. Not Even Nostalgia is as Good as it Used to Be
3. Sadly, the Future is No Longer What it Was
4. Stay Light, There is a Rainbow a Coming
5. And Nothing Comes Between the Sadness and the Scream
6. I’ve Hummed This Tune to All the Girls I’ve Known
7. Not as She is Now but as She Appears in My Dreams

Disc 3:
1. Memories Live Longer Than Dreams
2. Don’t Sleep I Am Not What I Seem, I’m a Very Quiet Storm
3. A Longing to Be Absorbed For a While into a Different and Beautiful World
4. Days in the Wilderness
5. Stralauer Peninsula
6. We All Won That Day, Sunshine
7. And at Dawn Armed with Glowing Patience, We Will Enter the Cities of Glory (Stripped)