Kuedo - Infinite Window (LP) - Yellow Vinyl

Kuedo’s Infinite Window arrived in 2022 like a clean cut in the haze, a sci‑fi cityscape snapping into focus after years of fog. Jamie Teasdale has never been shy about his love of gleaming synth futurism, from the Vex’d days of brooding bass pressure to the solo breakthroughs of Severant and Slow Knife, but this record feels newly aerodynamic. The lines are sleeker, the colors brighter, and the way the rhythms lift the melodies makes it feel less like a museum of retro tech and more like a light rail gliding over a neon river at dusk.

What hits first is the confidence in the palette. Those glassy, bell‑like leads that Kuedo does so well return, but they don’t float free for long. They snap to a grid of taut kicks and finger‑flicked hi‑hats that nod to Atlanta and Chicago, then bloom into widescreen harmonies that could sit next to Vangelis or Jan Hammer without sounding nostalgic. It’s the trick he’s honed since 2011, turning trap kinetics into a transport system for synth romanticism, but here the engineering feels tighter. The bass is deep and cushiony, the snares tick like a tight watch, and there’s a clarity to the midrange that keeps every arpeggio shining through.

The sequencing helps. Infinite Window doesn’t sprawl. It sweeps. Themes recur, though not as quotations so much as echoes, as if you’re hearing the same skyline from a different vantage. Early tracks surge with crisp momentum, then he lets in more air, letting chords hang for a breath before the drums return. The back third shifts gears into something gently triumphant, a little warmer, as if the record is waving at the past without living there. It’s easy to picture Teasdale in the studio nudging tiny timing details until a synth phrase sits just ahead of the kick, then pulling it back a tick so it breathes, because the whole album carries that sense of micro‑tuned motion.

He’s always been a world‑builder, even when he worked in Vex’d’s cavernous pressure chambers, and Infinite Window keeps that storytelling alive without relying on obvious cinematic cues. No cheap thunderclaps, no jump‑scare bass drops. Instead, you get careful contrasts. Soft pad swells against brittle rimshots. Silvery counter‑melodies peeking out from behind a main theme, then stepping forward a few bars later. There’s a patience to it that rewards repeat listens. On headphones you notice little stepping‑stone notes leading into chord changes, or reverb tails that open like parasols, small pieces that make the big pictures feel earned.

Fans of Severant will hear the continuum, though this record is less dreamy and more directed. Those early Kuedo tapes had a hovering quality, like a camera tracking shot. Infinite Window tightens the frame and then moves faster. There’s still romance here, still the sense of looking up at something vast, but the ground under your feet is firmer. Maybe that’s the years of experience talking. By the time this album landed in 2022, Teasdale had spent more than a decade carving out his own lane in electronic music, leaving a clear trail for later travelers who liked their synths starry and their drums sharp.

It’s also an album that makes a strong case for picking up the physical. I grabbed the Kuedo vinyl after playing a store copy on a quiet afternoon and losing track of time somewhere around side B. The artwork suits the music’s cool gleam, and the mastering gives those low‑end swells a little extra reach that digital sometimes flattens. If you’ve been hunting for Infinite Window vinyl, it’s the kind of record that slots nicely between a cherished Planet Mu spine and your favorite Brainfeeder run, a sleek bridge from UK bass roots to high‑spec synth pop. If you haunt a Melbourne record store or dig through vinyl records Australia listings, it’s worth flagging. And if you like to buy Kuedo records online, don’t sleep, because his albums on vinyl tend to disappear and then jump in price.

The best thing, though, is how human it feels for such a polished work. There are moments where the harmony turns a shade sadder than you expect, then brightens, like sunlight shifting behind cloud, and those tiny mood swings give the album heart. That’s the enduring appeal of Kuedo for me. He writes music that stares at the future with clear eyes, then slips in a melody that makes you think about where you’ve been. Infinite Window is that feeling captured cleanly, a record that rewards late‑night sessions, early‑morning clears, and the occasional indulgent needle‑drop when you need to remember how modern electronic music can sparkle without losing its pulse.