Blog

By Justin C.

Artwork by Maahy

Cellist Raphael Weinroth-Browne is no stranger to Metal Bandcamp at this point. Matt Hinch recently reviewed his solo album Worlds Within on these very pages just a few weeks ago. Matt listed Weinroth-Browne’s metal bonafides–including Musk Ox and Leprous–but he’s no slacker when it comes to other projects. Kamancello is a duo, featuring Weinroth-Browne’s cello contrasted with Shahriyar Jamshidi’s kamanche, a Persian stringed instrument, bowed like a cello, which is prominent in music from Iran, Kurdistan, and other nearby Middle Eastern countries. As played by Jamshidi, it features sounds similar to the cello, but in a higher register and with a raspier timbre.

Of Shadows is the duo’s third album, and I’ll give you the highlight right from the top: The entire album is improvised and unedited. Now, depending on your depth of musical interest, you may have heard a jazz combo or two, and those might have shown you the fine line between masterful improvisation and “oh god why are we listening to a 20-minute trombone solo.” Kamancello are firmly in the former category, but they take it even a step further. Unlike improvising over a jazz standard with a fixed chord progression, Kamancello approaches their songs with the most minimal planning. Weinroth-Browne told me that sometimes he and Jamshidi will agree on a Persian mode or key signature beforehand, but sometimes not even that. They keep contrasting moods in mind for the progression of the tracks over the course of the album. Sometimes they’ll use alternate tunings for their instruments. But if you, like me, conjured an idea of the two men meeting in a room, silently nodding, and beginning to play, you’re not far off.

There is an extraordinary amount of communication here. Sometimes it’s relatively straightforward–you can hear a distinct call and response between the two artists late in “The Rider,” but you’ll find more subtle interactions elsewhere. “Dance of Shadows” finds the duo merging to a single melodic line before diverging again. “To Mourn” has melodies that wind around each other, elevating the song beyond a simple dirge to a piece as complex as the process of mourning itself.

If you’re worried that this will be strictly classical music that you might not be interested in or otherwise attuned to, think again. “On the Precipice” will tempt you to bang your head–maybe just a little–or at least tap your foot to the driving rhythms. The players use every sound texture available to them. Sweetly bowed passages, staccato plucked lines, and even the occasional percussive sound with a finger tapped on the body of one instrument or another. Sometimes you’ll even be convinced you’re hearing a vocal melody, perhaps in a language you don’t understand.

The fact that these improvised pieces stand as fully realized compositions–sometimes much more so than songs that have been meticulously planned–is a testament to the level of artistic communication between these two musicians. They straddle the line between “music made for musicians” and easily accessible melodies and rhythmic figures that anyone can immediately grasp and enjoy. A balance is struck between music to get lost in and music to absorb while fully present. It’s a stunning work, and I heartily recommend it and their previous two albums.

By Justin C.

Artwork by Maahy

Cellist Raphael Weinroth-Browne is no stranger to Metal Bandcamp at this point. Matt Hinch recently reviewed his solo album Worlds Within on these very pages just a few weeks ago. Matt listed Weinroth-Browne’s metal bonafides–including Musk Ox and Leprous–but he’s no slacker when it comes to other projects. Kamancello is a duo, featuring Weinroth-Browne’s cello contrasted with Shahriyar Jamshidi’s kamanche, a Persian stringed instrument, bowed like a cello, which is prominent in music from Iran, Kurdistan, and other nearby Middle Eastern countries. As played by Jamshidi, it features sounds similar to the cello, but in a higher register and with a raspier timbre.

Of Shadows is the duo’s third album, and I’ll give you the highlight right from the top: The entire album is improvised and unedited. Now, depending on your depth of musical interest, you may have heard a jazz combo or two, and those might have shown you the fine line between masterful improvisation and “oh god why are we listening to a 20-minute trombone solo.” Kamancello are firmly in the former category, but they take it even a step further. Unlike improvising over a jazz standard with a fixed chord progression, Kamancello approaches their songs with the most minimal planning. Weinroth-Browne told me that sometimes he and Jamshidi will agree on a Persian mode or key signature beforehand, but sometimes not even that. They keep contrasting moods in mind for the progression of the tracks over the course of the album. Sometimes they’ll use alternate tunings for their instruments. But if you, like me, conjured an idea of the two men meeting in a room, silently nodding, and beginning to play, you’re not far off.

