Writers attempting to describe ambient musics usually get sucked into levying strings of adjectives and unloosing myriad visual comparisons about water or wind or whatever. Beautiful as those descriptions might be, none really has any bearing on the music it attempts to describe. Obviously, that’s the crux of the rock writing game, but who wants an exploration of my vocabulary when what’s actually needed is a summary of an album, of a career, of a man.

Eluvium, bka Matthew Cooper, is a Portland based composer  and producer who, since 2003 , has released work mostly through the venerable Temporary Residence label. Over the last seven years or so, Cooper’s found these albums to be included in top ten lists, best ofs and whatever other over the top, gratuitous love fests await the musically inclined when completing what amounts to a master work.

Of course, the ceaseless mention of Brian Eno dogs just about anything Cooper touches, although considering he’s released a disc of piano music, Erik Satie might well be a better name to check. But regardless of that, what Cooper aims at doing is utilizing the most basic and simple sounds he can either produce himself or capture through recordings and layer ‘em all together. There’s a persistent whir throughout most of his work. And on Eluvium’s first album, the 2003 Lambent Material, the skeletal plans for future recordings can be understood relatively easily.

Where people get bogged down is attempting to take away some sense of grandeur from recordings like these. Cooper’s professed love of all things outdoors might insinuate itself into listener’s perceptions of what’s going on – “Under the Water It Glowed” sounds like whale songs regardless.

The most important aspect of Lambent Material, though, is its contrasting of different sounds. There are better examples, but “There Wasn't Anything’s” melody isn’t resolved the way a pop song might find its conclusion. And with the eventual entry of what might be an oboe, voicing the keyboard’s echo at something equal to the actual notes results in some wayward piano music, again referencing Satie and his furniture music more wholeheartedly than Eno.

With so much relaxed space over the album’s run time, it’s curious that the disc’s centerpiece, the fifteen minute “Zerthis Was a Shivering Human Image,” winds up being relatively aggressive – Well, as aggressive as Eluvium gets.

That surprise included – or aside – Eluvium’s entry into long form recording was an auspicious one. Now go catch up on his four other albums.