The title does not refer to a personal possession of the composer, it's just an American island in the Pacific Ocean; the namesake album deals with piecing together sources recorded in that remote area during the winters of 1999 and 2000 and subsequently subjected to some degree of studio treatment. After a silent portion, we're welcomed by sounds of raindrops, some of them heavier than others, thus causing sharp ticks and snaps that, in their pure nudity, surpass all the digital micromolecules heard in most laptop releases nowadays, all of this surrounded by perennial winds and distant washing. About 17 minutes into the piece, a short nocturnal segment introduces a series of unhappy sounding moans by some unidentified inhabitant of the forest. A typical segment of "López silence" divides this part from the next and longest one, which begins with something like looped and processed thunderstorm somehow dampened by the very same wind that rips through the majority of these recordings; it gradually rises both in volume and extraneous noisy appearances until it becomes a menacing - make that evil - presence whose voice is coloured with a metallic/shortwave-like gradation, accompanied by an ever-present rumbling foundation. Although recorded in an island, all of the above recalls urban desperation, as elliptical murmurs and flanged spirals of lamentations wrap us with an uncomfortable tissue. It finally cuts to silence again until the very last minute, in which a final helping of deeply affecting howls in a marine climate kisses us goodbye.
- Massimo Ricci, Touching Extremes

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