Soul Whirling Somewhere's second album Pyewackit is another assuredly naked, sonically embracing work that continues to distill Michael Plaster's hallmark synthesis of otherworldly despair and serratedly personal lyricism. Leaving behind the diffuse atmospherics of Eating the Sea, this is a formal but no less fragile structure that incorporates darkwave, ambient pop, and neoclassic tendencies into one genuinely moving and heartbreaking whole. 

If Eating the Sea was expansive and celestial, then Pyewackit is, by contrast, much more inward-looking — confidences whispered in a dark room. It's still a very naked and fragile delivery under atmospheric synths, reverb-soaked guitars, and minimal electronic beats. His voice is also comparable to that of Brendan Perry (of Dead Can Dance) or Sam Rosenthal (of Black Tape for a Blue Girl). 

The tear-jerking quality of the lyrics in Pyewackit leave one devastated. Plaster's lyrics resonate with self-echo and longing, burning with honesty in dealing with love, loss, and existential dread. Songs such as "i should throw myself under a train" and "fair" vouch for his skill in distilling compound emotions into simple, poetic lines encased in soft, minor-key melodies replete with an even more profound sense of desolation and remorse. Sparse compositions seem to make every word hit harder as if the music itself does not wish to intrude upon the emotional core. 

"i should throw myself under a train" is one of the most extreme song titles and songs, along with "Every Female Werewolf Ever." And just as the lyrics seem so elusive and cryptic, the song title elicits intensely compelling interpretations. Those themes are a large part of the overall motifs of Pyewackit: werewolves conceal and reveal transformation, inner turmoil, and the most pristine emotional upheaval. Female werewolves in particular embody that kind of duality-repressed strength, and that suits the tone of the record: vulnerability and inner turmoil. The sound profile of the song is likewise true to the characteristic dreamy sound that marks the album, with Plaster's otherworldly vocals taking the reverb-drenched instrumentation to higher levels. As with much of Pyewackit, it remains within this unrequited yearning realm, and the listener is left to ponder it long after the song ends. 

Pyewackit is very minimal, yet the silence between the notes can also resonate at times. This also kicks in for intimacy in the record, for nothing here sounds forced or overproduced. Rather, the natural feel of the tracks contributes to Pyewackit having the feel of diary entries written in song form. There is no hurry on this record; it takes slow, deliberate pacing so that the listener can get inside it rather than skimming along its surface. 

However, Pyewackit hasn't radically changed its predecessor's recipe; it distills and cleanses the aesthetics of Soul Whirling Somewhere. This is not an album that offers an easy catharsis; it wallows in sadness, allowing the emotions to follow their natural course. That makes it a challenging listen for some, perhaps; But for those whose ears are attuned to the quietly devastating Pyewackit, it's a richly rewarding, emotional journey.

For those who enjoy ethereal and contemplative music—more in the vein of This Mortal Coil, Lycia, or early Low — Pyewackit is the height of fascination. It's a record that doesn't represent sadness so much as it exists within its confines and carries the listener to similar locales with its ghostly resonances and thwarted longings. If you enjoy this album’s sound, I would recommend listening to Butterfly Child and Rumskib. 8/10