“The Dreaming Tree” is a question mark of sound poetry, for its aesthetics almost feel an attempt at parody: its pared-down, souped-up sound design, sparse, artificial, has the airy, almost bionic quality of a techno track cut out of a DJ’s cassette or CD collection. It seems, then, to be a clue as to what Erskine is trying to do with this unusual period of production magic. The bulk of the album is made up of just three instrumental tracks, with the DJ’s vocals barely audible over the chaos. It’s a strange listening experience getting lost among this more subtle accompaniment.

The DJ’s voice occasionally grunts or croons over a rough-edged industrial techno beat, signalling a bit of technical skill in the mix. Other times it’s just a bit too late for that. On “The Gremlin” and “The Ghost Of Public Image”, Erskine’s vocal is slotted into grime tropes, while others – like on “Caveman” – are more overtly surrealist. It’s jarring, to the point where I regularly switch off altogether. That's not a criticism: it’s a deliberate move into a more abstract territory, perhaps an attempt to become more abstract.

On “Noel” the drums finally kick in, bringing to mind the more melodic productions of early Beastie Boys. Erskine’s voice floats towards the foreground as the groove builds; the DJ’s voice, too, has a vague melodic hesitance as the tempo slides, with a bit of the old-fashioned range of “Noel, Noel, Noel”.

The dreamy, even psychedelic “Noel” is the closest Erskine comes to reggae; a sparsely sampled loop of wind instrumentation, hiss, a mordant melody, and a static beatline. The DJ’s voice does too, as the track slowly builds to a late 1960s-style crescendo.