In a performance economy where venues are closing, governments and universities are withdrawing support and decent money is scarce, performers and composers alike have started playing their own work themselves, and beyond that, developing ‘sets’: a concert's worth of material that can be repeated on a somewhat regular basis in more informal settings, rather than a piece that must be rehearsed to a particular execution for a climactic premiere. While some might look at the increase in improvisation, ambience and open-ended forms in new-music concerts in the past decade as a sign of diversification, there is also something to be said for how new music's de-institutionalisation has pushed composers and performers into media beyond the fully composed work. And while, like many innovations thought up by workers in a sector closing in on them, this scene's new standard has produced refreshing changes to our culture, it is ultimately an unhealthy situation for creativity when artists are disincentivised from large-scale collaboration, from long periods of writing and revision and from exploring the entire spectrum of indeterminacy and fixity.

In this context, Zeynep Toraman's tape In a Dark House is an achievement even beyond the obvious pleasure of its apperception. Toraman has as academic a composition pedigree as one can get and a relatively supported artistic scene in her home of Berlin, and yet she has released an album with four tracks of ambient, open-ended electronic material, alongside images of her leaning over a laptop, focused on in-the-moment performance at the live release show. These aesthetic choices are, obviously, also just that: choices, not last resorts, and there is something to be said for the scene capital a composer gains from having a versatile practice. In this environment that incentivises the fleeting, Toraman is to be commended for producing an album that leans into contemporary social practices of the new-music scene while also being uniquely well crafted and composed.

The tape's four tracks are ‘Poems’, ‘Nocturnes’, ‘Chimes’ and ‘Gardens’, and from the opening fade-in we can hear Toraman's decision-making clearly. In the liner notes she describes herself as a curator and archivist ‘rather than a musician’. This is heard in how discrete, clearly chosen and diverse the sonic materials are, from Alvin Lucier-esque sine tones to pastoral field recordings to clubby synth pads. The tape itself, part of a lovely package from label Obscure & Terrible, is also made of a crisp clear plastic that fully reveals the magnetic tape itself, bringing an archival aesthetic. (I did not get a tape as I have no tape machine and I refuse, I refuse! But the tape does look lovely.)

I bristle when composers describe themselves as something other than ’composer’, not because I think ‘composer’ is worth defending or preserving on its own, but because I think ‘archivist’ functions more as a rhetorical signal than a practical description, playing at an outside genre to insiders while still preserving one's original expertise in the eyes of outsiders. No matter what the liner notes say, though, Toraman's capital-A Artistry is present throughout the album. It is spare in such a way as to be clear she stands firmly behind her sounds. Although the language is ambient, it is not ‘set it and forget it’: there are clear starts and stops that reward a listener's attention.

‘Poems’ is the star track on the album, but not by much. It feels more like stanzas, Toraman letting gorgeous chords rest and bloom before positioning a new timbre, at just the right time, right in the middle of our gaze. This approach could be wispy but instead feels like you are being set down, gently and firmly. ‘Nocturnes’ is machinic but massaged, a human hearing machines as music. Toraman has a knack for taking sine-wave beating and making a quick, intense moment out of it, recalling Lucier again, but this is very much her own. The track ends with a healthy period of waiting, a respect for those of us who want to sit listening to it a little more.

‘Chimes’, half the length of the other tracks at five minutes, contains the only material credited to a musician, samples of Julie Michael's viola, which is beautifully played and mixed but stands out a bit, telling a little too much of the story. Although brief, the track pushes and pushes; it plays with presence and with shadows. It is disquieting but in a way we were set up for by the music preceding it. What was veiled is briefly in front of us; the machine we listened to in ‘Nocturnes’ is now one we depend on or operate.

The entire tape is sonically very tactile: it tickles the ears, right down to the muted cricket samples in the final track. ‘Gardens’ is made of stalls and glitches, the longest track on the album and a worthy ending. After 38 minutes, the tape's arc feels traditional, but in a very satisfying way that embraces and respects the listener.

In a genre from which intentionality is being withdrawn, In a Dark House is an album that is part ambient, part electronica and wonderfully intentional. It will reward your time and perk you up. Toraman's concert-music career continues apace, but with this project she has shown her ability to look into alternate forms of performing and recording and produce top-quality work with patience and expertise.