Sometimes, after I have read a review, I don’t want to hear the music and want to close my eyes and just imagine it. Here are a few examples, all by the same writer… no need for the names of musicians or the titles of songs.

like listening to an ambient record on headphones at such a low volume that the background noise of the metropolis bleeds through

illuminated by the lens flares of flugelhorn and then slightly darkened by some fragmented guitar figures

washes of melody that drift to the surface before slowly sinking into the depths again

dissolving the sound into a glossy decay, as though a Rothko painting were slowly fading to black

eventually, the curtain is pulled aside to reveal the piano behind the noises

there are sharp bursts that stir these dreamy tracks quickly awake

pulsing minimalism given an acidic tang via tones that sound like a bad mobile phone connection

imagines a repeating four-chord sequence as the blinking eyes of a dozen androids while little flutters of electricity and long pulses flow through the room

it is nearly overwhelmed by the drunken bass notes and fluttering racket going on around it

This only works when the critic has a way with words and has good ears to go along with that… All examples were pulled from the writing of Robert Ham for Pitchfork.