The temperate climate of Edmonton AB is an extreme one. Its seasons are strongly felt: summer is hot, its dryness pierced by dazzling thunderstorms; autumn is a show-off, how could it not when we’re stationed on the deciduous edge of the boreal north; winter is a bitter spectre, the thin cold air nipping at your extremities like a reaper; and a spring so collectively craved that its arrival is received with utopian exaltation. All of this can be said of Ghost Cousin. Their music is imbued with the climate of their space. The title is confusing for this reason—perhaps the appellation Scotland is meant to beg the comparison. The steadiness of Scotland’s damp climate can be heard in the steady wet reverbs hanging from Letersky’s vocal journeys The musical composition, on the other hand, is vacuous in its white space which over and over again opens up into robust flurries of alternating warm and cold colour panoramics. We are hearing here the very eye of the photographer, trained to look up and back down, to take perspective, to orient the world differently. Up into the bright emptiness of sky goes this composer’s gaze, returning reoriented to the various palates of our northern seasons. The timings change, the crescendos crest and break softly or sharply, as they will, a seasonal geography unfurled in sound. The result, a passive pleasure—a pacification.