If you’ve ever wondered what a Picasso painting might sound like if it were left overnight in a dream instead of a gallery, The FURICO Music Team have your answer - though it comes in prismatic whispers rather than declarations. "Le Cube Dans Mon Rêve", their new tape on Kitchen Label, is not so much an album as it is an imaginary detour in music history: a Cubist movement that never happened, refracted through software and speculation.

FMT - essentially TM and TI - compose not with instruments but with notation software, the way one might sketch with light rather than pencil. Their self-declared “auditory art” gives us music without hands, strings, or breath, and yet it carries a strangely human pulse. Perhaps because the inspiration itself was humanly broken: a torn and reassembled drawing by Chiaki Tamura, which became both spark and mirror for TM’s Cubist re-imaginings in sound.

The record is built like a cube rotated in slow motion. Each track is a new face, a different geometry, showing us not the thing itself but its angles, overlaps, shadows. “Cube 1: Le Déclencheur” is the first cut of glass, a Cézanne-like attempt to tilt perception sideways, while “Cube 2: Les Tentatives” dismantles it with wry insistence, as if testing the stability of memory. Later, “Cube 4: Le Temps” stretches duration until it folds back on itself, and “Cube 6: L’Avant et L’Arrière” asks the simplest but most unnerving of questions: what happens when front and back swap places in sound?

What makes this release compelling is that it doesn’t fall into the academic trap it so easily could have. Instead, there’s a quiet playfulness under the conceptual scaffolding - voices half-heard, textures too soft to be mechanical, melodies that float like scraps of colored paper in a breeze. It resonates with Japan’s own lineage of speculative ambient: the elegance of Satsuki Shibano, the ocean-floor patience of Motohiko Hamase, even the sly futurism of YMO, but translated into a digital dialect both clinical and tender.

"Le Cube Dans Mon Rêve" is, paradoxically, a dream of something that never existed. It’s Cubism without cubists, a missing chapter written in sleep. And it suggests, with mischievous calm, that perhaps music doesn’t need to follow history at all - it can just skip sideways into an alternate timeline where fractured bottles and shattered portraits hum quietly in tape hiss.