Nick Drake, Jeff Buckley.. How many deaths will it take 'til people wake up?

There's a DCV (deadly comprehension virus) going around that's robbing us of genius. We only worship, respect and want to look after these prophets when they're long gone. Y'see, or rather you don’t see, these people who understand the hardest challenge of all to fathom: what it is to love. These people bottle pure emotion and pain. Falsettos dust over pianos played by the blood of garrotted angels, leaking onto the obsessively clean keys. Whilst soft strings stretch shadows to the horizon. And the hum of the world rumbles in the distance. Not that you people of the world ever seem to stop and notice.

"So leave me homeless, leave me naked, leave me never-ending.."

Go on, kick yourself!

Now, are you sitting comfortably? Then we shall begin…

Just over a year or so ago Maximillian Hecker laid down his debut album. It sounded like the soundtrack to a monochrome, melancholy, Disney movie - with voice-overs from Winona Ryder and Johnny Depp - depicting stalkers blowing poisonous kisses and sending astoundingly-beautiful and unique poetry to those girls that no-one else ever seems to notice, who live their lives like background noize. Little much has drastically changed. Not that you people will notice. Or care.

When I say little has changed, I mean it's still a work of quiet, pouty, poetry in motion. Pure genius. Whereas the debut 'Infinite Love Songs' was a lake lit by moonlight, 'Rose' is encircled by candlelight and fireflies, and dizzied by repetitive Virgin Suicide viewings. It's pure pain too. And for the record, this isn't bitter music, it's dampened by unrequited love and heartbreak, shyeah (what 'art' ain't?) but there is slithering optimism, neon-greenly muddying the stagnated tears. If you listen gingerly and lissen good, there's sprinkles of joy and epiphany to find, even by track two, 'I Am Falling Now' the zealous heart slices of "Hold me now, heal my wounds" revolve like smiling ice skaters.

This really isn't ALL daisy chains, love letters and Sunday morning tumbles yuhknow. Nor is life. The album is most likely based on a million glances with beautiful strange-rs and imagined experiences that even Maximillian, isn't quite sure if they're authentic anymore.

This is not for the weak hearted.

This is a voyage through assorted emotions, along the varying edges of silence and space in sound. Opens with elegant piano and closes with a cremating crescendo of feedback. Everything in-between varies in shade and tone. 'My Love For Your Is Insane' is the work of a disturbed mind (durrr!) with a computer-generated speed-garage bumpy beat, muffled and vaccinated with violins. 'Powderblue' is confessionally "full of gloom" and it's quite possibly a tale of necrophila. But understanding love isn't just about the generic pizza date, a pilfered compliment, then sex; there's so much more to appreciate. And yeah, I'll admit, German romantic, Maxi, clearly isn't the most in love with the world, smiley guy, you're ever gonna meet, but those people are boring, dull and ignorant to beauty. Blessed be: the nihilist, the philosopher, the insomniac, the tortured soul.