We look at an album cover and we don’t know what it shows us. We hear a voice and we don’t know what it is saying. We hear music and we cannot understand the meaning. Something rattles, someone speaks, low-fi spheres of rhythm fill the air and a Windows 95 error message duplicates itself infinitely to the sound of a computer glitch showing us the end of an electronic world. Deena Abdelwahed is a phantom. Magnetic sound capsules fly through the room and crash into each other, only to separate once more. Modular music, seemingly directionless but in actuality traveling with purpose into an unimaginable future. It is not often that electronic music delivers an eye-opening and avant-garde experience yet this music accomplishes just that. Abdelwahed’s sound is familiar enough to make you keep listening and alien enough to keep you waiting for the unexpected. This unpredictability lies in the atmospheric vocals and the possibility of sudden disintegration should not be taken as an interruption, rather the opportunity to break free and flee into infinity. It is more abstract and risqué than comfortable but nothing like self-congratulatory four-quarter-note music.