When one hears the phrase "Fugal States", the immediate instinct might be to expect a modern homage to Bach — a rigorous, mathematically precise exploration of counterpoint and theme. But this is Ben Glas we’re talking about, a composer whose idea of a fugue seems more akin to a sonic paradox than a Baroque exercise. Glas takes the rigid structure of the fugue, tosses it into a black hole of drone and ambient music, and watches as it stretches, compresses, and eventually mutates into something entirely different, something that teeters on the edge of the abstract and the profoundly physical.

The album opens with “Fugal State I”, and right from the start, you’re gently informed that this isn’t going to be a typical listening experience. The piece unfolds slowly, a low hum permeating the air like a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding. It’s as if the music is not in a rush to reveal itself; instead, it asks you to slow down and tune in. Here, the fugue is more of a distant memory — a fleeting echo that has been absorbed by the drone, leaving behind only a trace of its former self.

As we progress through the series, “Fugal State II” and “Fugal State III” introduce a sense of rhythm and structure, but just barely. These pieces feel like they’re trying to hold onto a shape, a form, yet Glas keeps pulling them apart, stretching them across registers in a way that is at once disorienting and deeply calming. The fugue becomes less of a compositional technique and more of a philosophical concept—a way of thinking about time and space that is fluid, malleable, and constantly in flux.

Glas is almost cheeky in his approach, as if he’s fully aware that the title "Fugal States" sets up an expectation that he has no intention of fulfilling in any traditional sense. The fugal elements are there, but they’re buried, hidden within layers of sound that move in and out of focus like distant galaxies. In “Fugal State IV” and “Fugal State V”, the interplay of tones and drones creates a texture that feels both expansive and intimate, as if you’re hearing the universe breathe.

By the time we reach “Fugal State VII”, the longest track at 11 minutes, the album has fully settled into its own peculiar rhythm. Here, the fugal structure is a distant dream, replaced by something more elemental — a soundscape that seems to pulse and grow of its own accord. It’s in this track that the album’s concept comes into full view: this is not music that demands your attention; it invites you to drift in and out, to let your mind wander and return whenever it pleases.

Glas himself suggests that you play this music to your furniture, and while that may seem like an odd recommendation, it’s actually quite fitting. "Fugal States" is an album that thrives in the background, where it can subtly influence your environment, coloring the air with its ethereal tones. But don’t mistake this for mere ambient wallpaper—there’s a depth here that rewards close listening, a complexity that reveals itself in layers the more time you spend with it.

And this is where Glas’ genius lies: in creating music that is simultaneously profound and playful, meditative and mischievous. "Fugal States" is an album that challenges you to think about music in new ways, to consider the possibilities of form and structure when they’re not bound by tradition. It’s an invitation to explore the spaces between sound and silence, between the familiar and the unknown.

In the end, "Fugal States" is less about the fugue and more about the state of being it induces — a state that’s both contemplative and slightly surreal, like waking up from a dream that you can’t quite remember. It’s music that doesn’t just exist in time, but manipulates it, bending and twisting it until you’re no longer sure where you are or how you got there. And yet, somehow, it all feels exactly right.

So if you’re looking for an album that challenges, surprises, and ultimately rewards, "Fugal States" might just be what you didn’t know you needed. It’s a fugal journey that’s as much about the mind as it is about the music—an exploration of sound that’s as endless and open as the space it occupies. And in the end, isn’t that the kind of experience we’re all looking for?