Limited. Six years after his last album on Miasmah, Schattenspieler, it's great to find Marcus Fjellstr?m resurrected after several long years spent composing his audio-visual opera Boris Christ. Born out of shattered dreams and an obscured vision of the future, Skelektikon is a delirious yet lucid exploration of the farthest and most conflicted reaches of the heart, teeming with confusion, passion, and ghostly shadows. Being no conventional composer in any way, Marcus stumbles further down his musical domain of detuned orchestral (re-)arrangements and pain-inducing synth passages, arriving at a most unique and personal result. Where Schattenspieler gave way to noir filled alleyways, Skelektikon fills them with paranoia. It’s the sound of Limbo, of dancing amoebas, of deviant skeletons, nostalgia and futurism, or quite possibly none of that. Inhabited by the bizarre and the beautiful, Marcus's music is a blurred yet encouraging representation of how you can never trust your own feelings – or eyes and ears for that matter. And yet, we can't shake the idea that the truth is to be found somewhere within this alien language, as delivered to us through the speakers. Opening our eyes after the final track has dissipated, we wouldn't be surprised to find someone or something there, staring at us, in silent and unsettling knowledge.
