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The smallest thing can trigger it, at any moment. A word, a smell, a sound, and suddenly that mnemonic feeling of transportation to a lost memory, or a hidden place. Familiarity and recognition; someplace you’ve been before. Or have you? Maybe, just maybe, it’s not quite the place you expected. Enter the disorientating, evocative world that Magda has created, one that teeters on opposition: otherworldly but visceral, brutally dark with a warm sense of beauty and grace, sparse yet full-bodied and dense. Haunting electronic soundworlds that fall somewhere in-between reality and some sort of intangible dreamscape, brimming with nostalgic clues to the past and a curiosity-rousing sense of remembrance. Out of the memoirs of experience comes a lost chapter, an entire world tucked away for the right discoverer to find: the uncovering of thoughts From The Fallen Page. rom The Fallen Page is an engulfing, transportive album that takes listeners from one end of the spectrum to the other, treading the fine lines of extremities along the way. Starting with Get Down Goblin, a growling, dramatic entrance into her electronic voyage, the album bleeds into tracks of all shapes and sizes, from the swelling, eerie chords and solid rhythms of Lost In Time, to the oozy, bass-ridden Breakout, to the dynamic techy workout of Your Love Attack. And though the tracks sequence to tell a story, they all fall under the same alluring spell regardless of order: for instance, Music Box - a daydreamy soundworld filled with chilling chords and a lurid sense of dread (indeed, a music box from a dark past) - is a cinematic pairing to the dizzying builds and piano fills of Doom Disco, which sounds somewhere in-between a hand-clapping, bouncing club and an ancient, creaking haunted house. The funked-out, low-slung groove of Japan closes the chapter, a melancholic farewell immersed in soft, lush melodies. The darkly-tinged collection takes on a personal, animated effect as a result of entirely unique so