There’s a rare category of artists whose music seems to freeze in time, like amber preserving a moment to be relived again and again. “Komorebi Leaves” by Bram Bancroft is exactly such a song.

The first thing that strikes you—or rather, your ears—is how masterfully Bancroft creates a sonic atmosphere. You can feel not only the influence of his native Nottingham but something more universal, as if he’s trying to capture the sound of that very moment when the sun’s rays pierce through the leaves of trees—the very “komorebi” that names this track.

Bancroft uses his modest but powerful tools—guitar, voice, cassette loops, cello—to create something that balances between music and poetry. His voice, relaxed and unhurried, whispers in your ear, telling stories of love, loss, and existential yearning. In “Komorebi Leaves,” there’s a dense fog that envelops you from the first minutes, making you feel as if you’re slowly sinking into this state, into this musical world where time seems to stop. There are no sharp corners or jumps, just a slow, mesmerizing descent as if someone has taken time and slowed it down by half.

The track is rich and dense, like honey. But instead of sticking and suffocating you, it pulls you along, leading you deeper into consciousness, making you forget about everything else. And if this is just the first single from his second album, I’m eagerly awaiting what comes next.

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