If Nick Grey were a literary character, he’d probably be the unreliable narrator of a melancholic, elusive novel - a sonic fl'neur drifting through time with the air of someone who knows something we don’t. "Sleepwalking Through A Day" is a collection spanning two decades of his music, a kind of emotional map traced along uncertain coordinates, where the boundary between dream and reality is as thin as the voice murmuring through these songs.

Grey has always been an elegant outsider, a craftsman of twilight moods who has refined his style between introverted art pop, nocturnal electronics, and ballads wrapped in an aura of contemporary spleen. His career, which began in 2004, has oscillated between remarkable collaborations (Charlemagne Palestine, Empusae, 48 Cameras) and solo projects where he has sculpted his signature sound: suspended melodies, lyrics balanced between romantic lyricism and disenchanted irony, arrangements that seem to emanate from the room next door - just slightly out of sync with time.

Grey’s dual nature is evident in the album’s structure: "The Shakes" gathers his more pop-oriented (though always oblique and dreamlike) compositions, while "The Vapours" delves into the darker side of his sound - his alchemical laboratory, where electronic and minimalistic elements blend into something more abstract and cinematic.

In the first half, tracks like "You’re Mine Again" and "Juliet Of The Spirits" reveal the more immediate yet melancholically elegant side of his songwriting, with arrangements that evoke a world where the Tindersticks meet the refined electronic sensibility of David Sylvian. "Look Like Moses", with its spectral clarinet and delicate piano touches, feels like a letter written in another era and accidentally found in an old drawer.

On the more experimental side, pieces like "The Fading Light of November" and "Radaxian Lost, Radaxian Found" explore more rarefied, ambient territories, layering sounds that seem to uncover a hidden sonic memory - an echo from a dream interrupted too soon. Here, Grey appears to converse with figures like Scott Walker’s post-"Tilt" works or the introspective side of Coil, crafting soundscapes that demand deep, almost meditative listening.

Peter James’ meticulous remastering lends sonic coherence to this twenty-year collection, and the inclusion of four previously unreleased tracks prevents the album from being a mere nostalgic exercise. "The Monumental" and "What I’ve Become" slide seamlessly into the tracklist, as if they had always been there.

There’s a subtle sense of circularity to the project, as if Grey is closing a chapter while leaving room for another movement - another waking dream. After all, sleepwalkers eventually wake up. And maybe that’s where the magic lies: in that brief moment of suspension, when the boundary between reality and music dissolves for just an instant.