There is a compulsion that comes with music writing to pin an artist down, to articulate exactly what they are doing with their work, what existing niche they are occupying, or what new niche they are carving out for themselves. This is, in one way, a necessary compulsion, but also one fraught with complications and pitfalls. Assigning labels and categories can be an invigorating practice, especially when you feel you have gotten it exactly right. But that bullseye is usually fleeting at best, and at worst nonexistent. Whatever haphazardly calcified representation you have invented is just a dulled and deadened shadow of the actual listening experience, and the music itself, indifferent to your verbose concerns, carries on without you.

This dilemma reaches a particular apex for me now, with the ever-shifting works of Montreal producer CFCF. As I sit down with multiple tabs open on my browser, attempting to grasp the crux of his prolific output, to prove my abilities as an adept captor of “the vibe,” I have never felt more like my efforts are futile. I’ve collected just a brief list of influences associated with his work: Burial, Fleetwood Mac, Phil Collins, David Sylvian, Steve Reich, Brian Eno, Laraaji, and even fashion designer Yohji Yamamoto. Does any of this amateur note-taking help me contextualize his newest release Radiance and Submission for you? Not really, no. The only paltry conclusion I can provide for readers from my research is this: Michael Silver is a living, breathing human being, whose tastes and inspirations, like anyone else’s, change over time. Okay, no duh. What am I doing here, again?

The only option, left, really, is to talk about Radiance and Submission as its own thing. Yet that proves impossible for the same reasons. What is there to compare it to, besides a feeling that is only compelling because it is ineffable? And cataloging its sounds, drily presenting a record of warm synths, distant buzzing, languid plucks on an acoustic guitar—that just feels like a disservice, and a borderline violent one at that, like a callous vivisection. In fact, in reading others’ thoughts on CFCF, the only real consensus I can find between them all is that Silver does one particular thing incredibly well—that is, put together from separate parts an entity that is monolithically unnamable. “Cinematic” is a word that gets thrown around. Because—I think—people have such trouble assessing his work as music, in a traditional sense, that assessing it as another art form entirely seems to be the only escape.

But it’s really just a dead end. With every release and every step forward into surprising new territory, CFCF only makes categorization more difficult, and Radiance and Submission is no exception. In fact, this particular release is the strongest example yet, its evasion from any worded capture as strong independently as it is in relation to his other works. At a certain point, I have to just take a step back and admit defeat: the music has beat the music writing. Radiance and Submission leaves me with only four words: “Just listen to it.” And at the end of the day, when you have a music writer saying that, you’ve really won the game, haven’t you?

Radiance and Submission is out now via Driftless Recordings. Pre-order it here.