The distance Fog Mirror has traveled: from the mind of Braeyden Jae, into his animated hands and limbs, from a recording device, through the engineering/mixing process, to the pressing plant, onto the stoop of Whited Sepulchre, into my mailbox. That journey—much of it out of the control of Braeyden Jae—is ample fodder for the emotional and uncontrollable weight behind Jae’s debut album. Fog Mirror truly is an epic travelogue that does more than just cover the literal. It carries eons of particles and process, itself a genuine reflection of title and circumstance. We’re often illuminated with such terminology as “fog of war” but Fog Mirror is “fog of existence.” It clings to every living thing it touches, slowly taking a bit of essence as it heavily glides from one locale to the next. It pours forth from Jae with such magnetism, yet its cloud does not dampen or sadden. In fact, as richly textured and ponderous as Fog Mirror has made me, it’s oddly life-affirming. It’s true most drone releases skew toward the malignant, but the force of positivity and openness clings to Fog Mirror. It’s a thoughtful…hopeful…document of life. Those life forces carried by its existence are meant to mingle with the world over which is looms. It’s the only vessel of transport that can carry such a heavy message of peace (of mind, of soul, of guilt).
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