anatomy · of · distance

I recently heard a rather impressive track from a CD by one Francis Plagne, titled "Idle Bones". It's a sort of jaunty melodic art-pop with understated vocals, surrealistic lyrics, constantly changing instrument lines and musique-concrete elements, apparently made by a 17-year-old in a bedroom somewhere in Melbourne. From that one track (which was played on RRR's International Pop Underground a week or two ago), it sounds somewhere between Machine Translations and a bedroom Architecture In Helsinki.

It's out on Synaesthesia, whose online ordering facilities appear to be broken or nonexistent.