Juno unites three kindred spirits from disparate sonic backgrounds, forging new ground at the margins of minimalism and ambient improvisation. Barry Chabala’s touch on the guitar is spare, sometimes little more than a shimmer, string harmonics or a fragment of folk melody evaporating into reverb. David Forlano brings an alchemist’s sensibility to electronics and sound objects - tiny tap-dancing motors, whirring gears, scuffed field recordings, always set so the seams show. Drew Gowran acts as both shadow and pulse, with his percussion alternately framing the trio’s gestures in slowly decaying metallic glints and providing the rare, tectonic thrum that centers a drifting mass. The music here is organic but unhurried - each piece a slow unfurling root system, sometimes converging to form contemplative oases, sometimes splintered into near stillness. What distinguishes Juno is its patience, and the trio’s willingness to cede space, let the emotional arc quietly gather, and privilege evanescence over crescendo. This is the kind of record that creeps subtly into the ear, inviting listeners to dwell in liminal spaces where boundaries melt, and every sound is both invitation and question.