In the age of maximalist pop and algorithm-driven playlists, New Age Oblivion arrives like a strange signal from a parallel timeline—one where ambition and nuance were allowed to bloom unfiltered. Helmed by James Anthony Wolff, a composer with a background in classical music and a heart firmly rooted in indie-rock experimentation, New Age Oblivion isn’t new in the traditional sense. It’s an exhumed relic, recorded in the shadow of a now-defunct D.C. ensemble called The Cascades, shelved for over a decade, and only now stitched together into a final form.
The result is a dense, emotionally layered album that feels simultaneously archival and forward-thinking. It pulses with unresolved tension and delayed catharsis, like a memory you’re not sure really happened. “String Theory” opens with sweeping strings and metaphysical paranoia, casting Wolff as a kind of wide-eyed oracle, half-dreaming, half-screaming into the void: They say it’s a theory, but it cannot control me. It’s pretentious, sure—but it’s also deeply felt, and that sincerity carries the weight.
Where previous Harvest Runes projects leaned heavily on studio polish (King of Clouds in particular), New Age Oblivion feels looser, warmer, more communal. That’s partly due to the ensemble of live musicians—violin, flute, horn, cello—recorded in actual rooms, not just on timelines. You can hear the human breath in the brass, the looseness in the bow work. “Invisible Forces” swings between orchestral grace and near-industrial clang, evoking early Sufjan Stevens by way of Dirty Projectors. “Lost Lonely Stranger” flirts with collapse in its final minute, stretching its refrain like a taffy pull of grief and euphoria: We will make this night ours… we will stretch the stars out…
What makes New Age Oblivion quietly extraordinary is it’s devotion. These songs lived quietly for years in hard drives, rehearsal rooms, rural basements and still found their way into the world. It’s not chasing trends or algorithms. It simply endures, and that makes it timeless.
