Tom Soloveitzik’s Air 2011 is an ode to human insignificance, a love letter to the cosmic confusions that rock us every day, a deconstructive distortion of time and space. The recordings were precipitated after a strange experience Soloveitzik had upon returning home to London, in which he “was thrown back to the memories of moments and sounds from [his] first stay, as if [his] personal timeline had shrunk and time had folded into itself.” Shrinking and folding are just two ways to describe the forcefully structural actions Soloveitzik performs on his sound materials, which largely consist of an arsenal of saxophones and portable recorders. Brief opener “Two Jets Over Tahrir square” works with a Seth Cooke-like polarity of external exhalation and interior electronics, while “B-Park Blues (for Toshiya Tsunoda)” echoes works by the title-honored artist such as Snared 60 Cuts or Ridge of Undulation as a closely recorded noteless saxophone breath mimics claustrophobic urban wind currents atop the spacious sonic environment of an outdoor park. The disparate and opposite are forcibly affixed to each other, creating stubborn paradoxes while our minds attempt to reconcile yawning gaps in the physicality of the recording: the dark, bottomless, uncrossable chasms between our selves and the universe.