Running her deep-synth project since 2013, Filiz Sert stands out like the one candlelit window on a dark Victorian crescent, and her name does a fair chunk of the work before anything has played. With a moniker like Kaosmos, the artistic manifesto is practically printed on her bio. Ol’ Zarathustra reckoned you need chaos inside you to give birth to a dancing star, and the Istanbul native seems to have read that less as philosophy than as a job description. Her last full-length album, 2021's Midnight Occults, was a noise-flecked séance that Scene Noise likened to electronic sorcery. Arisen is the same mind with the volume eased down and the lights left on, this time offered as a sonic illustration of dissolution towards becoming, frequencies drifting up out of nothing until they harden into something that wasn't there before. And it's quite apt, for the sound is relentlessly nocturnal and abyssal: warm, wiry analogue circuitry humming away like a generator left running in an industrial estate after fallout, hypnotic without ever verging on the soporific. "Limerence" opens the soundscaping theatre with a Rubycon-era Tangerine Dream bourdon, a more elemental take on the Berlin School’s customary psychopompic excursions into the cosmic unknown, while "Cool Cat In Praha" slides in cosily beneath a woolly Aphex Twin Monmouth cap. It's all very tidy, but what ultimately lifts the record is the playing. Sert leans on a filter until it sweats, lets a melody wander off and come back changed, and plays her machines like living things rather than preset menus, so the whole album pulls you under with a slow, bass-heavy gravity. The closing pair, "Reborn From Within" and "No Shadow Can Hide The Sun", promise a measure of resolution at a gradual unfurling, and they deliver. Mood alone is cheap in a contemporary Euro-electronic scene awash with it. But here the atmosphere is load-bearing, and that makes sense relative to Sert's training in the Western classical tradition long before she tinkered with a Moog. This might strike readers as an eye-rolling opportunity to discuss the dimensions of the Apollonian and the Dionysian, but I've already laboured the thesis in many a column, and describing Kaosmos in purely abstract terms would rather undermine the palpable materiality of Sert’s musical oeuvre anyway. Whoever has caught her live will recognise this sternum-rattling effect, since her sets are known to transform a room into something of an ambient aircraft hangar, and Arisen sounds like that room bottled and asked to behave. My only reservation is that, at thirty-five minutes, the album feels slightly too short; otherwise, nothing is squandered. Good soup.