There is an extraordinary amount of communication here. Sometimes it’s relatively straightforward–you can hear a distinct call and response between the two artists late in “The Rider,” but you’ll find more subtle interactions elsewhere. “Dance of Shadows” finds the duo merging to a single melodic line before diverging again. “To Mourn” has melodies that wind around each other, elevating the song beyond a simple dirge to a piece as complex as the process of mourning itself.

If you’re worried that this will be strictly classical music that you might not be interested in or otherwise attuned to, think again. “On the Precipice” will tempt you to bang your head–maybe just a little–or at least tap your foot to the driving rhythms. The players use every sound texture available to them. Sweetly bowed passages, staccato plucked lines, and even the occasional percussive sound with a finger tapped on the body of one instrument or another. Sometimes you’ll even be convinced you’re hearing a vocal melody, perhaps in a language you don’t understand.

The fact that these improvised pieces stand as fully realized compositions–sometimes much more so than songs that have been meticulously planned–is a testament to the level of artistic communication between these two musicians. They straddle the line between “music made for musicians” and easily accessible melodies and rhythmic figures that anyone can immediately grasp and enjoy. A balance is struck between music to get lost in and music to absorb while fully present. It’s a stunning work, and I heartily recommend it and their previous two albums.

By Justin C.

Artwork by Adam Burke.

You’d be forgiven for thinking Stygian Bough Volume 1 was a split, since it does list both Bell Witch and Aerial Ruin as artists, but it’s a bit more complicated than that. This album features Erik Moggridge, who plays dark, acoustic folk under the name Aerial Ruin, playing with Dylan Desmond and Jesse Shreibman, the duo that makes up Bell Witch. It’s not a new band, per se–it’s not even a new idea, since Moggridge contributed vocals to Bell Witch’s monstrous album Mirror Reaper. It’s a collaboration. Or, given that the music often drifts into tempos so slow that metronomes can’t measure them, a funereal relay race, with both musical entities passing ideas back and forth.

Maybe the clearest example are the songs “Heaven Torn Low I (the passage)” and “Heaven Torn Low II (the toll).” Part I is mostly Aerial Ruin’s show, featuring Moggridge’s inimical clean vocals and acoustic guitar. But as the song progresses, Bell Witch begins to creep in around the edges, giving Moggridge’s sound the epic swell that’s usually implied in Aerial Ruin’s music, but not actually present.

Bell Witch and Aerial Ruin live. Photos by Nessie Spencer (licence).

As Part I slowly fades, Part II roars to life with the distorted bass and slow-moving melodicism that’s unmistakably Bell Witch. Moggridge continues to provide vocals, but massive, distorted bass notes stretch out and break into howls. The songs clearly take heavy emphasis from Aerial Ruin and Bell Witch, in that order, but it would be a mistake to say that Part I is “Aerial Ruin’s song” and Part II belongs to Bell Witch. One often takes center stage, but the other is always supporting and expanding.

There’s a lot of heart-breaking beauty in this album, and even though it’s just over an hour–which is pretty tame by funeral doom standards–it has the effect of dilating time. I listened to this album during a long drive, the first in a long time, and the light, pandemic-affected traffic on top of the music made me feel as if I were being pulled into some other realm. The album feels endless at times, but not in a tedious or tiring way. Timothy Leary’s old drug-addled adage of “turn on, tune in, and drop out” applies in a weird way, but no LSD is needed here. The artistry itself that takes you away.

By Justin C.

Artwork by Adam Burke.

You’d be forgiven for thinking Stygian Bough Volume 1 was a split, since it does list both Bell Witch and Aerial Ruin as artists, but it’s a bit more complicated than that. This album features Erik Moggridge, who plays dark, acoustic folk under the name Aerial Ruin, playing with Dylan Desmond and Jesse Shreibman, the duo that makes up Bell Witch. It’s not a new band, per se–it’s not even a new idea, since Moggridge contributed vocals to Bell Witch’s monstrous album Mirror Reaper. It’s a collaboration. Or, given that the music often drifts into tempos so slow that metronomes can’t measure them, a funereal relay race, with both musical entities passing ideas back and forth.

