catalog number: AE1
artist: LUCID
title: Baby Labyrinthian
format: CD
status: out of print
The first enigmatic release by Lucid. It begins with "A Question" and continues with
answers (like "Entrust Not In The Illusory" and "Open Your Eyes, Now Open The Door") that
lead to even more questions. Lucid's music can be described as a unique dream-like blend
of genteel musique concrete-oriented songs and instrumentals. The instrumentation ranges
from traditonal instruments to toy instruments, found objects, and discovered sounds.
Lucid was presented to me as 'ambient from Seattle' (frightening enough). It contains 31 pieces of
engaging, poignant musing. I guess if you took L7 or Nirvana and forced them to play underwater at
the threshold of audibility, it could sound like this. Lots of somnambulistic guitar and tentative
vocalizing in a bath of wooly lo-tech recorded sounds. If a luddite fetish with analogue sound and low
resolution vinyl is part of the zeitgeist, then Baby Labyrinthian could be the millenial album! There are
some quirkiness - but Lucid lacks the generous humour and ebullience of Faust. I like this album a
lot, though it does exude a kind of viscous lethargy which, after 75 minutes, has sucked you into near
(Paul Schutze)
THE BIG TAKEOVER  Issue 38  (1995)
Airy and haunting, Seattle's Lucid combine tape loops with sparse instrumentation and vaporous
voices. Each remarkable track is built from a sonic element such as birdsong, hushed prayer, or
amorphous mumbling, around which the band spins it's fragile spell. The closest comparison might
be a dreamy fusion of Loveliescrushing, His Name Is Alive, and Pram. But Lucid is in a class of it's
own. Sometimes so quiet that they melt gracefully into the background; these ghostly strains would
be an ideal soundtrack for the Brothers Quay or Jan Svankmajer. There is an enchanted atmosphere
to this album, as if to speak would be to break the band's mesmerizing hex. Unfortunately, Lucid
threatens these charms by offering a delicate, but more conventional song on the last track. It's a
strangely common ending for such an uncommon album.
(Gil Gershman)
Made up of seven people who play everything from guitar and bass to zither, they concoct an
extremely varied and interesting batch of sounds. Their debut, Baby Labyrinthian, has 31 cuts on it -
and it's a single disc. The tracks are pretty short, unlike your typical ambient release, so they're great
for those with small attention spans or little time. But Lucid's best asset is it's collective mentality.
The project was completed over a year's time, with various members apparently coming and going at
will. It may sound like blibberblubber to you, but  believe me, it's way more engrossing than a lot of
things I've heard lately, and that's why I'm telling you about it here, even though it's been out for close
to a year.
(Marshall Gooch)
Lucid ignore most of rock's conventions, drfting into a hazy area between dream pop and
isolationism. Baby Labyrinthian is a retreat into a private netherworld as mysterious as the dark side
of Pluto. Muted instruments and voices swirl, burble, and murmer in gray and umber tones. Lucid
sound at once ancient and fresh. I think I've heard the future of music...or did I dream it?
(Dave Segal)
Although I’ve known about this album for a long time, it’s only been recently that I was able to
acquire it. And I’ve found this to be one of the more compelling releases that I’ve recently
purchased.  What Lucid is able to do in the 75 minutes of this CD is create some of most interesting
experimental ambience I’ve ever heard.  Distant radio transmissions combine with the creakings
and groanings of old ships, spacey strings and bells compete with baby-like voices, and ghostly
rhythms provide an undercurrent for a very spooky, yet comforting collection of songs.

