Time To Burn by Judith Shatin: A Sonic Journey That Glows in the Dark
Judith Shatin’s Time To Burn isn’t your grandma’s classical album—unless your grandma is super into post-rock vibes and modern minimalism. Released in 2014 on Innova Recordings, this U.S.-born gem blends genres like a mad scientist mixing potions in a lab. It’s got shades of modern classical precision, flickers of post-rock moodiness (pun intended), and just enough minimalism to keep things hypnotic without getting boring. If you’re someone who likes music that feels both ancient and futuristic, this one’s for you.
Now let me zoom in on two tracks that stuck with me like gum under my shoe. First up: "Flickering." Right from the get-go, it sets this eerie yet mesmerizing tone, like when you're sitting alone at night and the power starts acting weird. The piece builds slowly, almost teasingly, layering sounds until it feels like you're standing inside an electrical storm made entirely of strings and synths. You know how sometimes you hear something so atmospheric it makes your brain go, “Wait… am I dreaming?” Yeah, that’s Flickering.
Then there’s "Elijah’s Chariot," which hits different. This track feels like watching a movie where the hero ascends into the heavens while dramatic music swells—but instead of cheesy CGI clouds, it's all raw emotion powered by haunting harmonies and pulsing rhythms. There’s this moment midway through where everything drops out except for this single, sustained note—it’s like time freezes, and suddenly you’re holding your breath without even realizing it. By the end, you feel like you’ve been spun around and dumped back into reality, slightly disoriented but kinda grateful for the ride.
One thing about Time To Burn is that it doesn’t try too hard to impress you. Instead, it invites you into its world—a world full of shadows, light, and glowing embers. Tracks like "Glyph: III. Ecstatic" twist and turn unpredictably, while others, like "Hoshech Al P’ney HaThom," linger like whispers in a dark room. Even though some pieces repeat titles (like "Glyph" popping up multiple times), they never feel redundant; each version adds a new layer, like uncovering clues in a mystery novel.
Here’s the kicker: listening to Time To Burn feels less like consuming music and more like wandering through someone else’s dream—or maybe their feverish imagination. And honestly? I kind of love that.
So if you’re looking for background music to study or chill to, this might not be it. But if you want something that grabs your soul by the collar and shakes it awake, give Judith Shatin’s Time To Burn a spin. Just don’t blame me if you start hearing flickers and chariots in your sleep.
Oh, and here’s a random thought to leave you with: what if fire could sing? Would it sound like this album? Food for thought.