Maybe the clearest example are the songs “Heaven Torn Low I (the passage)” and “Heaven Torn Low II (the toll).” Part I is mostly Aerial Ruin’s show, featuring Moggridge’s inimical clean vocals and acoustic guitar. But as the song progresses, Bell Witch begins to creep in around the edges, giving Moggridge’s sound the epic swell that’s usually implied in Aerial Ruin’s music, but not actually present.

Bell Witch and Aerial Ruin live. Photos by Nessie Spencer (licence).

As Part I slowly fades, Part II roars to life with the distorted bass and slow-moving melodicism that’s unmistakably Bell Witch. Moggridge continues to provide vocals, but massive, distorted bass notes stretch out and break into howls. The songs clearly take heavy emphasis from Aerial Ruin and Bell Witch, in that order, but it would be a mistake to say that Part I is “Aerial Ruin’s song” and Part II belongs to Bell Witch. One often takes center stage, but the other is always supporting and expanding.

There’s a lot of heart-breaking beauty in this album, and even though it’s just over an hour–which is pretty tame by funeral doom standards–it has the effect of dilating time. I listened to this album during a long drive, the first in a long time, and the light, pandemic-affected traffic on top of the music made me feel as if I were being pulled into some other realm. The album feels endless at times, but not in a tedious or tiring way. Timothy Leary’s old drug-addled adage of “turn on, tune in, and drop out” applies in a weird way, but no LSD is needed here. The artistry itself that takes you away.

By Master of Muppets.

Artwork by Jill Colbert.

Versatility is a tough thing to pull off well. Too much of it and any given album is likely to be a jarring mess, not enough and it’s Disturbed. While older, seasoned acts tend to more or less settle into the confines of one genre or other, many young bands find themselves to explore their sonic boundaries at will. Though the fruits of such youthful ventures are often spirited and compelling, they are not always particularly well-guided endeavors, nor do the wide scopes of the artist’s intent necessarily manage to find their mark; many debut albums attempt to be more than they’re actually capable of being, but then again many debut albums aren’t Dawn of Ouroboros’ The Art of Morphology. It’s actually possible that most albums aren’t The Art of Morphology, but that’s neither here nor there. What’s here is one badass album, and what’s there is an absence of reasons as to why you shouldn’t be jamming out to it right this second.

Before we get too far on course with this great album, we must wander off course to pay tribute to… another great album! In the name of karmic balance, I must admit to have only stumbled across Morphology while trying to get the most bang for my buck; Naturmacht Productions offered it included at a discount alongside What We Leave Behind, the latest offering by Swedish doom act Soliloquium, and the only thing I love more than Katatonic doom is pinching the proverbial penny. If the deal is still going on whenever you read this, I’d urge you to take advantage as both albums are well worth your time. I’ll almost certainly be back to babble about What We Leave Behind at a later date, but in the event that you can’t be patient or I can’t be trusted, I’ll say this: it’s a wonderful piece of modern post-doom on a lovely label, and without either I would never have found the excellent album in discussion today. Everybody, say ‘thank you!’

Categorizing the Katatonia core of Soliloquium or explaining the appeal of saving money are relatively straightforward tasks. Describing Dawn of Ouroboros’ sound, on the other hand, is no such thing. These Californians wear a lot of hats, adopting several sonic styles throughout Morphology‘s 8 tracks and pulling all of them off downright fiercely. Proggy, deathy riffs? Check. Frostbitten tremolos and blackened shrieks? Ch-ch-check. Clean, pleasant passages with ethereal vocals? You know how this game works, I’d also throw in ‘melodeath sensibilities’, ‘symphonic flourishes’ and ‘random djent outbursts’ if I felt like continuing that shtick, but I don’t. The point is that Dawn of Ouroboros do a lot of things with 43 minutes, and they do them surprisingly well for this being a debut. The Art of Morphology is a constantly shifting soundscape, a hostile world where the weather’s always changing and yet it feels like home nonetheless.

This vibrant sense of variety brings with it a feeling of vitality so vaguely, faintly familiar that it almost feels foreign to today’s metal climate. Dive through any genre on Bandcamp and you’ll find not only several prominent artists of the scene but also myriad clones, all attempting to cash in on a sound that’s been proven to work by ‘doing [genre] right;’ The Art of Morphology has that mythical air of a band just being themselves and having fun with their own sound, the kind of palpable sincerity and earnestness found amongst such unifying, time tested classics as In Flames’ Whoracle or Pantera’s Far Beyond Driven – except, again, this particular slab of exploratory greatness is a friggen debut. The potential that tracks such as the artfully balanced prog death of “Pinnacle Induced Vertigo ” or the symphonic blackness of “Serpent’s Charm” foretell is impressive and incredibly promising, to say the very least.

