Eternal Rhythm: Wilson Tanner

Somewhere between the lapping waves of the Australian coast and the late-night glow of an analog console, Wilson Tanner have carved out a world of hushed beauty. The duo—Andrew Wilson (of Andras) and John Tanner (of Eleventeen Eston)—aren’t interested in conventional structure or bombast. Their music exists in the liminal space between ambient drift and jazz-inflected relaxation, an uncanny zone where electronic soundscapes pulse with something organic, something undeniably human. Their first two records, 69 and II, weren’t just exercises in atmosphere—they were deep-listening invitations, portals to a place where the horizon never ends.

69, released in 2016, introduced Wilson Tanner as understated masters of restraint. It was music as landscape painting, each track layering soft synth washes with field recordings and weightless basslines. There were hints of Vangelis’ L’Apocalypse des Animaux, echoes of Gigi Masin’s aquatic minimalism, but Wilson Tanner’s approach felt looser, almost offhand, like a late-afternoon jam that accidentally turned into something transcendent. It was music for slowing down, for letting the world blur a little.

With 2019’s II, the duo took that ethos further, immersing themselves in the vastness of the ocean—both metaphorically and literally. Recorded on a boat adrift in the waters of the Arafura Sea, the album had a sense of weightlessness, a free-floating quality that made each note feel suspended in time. The sound of lapping water wasn’t just texture; it was part of the composition, an equal player in the delicate interplay of Rhodes chords, subtle synth melodies, and whispered percussion. It was the kind of album that rewarded patience, revealing new depths with every listen.

And now, Legends has arrived—not with grand proclamations or algorithm-fed spectacle, but in the same quiet, unhurried manner that has always defined Wilson Tanner. No press cycle, no rollout, no need. Just the music, drifting in like sea mist at dawn, carrying with it all the warmth and spatial grace of their earlier work, yet subtly expanded. The palette is broader, the textures more intricate, and yes, there’s a deeper sense of movement—a rhythmic undercurrent that feels less like propulsion and more like the slow push of tide against hull. This is not a reinvention, nor is it mere continuation. Legends is a deepening: of mood, of craft, of that ineffable sense of place the duo conjure so well. It doesn’t reach out—it waits. And in that waiting, it rewards.