I woke up on the wrong side of the bed on Sunday. In need of a pick-me-up more potent than coffee or juice, I turned to Nala Sinephro’s Space 1.8. I’d already been charmed by the London composer’s blend of new age mysticism and downtempo spiritual jazz. Could Sinephro’s “premise that sound moves matter” actually cure what ailed me? Sure enough, my discomfort eased markedly within 15 minutes. I felt fully restored by the end of the 44-minute album. Just as the apparent healing power of Space 1.8 works as a miraculous potion, it’s an artistic triumph in spite of a dubious premise. Few artists are capable of successfully combining the loopy quietism of 1980s Paul Winter with the contemporary telepathic transmissions of Flying Lotus. Yet Sinephro’s Space 1.8 is just the latest example of the magical improvised music renaissance raging in Britain.