I love The Art of Morphology, and I am absolutely gunning for Dawn of Ouroboros’ future. I found this album entirely by accident, only to discover the first album to make me genuinely excited about a young band’s future in years. It’s well crafted, well paced and well executed; The Art of Morphology is one of those special albums likely to unite fans from all ends of the metal spectrum, and it is incredibly refreshing to find such a thing as the rest of the world is falling apart. If I somehow haven’t sold you on this sweet slice of scariness yet, I would like to point out that every shriek, growl, roar and otherwise nameless vocal declaration of war uttered within Morphology‘s tracks was delivered by one loud little lady named Chelsea Murphy. You would be doing yourself a disservice as a fan of metal to allow yourself to miss out on her incredible performance here on Morphology.

By Master of Muppets.

Artwork by Jill Colbert.

Versatility is a tough thing to pull off well. Too much of it and any given album is likely to be a jarring mess, not enough and it’s Disturbed. While older, seasoned acts tend to more or less settle into the confines of one genre or other, many young bands find themselves to explore their sonic boundaries at will. Though the fruits of such youthful ventures are often spirited and compelling, they are not always particularly well-guided endeavors, nor do the wide scopes of the artist’s intent necessarily manage to find their mark; many debut albums attempt to be more than they’re actually capable of being, but then again many debut albums aren’t Dawn of Ouroboros’ The Art of Morphology. It’s actually possible that most albums aren’t The Art of Morphology, but that’s neither here nor there. What’s here is one badass album, and what’s there is an absence of reasons as to why you shouldn’t be jamming out to it right this second.

Before we get too far on course with this great album, we must wander off course to pay tribute to… another great album! In the name of karmic balance, I must admit to have only stumbled across Morphology while trying to get the most bang for my buck; Naturmacht Productions offered it included at a discount alongside What We Leave Behind, the latest offering by Swedish doom act Soliloquium, and the only thing I love more than Katatonic doom is pinching the proverbial penny. If the deal is still going on whenever you read this, I’d urge you to take advantage as both albums are well worth your time. I’ll almost certainly be back to babble about What We Leave Behind at a later date, but in the event that you can’t be patient or I can’t be trusted, I’ll say this: it’s a wonderful piece of modern post-doom on a lovely label, and without either I would never have found the excellent album in discussion today. Everybody, say ‘thank you!’

Categorizing the Katatonia core of Soliloquium or explaining the appeal of saving money are relatively straightforward tasks. Describing Dawn of Ouroboros’ sound, on the other hand, is no such thing. These Californians wear a lot of hats, adopting several sonic styles throughout Morphology‘s 8 tracks and pulling all of them off downright fiercely. Proggy, deathy riffs? Check. Frostbitten tremolos and blackened shrieks? Ch-ch-check. Clean, pleasant passages with ethereal vocals? You know how this game works, I’d also throw in ‘melodeath sensibilities’, ‘symphonic flourishes’ and ‘random djent outbursts’ if I felt like continuing that shtick, but I don’t. The point is that Dawn of Ouroboros do a lot of things with 43 minutes, and they do them surprisingly well for this being a debut. The Art of Morphology is a constantly shifting soundscape, a hostile world where the weather’s always changing and yet it feels like home nonetheless.

This vibrant sense of variety brings with it a feeling of vitality so vaguely, faintly familiar that it almost feels foreign to today’s metal climate. Dive through any genre on Bandcamp and you’ll find not only several prominent artists of the scene but also myriad clones, all attempting to cash in on a sound that’s been proven to work by ‘doing [genre] right;’ The Art of Morphology has that mythical air of a band just being themselves and having fun with their own sound, the kind of palpable sincerity and earnestness found amongst such unifying, time tested classics as In Flames’ Whoracle or Pantera’s Far Beyond Driven – except, again, this particular slab of exploratory greatness is a friggen debut. The potential that tracks such as the artfully balanced prog death of “Pinnacle Induced Vertigo ” or the symphonic blackness of “Serpent’s Charm” foretell is impressive and incredibly promising, to say the very least.

