This music belongs somewhere. Late summer afternoons, English pre-twilight and the old house that could do with some work. You walk along the edge of the lake and catch the scent of jasmine. The voices are still out there, all these years later, singing something you remember. Savaging Spires (and their true identity is still somewhat shadowy) have created a world of sound where old ghosts can walk freely through these sunny grounds and impart equal doses of dread and joy.