Unruly Disturbance returns from silence with a work that breathes like autumn-fire: at first it builds, subtle and softly, and then gathers in a quiet fury. Frisson exists as a study in sensation, a carefully sculpted landscape where texture and rhythm converge to provoke a visceral response. Tom Collingburn composes with a steady hand, drawing from a palette of analogue warmth, digital precision, and a deep curiosity about the spaces between thought and sound.
The opening gesture, Manners Cost Nothing, sets the tone with ritualistic percussion that unfolds in patient spirals. Each shuffled fragment of sound carries intention, while a delicate, glass-toned motif descends through the mix as if tracing the outline of memory. Spoken word interjections arrive like flickers of consciousness, dry in wit yet oddly luminous. The track establishes a language that continues to evolve across the record.
In Response follows with restraint that borders on meditative, assembling rhythms in increments that accumulate into quiet propulsion. A bass drone takes root beneath the surface, while minimal melodic figures hover above, unhurried, deliberate. The piece grows without spectacle, its pacing guided by an internal logic that invites immersion.
With A Touch Of Discord, Collingburn stretches the emotional fabric of the album. Soft pads bloom into existence before being interrupted by distorted synth-voices that cut through the ambient haze with startling clarity. These shifts between turbulence and serenity are not abrupt gestures but rather cycles, oscillations that mirror the instability of human perception. When percussion finally enters, it integrates both states into a unified structure, restless yet composed.
The title track sharpens the focus. Frisson pulses with heavy drums and a bass presence that rumbles with subterranean depth. Fragmented vocal snippets twist into rhythmic elements, adding a spectral human trace to the circuitry. The composition holds tension in a taut grip, channeling it into forward motion without excess.
A profound stillness emerges in Todd’s Drone Throne. Here, rhythm dissolves entirely, replaced by sustained tones that stretch time into a slow arc. The gradual layering of strings and harmonic detail transforms the piece into something almost architectural. It rises toward a crest that glows rather than bursts, then recedes into silence with grace.
Momentum returns in Stark Contrast, where horn-like synth timbres and a measured groove draw the body into motion. There is clarity in its construction, each element placed with precision, allowing the track to breathe without overcrowding. Willow’s Lament drifts into softer territory, its swirling pads and understated percussion evoking an expansive sense of space. A three note motif circles gently, never exhausting its simplicity.
Douglas Dougington III unfolds as a quiet exercise in depth. Layers emerge slowly, from subtle vocal textures to a restrained piano line that glimmers at the center. The bass remains ever present, a low murmur that tethers the composition. This careful balance defines much of the album’s character.
In Lawn Violins, Collingburn demonstrates a talent for sonic intrigue. Modulated piano fragments echo into the distance before giving way to a bending bass figure that commands attention. The interplay between absence and presence becomes a structural device, shaping the listener’s engagement with each return of the central motif.
The narrative takes a sharper turn with It Doesn’t Change You. Ambient textures give way to a sudden burst of Drum And Bass energy, propelled by restless percussion and a growling low end. A voice cuts through with philosophical detachment, questioning the transformative mythos often attached to altered states. The juxtaposition of contemplative pads and kinetic rhythms creates a compelling tension.
You Shouldn’t Be Here enters with an air of unease, its woozy bass lines and high pitched pads conjuring a liminal atmosphere. There is a sense of circuitry humming beneath the surface, analogue tones rich with character. The piece shifts between ominous and inviting passages, never settling into a single emotional register.
By the time It’s 3AM Somewhere arrives, the album has established a diverse yet cohesive vocabulary. The groove leans into an understated electro aesthetic, unhurried and expansive. Synth lines emerge gradually, weaving through the rhythm with quiet confidence, shaping a nocturnal environment that seems suspended outside ordinary time.
The closing composition, A Little Chef Olympic Breakfast As The Universe, drifts into a cosmic expanse. Ambient pads stretch toward infinity while spoken word threads through the atmosphere like a stream of consciousness. It serves as a gentle dissolution, the record folding back into silence without resistance.
Across its span, Frisson reveals itself as a deeply considered work, one that values detail without sacrificing immediacy. Collingburn’s techniques are meticulous, yet far from sterile. There is humanity embedded in every processed fragment, every carefully-placed tone. The album resonates as an exploration of inner-states rendered through sound, an intricate tapestry woven with patience, curiosity, and unmistakable intent.
Frisson by Unruly Disturbance released on 12 June, 2026 on Not Yet Remembered Records