EXPO gently unmoors your sense of time and direction, feeling longer than it is not because it drags, but because Ulrika Spacek build such a detailed world that you stop tracking time and drift off into space. Tracks accumulate and layer textures in a way that feels indebted to krautrock’s hypnotic repetition while still rooted in indie rock’s sense of melody and structure. The result is unpredictable, but soothing as you don’t know what’s coming next, but you do trust it.

A sonically warm record, the synths feel velvety and analogue like degraded tape loops flickering in and out of focus, while the guitars play intricate, interlocking patterns without grandstanding. There are no big solos here, but there are plenty of riffs and licks. The album is intricate, but it resists the urge to show off, instead feeling purposeful, controlled and considered. Build a Box Then Break It is a standout, moving in slow motion with submerged textures before gradually blooming into something richer with striking and lush synths while the vocals climb gently. The lyrics remain elusive, feeling more like fragments of feeling than clear narratives and creating a space for you to inhabit and float in. Showroom Poetry has a twinkling piano line that feels like an end-credits sequence whilst A Modern Low is sparse, drifting space rock. Square Root of None plays subtle rhythm tricks, and Weights & Measures introduces string embellishments that lend a kind of cinematic mystique like a warped Bond theme echoing through the mix. Some tracks are twitchy and propulsive, others spacious and suspended, with a constant interplay between complexity and stillness, all with a commitment to groove and texture. It’s music that’s intricate if you lean in, but just as effective as a backdrop for wandering thoughts. Clever without being cold, and intricate without being indulgent, EXPO is full of rhythmic quirks and memorable melodic turns.