I love The Art of Morphology, and I am absolutely gunning for Dawn of Ouroboros’ future. I found this album entirely by accident, only to discover the first album to make me genuinely excited about a young band’s future in years. It’s well crafted, well paced and well executed; The Art of Morphology is one of those special albums likely to unite fans from all ends of the metal spectrum, and it is incredibly refreshing to find such a thing as the rest of the world is falling apart. If I somehow haven’t sold you on this sweet slice of scariness yet, I would like to point out that every shriek, growl, roar and otherwise nameless vocal declaration of war uttered within Morphology‘s tracks was delivered by one loud little lady named Chelsea Murphy. You would be doing yourself a disservice as a fan of metal to allow yourself to miss out on her incredible performance here on Morphology.

By Justin C.


A tidy genre tag for Eye of Nix is elusive. We could go with Black/Doom/Avant Garde, from their Bandcamp page, and that’s more or less O.K., but that leaves out the gothic, psychedelic, and sometimes operatic elements. Maybe “post-everything” covers it.

Their newest, Ligeia, is that rare album that manages to encapsulate a wide palette of sounds without sounding like an album made by seven different bands. The first track, “Concealing Waters,” is actually a pretty good introduction in more ways than one. It’s a mysterious opener that showcases a lot of the sounds you’re going to hear on the rest of the album. Lush guitars and clean vocals start out, creating a doomy, psychedelic start reminiscent of Ides of Gemini and even a little bit of The Doors. Vocalist Joy Von Spain weaves a spell, but the perspective takes a hard left when the drums start to blast and she adds blackened harshness to her vocals. Sure, the song is almost 7 minutes long, but in a contradictory way, it feels both more immediate and more expansive than that run time suggests.

“Pursued” charges out of the gate with more of a death metal feel, but the proggy, off-kilter touches you heard in the album opener are still there, even if the mood has suddenly turned more vicious. This track also features the first demonstration of Von Spain’s operatic style of vocals. It’s typically not a style I enjoy in metal or its natural habitat–although I appreciate the skill–but Von Spain’s use of it as just one of the styles in her arsenal works for me.

The rest of the album dwells in these dualities–”Stranded” starts in an ethereal plane before moving to churning heaviness–and it’s a sound to behold. All of the band members get a chance to shine here. The intricacy of the drumming, the atmospheric guitar, the bass providing the solid bridge connecting the instrumentals, and the synths and “sound collages” are all showcased at one point or another, but yet this is still very much a band effort, and that band is exploring its own path in a very unique space. Even if one of the many things I mentioned here is usually a turn off for you, I highly recommend you give the whole a chance.

By Justin C.


A tidy genre tag for Eye of Nix is elusive. We could go with Black/Doom/Avant Garde, from their Bandcamp page, and that’s more or less O.K., but that leaves out the gothic, psychedelic, and sometimes operatic elements. Maybe “post-everything” covers it.

Their newest, Ligeia, is that rare album that manages to encapsulate a wide palette of sounds without sounding like an album made by seven different bands. The first track, “Concealing Waters,” is actually a pretty good introduction in more ways than one. It’s a mysterious opener that showcases a lot of the sounds you’re going to hear on the rest of the album. Lush guitars and clean vocals start out, creating a doomy, psychedelic start reminiscent of Ides of Gemini and even a little bit of The Doors. Vocalist Joy Von Spain weaves a spell, but the perspective takes a hard left when the drums start to blast and she adds blackened harshness to her vocals. Sure, the song is almost 7 minutes long, but in a contradictory way, it feels both more immediate and more expansive than that run time suggests.

“Pursued” charges out of the gate with more of a death metal feel, but the proggy, off-kilter touches you heard in the album opener are still there, even if the mood has suddenly turned more vicious. This track also features the first demonstration of Von Spain’s operatic style of vocals. It’s typically not a style I enjoy in metal or its natural habitat–although I appreciate the skill–but Von Spain’s use of it as just one of the styles in her arsenal works for me.

The rest of the album dwells in these dualities–”Stranded” starts in an ethereal plane before moving to churning heaviness–and it’s a sound to behold. All of the band members get a chance to shine here. The intricacy of the drumming, the atmospheric guitar, the bass providing the solid bridge connecting the instrumentals, and the synths and “sound collages” are all showcased at one point or another, but yet this is still very much a band effort, and that band is exploring its own path in a very unique space. Even if one of the many things I mentioned here is usually a turn off for you, I highly recommend you give the whole a chance.

