The otherworldly sound of Querkus is difficult to put to words. Synth arpeggios and string arrangement spiral like nebulas. Piano and guitar play with light and dark to create an expansive horizon over a mysterious, unknown landscape. There a timelessness to it, but a living timelessness like that of an ancient tree that laughs at time and continues to flow through its yearly cycles in its own unique way. The Celtic harp, at home in a Druid ceremony, is integrated with samples from eastern singers, instruments such as tabla percussion, and modern and vintage electronics. Lyrics often celebrate occult ideas, reverence to nature, or the exploration of the agnostic into the unknown. They are words borne on melodies that while raked with sadness maintain an adamant hope, like a single star in the night sky, that world is still a beautiful place regardless of how painful day to day life can seem as individuals. It breaks your heart and simultaneously makes you smile. This music is for the mind as well as the spirit. Complex rhythms intertwine in dizzying syncopation. A clear influence from classical music can be heard in the layered string arrangements, the intricate piano parts that borrow from Mozart and Beethoven, and the progressive, even pretentious use of discordant harmony. This is music to focus on and replay until its layers unfold. The complexity is part of its integral nature and Querkus is not about to dumb it down for anyone. Those who are up for the challenges of this music are taken up in its swirling, polyphonic sound on a psycadellic trip. There is a detour to the early days of 60s and 70s prog-rock experimentation, lead the way by the electric guitar that often screams out like a voice of doom to the paranoid. Querkus is an acquired taste, but once the habit is formed there is no going back.