Review – Voices From The Lake: II
Thirteen years after their landmark debut, Italian duo Voices From The Lake return with their much-anticipated second album, II (two) on their own Spazio Disponibile. The record marks a new chapter in one of electronic music’s most revered projects.
When Donato Dozzy and Neel first joined forces, both already known for their psychedelic, slow-burn take on techno, something clicked. Their first LP felt less like a studio project and more like a living organism: rhythms padded softly like animals through undergrowth, synths drifted like branches in a breeze, and the whole thing moved with a hypnotic calm that set it apart. Since then, everything released under the VFTL banner – EPs, live recordings, remixes, and their widely praised performances – has only added to that legend. With II, the pair attempt the near-impossible: creating a follow-up that breathes the same rare air. They don’t quite hit the same transcendence, but they come remarkably close.
From the moment the low end stirs on opener Eos, it feels like stepping back into familiar territory. Their bass work remains exquisite – deep enough to resonate physically, yet so feather-light it never drags the music down. It’s the element that gives their tracks momentum while keeping them strangely still, grounding everything in something that feels far more organic than electronic.
There’s a natural texture to much of II. On Montenero, the percussion knocks like tiny creatures tapping at tree trunks, while hints of birdsong flicker through Mono No Koto. But this isn’t new-age pastoralism – the record is firmly rooted in the darker, dubbier corners of the dancefloor. Montero carries a brooding low-end thrum not far from the moodier strains of amapiano currently championed by DJs like Mark Ernestus. Meanwhile, Blue Noa moves with taut, muscled intent, its shadowy synths recalling late-’90s industrial pop with a weirdly sleek gait. The duo push their signature fluttering basslines and delicate percussion into subtle new shapes, expanding the project’s language without abandoning its enchanted-forest atmosphere.
For those who simply want the otherworldly haze of their 2013 debut, II happily indulges. Bespin lands squarely in that warmly humid sound world, while Manuark manages to sprint and float at once – the sort of track that could transform a packed club into a collective daydream. The original album’s most adored moment, Circe + S.T., has a spiritual successor here in Aquate, whose bold bassline treads the line between awe and unease, topped with a melodic lilt that could sit comfortably on an Olof Dreijer release.
The question with such a faithful sequel is what purpose it serves. Is it simply more of the same? Perhaps – but when the same felt practically revelatory, that’s hardly a complaint. The clearest sign of fresh territory arrives with Ian, the closing track and the third point on the album where something genuinely new peeks through. Dozzy and Neel often hold emotion at a distance, letting feeling shimmer at the edges rather than speaking plainly. It breaks that pattern with an unexpectedly bright, almost giddy lead line that sounds as if someone smuggled a Rhodes piano into the session. It’s openly joyful, the sort of melody that might feel life-altering after hours on a dancefloor, yet still carries that unmistakable VFTL sense of wonder.
For all the album’s familiarity, II retains the duo’s uncanny ability to make electronic music feel as though it’s arriving from elsewhere – somewhere unseen, but very much alive. Even when you’re listening in the most ordinary setting imaginable, it still feels extraordinary.
