There was a love letter to Sprawl and Sky that came not even close to explaining how enriching and unyielding Kris’ guitar work truly is to experience. So he upped the ante with Rim of the World, drawing further inspiration from the Inland Empire. Very much Lynchian in its dream state, Rim of the World is also starkly real. We daydream to escape reality, and as science tells us our wandering minds cause unhappiness — rather than unhappiness causing our minds to wander — it has made me re-evaluate just what I love about Kris’ work, particularly this piece of truth that sounds like foggy angels up on high in deep sleep. But Kris’ steely notes and airy production do much, not to put one to sleep to forget, but rather to make them focus on the reality of our situation. If the music isn’t enough to do it, the included book will bring you closer to Kris’ vision of music-as-reality-as-told-by-art. It’s a beautiful art piece that has many components, and much like the best art, it does its best to tell a story from many angles. This is Kris’ Inland Empire, away from the cinematic unraveling of Hollywood (no matter how glorious) but with the same prying lens and keen skill for capturing the mood of the everyday. Rim of the World is gritty, tear-soaked and hopeful. There’s a reason the Cerberus crew continues to return to all iterations of German Army work: because it speaks to a higher purpose without a bully pulpit and a manipulative televangelist bilking us for all we’re worth.