Near eighty minutes of arpeggiated and atomized 70s-style electronic bliss-out by the mysteriously-coined California Storm. Someone’s fully ingested the more elaborate slabs of classic Teutonic synth-itude and all things Namlookian across thirty-three (!) vignettes that literally recall more astute signifiers across the genre’s rich history than many artists hope to ever cite. So, if variety across the analog spectrum’s your game, drink deep of this beauteous long-player that’s so agog with bright analogics you’ll be a week absorbing it all. “You And Me And Protons” could have been summarily swiped from one of several early 80s Tangerine Dream sides, all bright crystalline sequencers and mellotron wash, while “Large Scale Intruders” reaps the moog-ian whirlwind in a pristine rush of industrialized bottom end that’s blackened with dark streaks of Rhys Fulber/Synaesthesia-esque crusts. That California Storm crosses these disparate barriers and more speaks of an artist unafraid to test the categorical waters. “Life’s A Laundromat” is a beguiling piece of bubbly, effervescent synth-pop whose economy of duration does it a disservice: it could go on for double its length and never wear out its welcome. Ditto the following “A Thousand Miles Away From the Sun”, whose klingklang you wish could be stretched like aural taffy to engulf your ears in sugary overload. But that’s where California Storm’s greatest strength lies, providing the listener with well-sculpted compositional teases that only begs you play the whole damn thing again once it’s over. The record’s innocent charm never wavers one circuit-coerced iota, guaranteeing you’ll weather this particular Storm with barely-controlled glee and a cheshire-cat grin; it’s nigh on irresistible.