Recorded using source material from recycled church tapes with additional pedal steel and guitar(s) swell and bloom within a cavernous lo-fi mist of nostalgia, Every swell is a lost memory.

First release with no below editions in collaboration with Lofgren and Erickson started with an intimate story of Stephen's grandmother Rose's diagnosis and fall into Alzheimer's. The pull of the two rose blooms creating a line of tension surrounded by a haze of static is muffled by the arching waves of the dark, incised drypoint lines. The clarity of the rose becomes scondary to the noise surrounding it. The title I Don't Know How Much Longer I Can Hold This, referencing the moments before detonation in Terminator 2, echos a breaking point or a letting go that Stephen channels in the 6 minute composition.

"Beautiful atmospherics" - Podcart

"Very beautiful, certainly a great fit" - Music Dances When You Sleep

"Great guitar and electronic work" - The Slow Music Movement

"Beautiful intro and intensity here" - riccardopietri

"There's such an evocative soundscape" - Various Small Flames

"Leaning into some beautiful ambient country, floating drone work, Swim Ignorant Fire’s “I Don't Know How Much Longer I Can Hold This" pierces the vale with some nimbus pedal steel that sounds like morning fog being burnt away by the sun. The thing that really holds this together, and you don’t hear this often in an ambient composition, is the bass line. Sparse in the beginning and then opening into a simple yet profound presence later on. Recorded during the pandemic and dedicated to his grandmother with Alzheimer’s, “I Don't Know How Much Longer I Can Hold This" is a track to return to over and over. " - TOME TO THE WEATHER MACHINE