The 2013 Yule soundtrack in the house has been four tracks of warmly soothing, nearly motionless soundscapes, somehow circumscribed by two contrasting descriptions of flight condition in the record’s presentation. One is by Will Long himself; the other (dated 1960) by an older namesake, perhaps a relative, but we’re not sure. Both are characterized by highlighting the immenseness of what was being seen by the writers outside the aircraft. All of the above, executed and/or penned by someone else, might have risked sounding like some kind of ethereal cliché. Not when Celer is involved, though: the improbably productive current Tokyo resident (who, incidentally, is soon becoming a dad – best wishes!) has a real knack for lubricating the internal mechanics of an absorptive “evolved ambient” buff with extremely attenuated tones inside processes of minute-gradation changes. The relatively uncomplicated evolution of the whole is largely grounded, or “clouded” shall we say, on low-keyed washes of rather snug reiterative sequences disclosing beautiful tenuous tints, now and again reinforced by stronger components which – on a close inspection and by raising the volume – caused the looser ends of my room to tremble. This notwithstanding, the most important aspect lies in the soporifically rewarding “presence/absence” of this particular record, a nerve-numbing acoustic treat for meditative, or merely absent-minded settings. Climbing Formation may constitute an ideal choice for underscoring the unequivocal vaporization of the festive scents we used to experience as children and right after, nowadays entirely gone in soulless unconcern. And – what’s even badder – without an inch of yearning on this side.