Released in tandem with Entropolis, and, like that effort, a limited-edition recording, Geomorphic Resonance offsets the urban focus of the other album with an explicit study of, indeed, geology. Call it "ambient field recordings for post-industrialists," since that's essentially what Parkin did, taking various on-site tapes of natural effects and sounds and manipulating them to his own ends. Unsurprisingly, the general aesthetic of sudden, unexpected edits, doomy, bass-heavy textures, and the generally unsettled air matches that of the other release, though the explicit urban dankness of Entropolis is here replaced with howling winds, rumbling rock, and other such sounds. Opening track "Pleist" lives up to that in abundance, whether it's the noisy opening collage or the crackling, rhythmic distortion halfway through, which easily and immediately gets on a listener's nerves. In comparison to Entropolis, Geomorphic Resonance is for all its activity a touch less varied — many of the same elements recur song for song, as do similar arrangements. While it makes the album very much an overall piece, it also takes away any immediate surprise after a couple of songs, resulting in an enjoyable listen if not always a compelling one. Unlike Entropolis, Geomorphic Resonance really can fade into the background, even at high volume! There's more to be said for the latter half of the album, though, as the tendency for sheer haunting murk comes ever more to the fore, especially on songs like "Cirque." There the reversal of previous strategies, with the drones foregrounded and the clattering noise sent deep into the mix, can produce some honestly fascinating results. The concluding "Moraine" does an even better job, sounding like a windswept rocky plain constantly on the verge of internal collapse, rocks, water, and more transformed into a slow-motion end of the world.