Afer I discovered and introduced his previous "Dots on a Disk of Snow", I couldn't wait or listening to Andrew Ostler’s newer release, titled "The Blind Sublime". That sounded to me like a cathedral built of sound: vast, resounding, and steeped in awe. In his fifth release with Expert Sleepers, the Edinburgh-based composer continues his evolution, leaving behind his synthesizer-driven beginnings for a realm where orchestral textures and choral arrangements reign supreme. This is music of transcendence, and perhaps transformation, with Ostler acting less as a composer and more as a sonic architect.

The album unfolds in four movements, each exploring a facet of spirituality and emotion. The opening trilogy ("Affirmation, Confession, Adoration") is a suite of subtle contrasts. "Affirmation" whispers its quiet confidence, with drones and voices rising like sunlight through stained glass, while "Confession" unsettles with a hint of turbulence - its ethereal harmonies haunted by a ghostly storm of distortion. By the time "Adoration" arrives, it’s a relief, all soaring beauty and unashamed resolution, as if the choir itself has glimpsed something divine.

But it’s "Meditation", occupying the LP’s entire second side, that solidifies the record’s grandeur. Here, the drones become slabs of intensity, the choral arrangements less gentle whispers and more desperate invocations. It’s music that feels heavy, not in weight but in existential depth - a journey that’s both harrowing and rewarding, leaving the listener breathless at its conclusion.

Ostler’s background in modular synthesis isn’t absent here; it hums in the periphery, shaping and processing the layers of sound like a craftsman working with unseen tools. Yet, the focus has shifted. The saxophone, Ostler’s favored instrument in previous releases like "Four Drones for Saxophone and Modular Synthesizer", is still present but submerged within the larger fabric of orchestral and choral arrangements.

Presented on transparent blue vinyl with stunning design by Carl Glover, "The Blind Sublime" is as visually arresting as it is sonically immersive - a record as much to behold as to hear.

For those familiar with Arvo PÄrt’s divine minimalism, Stars of the Lid’s ambient expanses, or Sunn O)))’s monolithic drones, "The Blind Sublime" feels like a spiritual cousin. Yet Ostler’s voice remains distinctly his own, bridging the sacred and the avant-garde with an artistry that’s both daring and deeply human.

This is not an album for casual listening. It demands attention, patience, and a willingness to be swept away. But for those who lean into its currents, "The Blind Sublime" offers a glimpse of something profound: not merely music, but a reflection of the sublime itself - blind, unknowable, and utterly captivating.