Enrique del Castillo’s "Segundo Album" sounds like cinema refusing to die. It’s the ghost of the projector, whispering back to the audience after everyone has left the room. Umbráfono, his one-man orchestra of modified optical readers, transforms the play of light across celluloid into a living sound organism - mechanical yet strangely human, fragile yet obstinate.

This isn’t music in the usual sense; it’s illumination translated into frequency. Del Castillo’s process feels both alchemical and archaeological: he unearths tones from light, sculpting rhythm from flicker. The result recalls the very early history of sound-on-film - those days when soundtracks were literally drawn onto reels - but instead of nostalgia, there’s a sense of pure reinvention. "Segundo Album" doesn’t recreate a lost technique; it expands its vocabulary, turning the optical reader into a voice capable of stammering, sighing, and humming like an electronic monk.

Each piece (named after the films themselves: "Film 286", "Film 251", "Film 299 Livengood"…) feels like an artifact of a parallel world’s musicology - the kind of world where electricity and geometry fell in love. The noises are dusty but luminous; oscillations dance like scratches across sunlight; harmonics emerge as though a moth brushed past the lens. You could say this is experimental minimalism - but minimalism never sounded so haunted, nor so tactile.

There’s something beautifully self-erasing about del Castillo’s method: the music depends on fragile strips of film that exist in a single physical copy. No editions, no remasters, no infinite duplication. A poetic act of resistance in an age of perfect, sterile replication. It’s art as presence - one that flickers, stutters, and burns out in real time.

And yet, for all its conceptual density, "Segundo Album" isn’t dry or didactic. There’s warmth in the static, humour in the hiccups, tenderness in the dissonance. Sometimes it feels like listening to the internal monologue of an old projector trying to remember its own movies. Sometimes it’s a light-based séance.

Del Castillo, already celebrated in sound art circles from MACBA to Matadero Madrid, proves that the border between image and sound is not a line but a shimmer. "Segundo Album" is that shimmer given voice - ephemeral, precise, and strangely moving.

It’s music you don’t just hear. You see it. Or maybe it’s light you don’t just see - you listen to it.