By Matt Hinch.

Painting by Heather Sita Black.

This site may be Metal Bandcamp but this solo album from Raphael Weinroth-Browne, Worlds Within, is barely even metal adjacent. That term doesn’t make much sense anyway. Raphael has played with Musk Ox, The Visit, and of course Leprous so he is well known to the metal community. However, we haven’t really heard him play the cello quite like this. Unaccompanied. Every sound on here was made by him on a cello. The instrument itself has great range but add in the percussive elements and effects pedals and you’d swear a whole orchestra is in on this. It’s just him though. Rhythms, leads, everything. Worlds Within seems like a spectacularly apt title given the worlds that open up in the minds of the listener on this 45-minute piece presented as 10 movements.

All 10 of those movements are quite moving. The piece’s bookends, “Unending I” and “Unending II” feel like dawn and dusk, casting shadows with beauty and subdued light, brightening and fading, albeit with melancholic qualities. Melancholy and darkness find their place often. “From Within I” and “From Within II” open up the mind and paint an expansive picture. Raphael himself has stated a mind-nature connection exists with this section and with eyes closed the majesty of both worlds fills the soul.

As we move into “From Above” and the “Tumult” suite Worlds Within starts to show its diversity even more. Non-traditional playing techniques (is that strumming?) and percussive elements change the mood. It feels more dramatic and expansive once the spacey layers find their home. Layers move in and out of consciousness amid a steady beat until gorgeous leads take your breath away. There are times even that the Walking Dead theme comes to mind. So does Blue Man Group!

“Fade (Afterglow)” brings things back down to earth after all the drama. In fact, it feels watery, like ripples spreading in a pond as rain falls on the surface, leading us back to the aforementioned dusk of “Unending II”.

Worlds Within is an escapist piece of music. Wrap it around you like a blanket and let the emotions it conjures penetrate you. Serenity, fear, joy, sadness, conflict, peace. Traditional sounds via untraditional methods form a profound 45 minutes of encapsulation. The cello is an amazing instrument and Raphael is an amazing musician and composer with amazing vision, passion, and skill. We all need to escape. Escape to Worlds Within.

By Matt Hinch.

Painting by Heather Sita Black.

This site may be Metal Bandcamp but this solo album from Raphael Weinroth-Browne, Worlds Within, is barely even metal adjacent. That term doesn’t make much sense anyway. Raphael has played with Musk Ox, The Visit, and of course Leprous so he is well known to the metal community. However, we haven’t really heard him play the cello quite like this. Unaccompanied. Every sound on here was made by him on a cello. The instrument itself has great range but add in the percussive elements and effects pedals and you’d swear a whole orchestra is in on this. It’s just him though. Rhythms, leads, everything. Worlds Within seems like a spectacularly apt title given the worlds that open up in the minds of the listener on this 45-minute piece presented as 10 movements.

All 10 of those movements are quite moving. The piece’s bookends, “Unending I” and “Unending II” feel like dawn and dusk, casting shadows with beauty and subdued light, brightening and fading, albeit with melancholic qualities. Melancholy and darkness find their place often. “From Within I” and “From Within II” open up the mind and paint an expansive picture. Raphael himself has stated a mind-nature connection exists with this section and with eyes closed the majesty of both worlds fills the soul.

As we move into “From Above” and the “Tumult” suite Worlds Within starts to show its diversity even more. Non-traditional playing techniques (is that strumming?) and percussive elements change the mood. It feels more dramatic and expansive once the spacey layers find their home. Layers move in and out of consciousness amid a steady beat until gorgeous leads take your breath away. There are times even that the Walking Dead theme comes to mind. So does Blue Man Group!

“Fade (Afterglow)” brings things back down to earth after all the drama. In fact, it feels watery, like ripples spreading in a pond as rain falls on the surface, leading us back to the aforementioned dusk of “Unending II”.

Worlds Within is an escapist piece of music. Wrap it around you like a blanket and let the emotions it conjures penetrate you. Serenity, fear, joy, sadness, conflict, peace. Traditional sounds via untraditional methods form a profound 45 minutes of encapsulation. The cello is an amazing instrument and Raphael is an amazing musician and composer with amazing vision, passion, and skill. We all need to escape. Escape to Worlds Within.