*100 copies limited edition* Almost An Island marks the first collaboration between musician and producer Kenneth James Gibson and the husband-and-wife duo James and Cynthia Bernard. Gibson's career is a mosaic of sounds and ideas—so varied it might seem like the work of several artists, yet unmistakably his. From the widescreen psych-folk of Bell Gardens (with the late Brian McBride of Stars of the Lid), to the fractured electronics of Eight Frozen Modules, to intimate solo ambient albums and even a country-leaning project shaped in his Idyllwild mountain retreat, his work defies easy categorization. It's fitting, then, that he found creative kinship in James Bernard, a longtime fixture in the Los Angeles ambient scene, who celebrates 30 years since his debut album Atmospherics in 2024. Cynthia Bernard, known as marine eyes, has been quietly building a world of her own since 2021—pastoral, reverb-washed, and deeply resonant. Together, James and Cynthia also create music as awakened souls, blending ambient, drone, and hints of shoegaze into something uniquely theirs.

As a trio, they’ve woven something both grounded and expansive. Almost An Island is an ambient journey tinted with Americana, rooted in themes of impermanence and connection. The instrumentation is as eclectic as it is purposeful—guitars, piano, voices, six-string bass, Chapman stick, pedal steel, Taishōgoto harp, and synths—each adding depth to the sonic landscape.

The album leans into restraint. Muted tape hiss, gently swaying guitars, and ghostlike tones drift in and out of focus, creating a space that feels both intimate and cinematic. On “Quadrivium,” looping textures and vaporous vocals evoke time folding in on itself. “Wide Open” and “In Light Of” introduce brushed drums and David Cuetter’s mournful pedal steel, anchoring the record in a soft melancholy. The lead single, “What Got Us To Our Feet,” slowly emerges from the mist, swelling into a gorgeous crescendo where voice, strings, and guitar blur into one emotionally charged moment. The final tracks, “Palo Verde” and “Promise to Fade,” unravel in quiet waves—twinkling guitar, aching strings, and a lingering sense of something left unsaid.

Almost An Island doesn’t feel like a conclusion—it feels like the opening chapter of a much longer story. A space has been carved out, and already, new ideas are beginning to take root.