“Felt Cover” sounds like technological wonder-birds chirping at the dawn of a new millennium sunrise. It sounds like something dark sitting idly by, waiting for moments yet to come when it will rear its ugly yellow head. It sounds like an ice-cream man driving a truck around an abandoned neighborhood looking for some Prozac. It sounds like science-fiction. It sounds like hypnosis. It sounds like love gone wrong. It sounds simply stunning

“Felt Cover” is a fifty-minute musical landscape, perhaps the aural equivalent of a Turner painting, where Charles Atlas’ sound is as much of an abstraction as the painted images on Turner’s canvas. Jared Matt Greenberg’s minor-keyed Wurlitzer brings to mind a somber lounge musician, that has somehow found symbiosis with alien musicians from the planet Perelandra. Charles Wyatt’s dabbles with electronic bleeps and atmospheric guitar sounds float over Greenberg’s sleepy keyboards, cello arrangements and occasional low, plodding drums that tie it all together. Here and there additions -such as a child’s voice, or a subtle, echoing whisper - add depth to the minimalist method and provide additional layers to dissect and analyze. Charles Atlas is like nothing you’ve ever heard before.