Of everything I own, I could most easily compare this to His Name Is Alive’s “Home Is In Your
Head.” However, Lucid completely latches onto the experimental side of HNIA’s interesting blend
of experimental noise and pop music. At times, I hear Lovesliescrushing at their mellowest and
most distant times, or Flying Saucer Attacks less noisy meanderings. However, Lucid really has a
sound all their own, and they use everything, including the kitchen sink and the dirty dishes inside,
for their compositions. There’s a minimalist ethic here, but one that’s weaved so deftly that it’s
hardly noticeable; in other words, a lot happens within the music here, but it’s so quiet and
understated that if you aren’t paying attention, you’ll miss it. It’s not uncommon to hear samples of
songbirds and what sounds like pedestrians and passing traffic mixed in with soft acoustic
guitars, electronics, and sparse drumbeats.  There are so many sounds present on this recording,
and many that I can’t even begin to identify. And everything is covered in echo and reverb and
other effects to give it a very distant, intangible, and spectral sense.

Above it all glides the voices. Two female vocalists are credited, Rebecca Bird and Melody
Rockwell. Their vocals are delivered in soft, haunting whispers that are echoed and fuzzed out
until they sound like distant A.M. radio transmissions coming in at 2:30 in the morning. Or maybe
like the ghosts in your house trying to communicate with you through an ancient victrola. The effect
is often quite unsettling, like on “Doomedah,” where the vocalist softly repeats that word over
songbirds and distant churchbells.  But I don’t find it displeasing at all. In fact, it also sounds quite

This album hints at the point where you lie between sleeping and waking, where you can just start
to sense the real world, but where you’re still aware of the subconscious goings-on of your mind.
Lucid’s music doesn’t seem to paint any pictures of the real world, but rather pictures of that world
while your still half-asleep and of your dreams as they slowly fade away in the minutes after
waking up. Song titles like “Of The Miniscule Incubus,” “Mine On I And Mirror The Of Side Your On
You,” “Bend And Wither Like A Flame,” and “Entrust Not In The Illusory” just add to this flavor.

At 31 tracks and almost 75 minutes of material, there’s bound to be some less than stellar material
that bogs one down, but the interest I had in this album far outweighs any downside. With each
track clocking in under 4 minutes, the album seems composed of fragments, mere pieces of
songs, often too short for you to latch onto. Sometimes the songs cut short too suddenly, it seems.
Other times, they seem to drag on forever. If you don’t like experimental music or music that shuns
your regular pop music mindsets, stay faraway from this album. “Baby Labyrinthian” is an
incredible example of using environmental recordings, traditional instruments, electronics, and the
human voice to create illusory and dreamy recordings. This is an album that I expect I’ll be
scrutinizing for some time to come.  
(Jason Morehead)
The first release on the mysterious and well-worthy AE label from the Seattle area, Lucid's debut
Baby Labyrinthian, captures the hushed, dark power that the company became known for
over it's short striking history. With plenty of overlap between the musicians here and those in After
The Flood --- one somehow appears to be a spin-off project of the other --- the two acts share a similar
aesthetic of fragmented, minimal pop/ambient explorations. While the relative accessibility can
inform similar acts like early His Name Is Alive or Black Tape For A Blue Girl, there's little in the way
of direct melodic hooks and much more mood-setting and careful arranging of low-key elements
throughout. Echoing creaks and mechanic clanks, slowly phased loops of sound behind slightly
distorted vocals, deep, low rumbling drum sounds, and more, help to make up this lengthy album ---
31 songs over 74 minutes. Dale Lloyd, the more or less prime mover in After The Flood, also plays a
large range of instruments here, but again the exact creative role of anyone in the collective --- seven
performers total are credited --- is obscured in favor of the overall presentation. There are some
slightly more straightforward parts --- the guitar/vocal interplay of "Forgive If I Forget", although kept
low in the mix, or the more upfront but still incredibly delicate "I Overheard". While the whole album
is arguably of a piece, there are a number of individual moments worth considering --- the cryptic
moan/howl on "Ignite The Foresight" followed by the ebb and flow of shivering, nervous sound on "Of
The Miniscule Incubus", the creeped-out wail and church organ collage of "But I Never Wept", the
murky wash of "Know How It Had Come To Be Born".  
(Ned Raggett)
l i n k s
f o r u m
c o n t a c t
m a i n