The most bewitching of all of the recent new releases to come from Hospital Productions, Industriale Illuminato is the latest full-length from NY driftmaster Jim Mroz, a former member of black metal outfit Dimentianon. With Lussuria, Mroz unfurls gorgeous, murky ambience that feels as if it draws equally from the sinister synthesizer suites of early 80s horror scores, the austere ebonized industrial of early Bianchi, and the gorgeous cinematic vistas of classic kosmische music. The result is intensely gorgeous driftscapes that haunt Lussuria's albums with spectral soundtrack-like atmosphere, blending field recordings and hushed, pensive vocals with coldly luminous melodies and a pervasive sinister vibe that soaks into the listener as each track flows seamlessly into the next. Electronics mingle with live drums and other instrumentation on Industriale Illuminato, as this shadow-drenched soundscape unfolds, glimmering with the murky melancholy of a score from a vintage late 70s cinematic ghost story, eerie piano and the sound of thunderstorms drifting from the swell and decay of shimmering cymbals, flowing out of the softly rumbling industrial haze of opener "Boneblack". That beautiful blast of grim ambience starts this off with an air of spiritual desolation, leading into album's spectral haze of echoing, cluttered beats and melodic apparitions, tracks stretching out into a dreamlike fog of dubby percussive rattling and bleary drones, bits of processed feedback curling around the chime of a delicate Japanese music box. Lysergic beats emerge beneath elliptic keyboards that rise out of tracks like "Daughters Of Enemies" like a John Carpenter composition, smeared with electro-acoustic detritus and ectoplasmic whirr. At times, Lussuria's dark and delirious dub-flecked ambience almost begins to resemble the ghostly slithering clank of a heavily drugged-up and time-stretched Scorn recording. Mostly, though, it's a dreamlike wash of amorphous sound, eerie whistling drifting out of shadows amid more of those murky washed-out synths and garbled tape loops that hover over the abyss, while fluttering rhythms slip in and out of clarity, and more of those mournful Carpenterian keyboards gleam from beneath the half-whispered lyrics, draped in the rich corroded hiss of field recordings and ambient room sound. Neither the funereal piano and keyboards that take shape on "Art Of Veins" nor the minimal rhythmic creep of "Breath Of Cinder" would have been too out of place on Carpenter's classic soundtrack to The Fog. Utterly gorgeous and ghostly, serenely sorrowful and surreal, this music continually threatens to move beyond the borders of dreams into the realm of nightmare, and yet even at it's darkest offers an intensely intoxicating listening experience. Highly recommended. On black vinyl, limited to seven hundred copies.