On Moon, Simon Rose and Nicola Hein dissolve boundaries between structure and flux in a dialogue of saxophone and radical guitar. The recording opens with restrained breaths, Hein’s electronically-inflected guitar rendering flickering fields beneath Rose’s gravelly timbres. Each improvisation is defined by its feeling of suspension—never static, yet never in a hurry. Hein’s pedal textures and Rose’s phrased exhalations converge in unpredictable forms, shaped as much by curiosity as by contrast. The album’s sound world is elemental and ghostly, rooted in attentive interplay rather than spectacle. Layers surface and submerge quietly, with gestures that reward sustained attention. For those compelled by the possibilities of timbre and subtlety in improvisation, Moon stands as a testament to the power of openness and mutual listening, while sidestepping easy reference points or climactic tropes.