Laptop and software sound processors, all dissenting opinions to the contrary, deny Alexander the Great's cause for weeping�such technology has demonstrated there are indeed an infinite amount of brave new worlds to conquer. Many doors were flung wide and imaginations left unbridled after the advent and subsequent unveiling of the modern, revolutionary (read: affordable, acquirable) synthesizer. The next step in that revolution has been the adaptability of the personal computer and the barrage of softwares designed for it, ushering in the next phase of individualistic sound design and production. Forgive the stating of the obvious, but never before has the lone artist been so empowered, aided by technology's greatest enabler. Yes, there are those who have succumbed to simple number crunching, data jockeys futzing about in code they don't understand to the service of "music" that's been fairly readymade for them-modern day mouseketeers for the new age. A select few have done what any artist worth his or her salt would with such formidable tools-use them with care, clean hands, and composure.

Darren McClure is the latest new kid on the block. He's no doubt stuffed himself to the gills with all the hot new gadgets (figuratively speaking) and drunk deep of colleagues from whom he's stylistically assimilated (Room40's and 12k's brethren instantly leap to mind, some late period Ritornell issues, and there are countless others). They say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery-judging from Softened Edges, McClure's sublime debut, he's not produced a document of earth-shattering innovation, but it's still a helluva piece of pillowy ear-craft. These nine proto-"ambient" works take field recordings of McClure's urban surroundings as their template, get washed through various digital arrays, and come out as giddy new wonders, the better to work their magic through your aural canals.

All the tracks are of a similar stripe, but that isn't the rub�it's the subtle affectations that count, the recontextualizing of the samples, the processing of basic sonic detritus in the origination of something borrowed, something new, something wonderful, and something blue. Is McClure simply dabbling in the datasphere? No, there's delicate, considered movements at play here (it apparently took six months between source recording and literal finalization). And it shows: "Pink River" imagines a trek through a bird sanctuary situated next to a digital arboretum that mimics the ornithological squawks with its own flock of buzzgulls, bits of gauzy machine noise flapping wings. "Tunnel Talk" makes the most of fat test tone loops and the patter of acid rain on steel pavement; "Lab Pin" is simply gorgeous gamelan ambience, McClure lifting cues from the most abstract corners of Jon Hassell's fourth world (minus the trumpet). Irruptions of scattershot fuzz and buzz alight "Low in the Sky", shuffling off into the distant twilight as crystalline synths parse a crushed velvet tableau, closing the disc on a surfeit of melancholia. McClure's mined a rich seam on Softened Edges that isn't anywhere near clich�-there's many miles to go before he sleeps. And the fact that the disc is pressed in micro-quantities of 100 means you'd better hurry before it shucks this mortal coil.