Black Avalanche feels like it was designed for late hours. Not the frantic kind, but the lonely, drifting ones when the streets are empty and the city hums like an engine cooling down. One Hundred Moons has crafted an album that feels nocturnal in the purest sense. These nine tracks glow softly in the dark, full of vapor, memory, and hypnotic rhythm.

The title track sets the tone immediately. It enters quietly, more presence than song at first, like a silhouette forming slowly behind a pane of frosted glass. A soft cloud of reverb fills the frame. The rhythm is sluggish in the best possible way, moving at the pace of someone wandering without a destination. It is easy to get caught in its orbit.

Death of the Party picks up from there with more forward motion but keeps the shadows intact. There is a hazy vintage aura around the rhythm, like a faded postcard of something once glamorous. The melody feels both distant and familiar, like a memory resurfacing unexpectedly.

Ear to Ear disrupts that calm. The guitars scrape and clash, creating a maze of sound that feels slightly off-balance. It is the moment where the dream shifts from serene to strange. One Hundred Moons understands how to use discord without losing musicality. The harmonies float above the chaos like a faint guiding light.

Chairman of the Bored is one of the album’s quiet highlights. It glides rather than walks. The atmosphere is soft enough to feel fragile, as if the whole track could evaporate if you listened too closely. It sets up the emotional drop that follows in Shade of the Night. This is the album at its most vulnerable. The track sinks inward, pulling the listener into a deeper, more intimate darkness.

House of Mirrors softens the descent. The song looks backward through a softened lens, full of gentle melancholy. It feels like someone trying to make sense of a past version of themselves. There is a sense of acceptance in the tone, a slower exhale after the tension of the previous tracks.

Then comes Into Nowhere, a finale that blooms outward like a deep-space signal. The distortion folds over itself until it becomes a soft roar. It feels infinite, peaceful, and strangely reassuring, like staring at lights on the far edge of a horizon.

What makes Black Avalanche such a compelling nighttime record is how carefully it balances atmosphere and intention. The band never rushes. Every song feels hand-shaped, measured, and deliberate. The influences are clear but never dominant. You can hear My Bloody Valentine’s swirling haze, Radiohead’s emotional depth, and the drifting qualities of classic dream pop.

But the album avoids imitation. Instead, One Hundred Moons lets each track sit inside its own tiny universe. Some are comforting, others unsettling, but all feel connected by the same late-night glow. Black Avalanche is a record for people who like music that fills the room without raising its voice. It is introspective, immersive, and full of beautiful shadows.

Put it on after midnight. Let it slow your pulse. Let it guide you through the quiet.