Raoul Sinier has always inhabited that strange borderland between the human and the machine - a digital shaman with paint under his fingernails. "Army of Ghosts" doesn’t just extend that mythology; it detonates it, scattering bits of its DNA across ten tracks that sound like the apocalypse dancing in 5/4 time. It’s an album that smells faintly of oil, regret, and fluorescent dreams.

As usual, Sinier does everything himself: production, mixing, visuals, vocals - the full mad laboratory. And the result is a soundscape where hip-hop’s golden-age sampling collides with warped prog, overdriven guitars, fractured funk, and a synthetic pulse that seems to remember IDM’s former glory but refuses to mourn it. His voice - half-murmur, half-incantation - floats above it all like a ghost giving advice to the living.

The opener, “Phony Tales”, sets the tone with bitter humor: Sinier sneers at false prophets and armchair revolutionaries, declaring himself a reluctant witness to humanity’s collapse. “Brace Yourself” is the rallying cry - or perhaps the obituary - for whatever’s left. The beats churn like gears grinding hope into vapor, and Sinier’s delivery feels like someone trying to warn the listener through a radio signal from the end of time.

Lyrically, this might be his most narrative work. Each song seems to be told by a different ghost - a translucent chorus of ex-humans reflecting on the ruins. “Translucent Skin” and “Walking Through Walls” in particular embody Sinier’s peculiar genius: songs that are conceptually bleak but musically exhilarating. He doesn’t wallow in despair - he stages it, lights it in neon, and makes it dance.

There’s also tenderness here, though buried deep under distortion. “Spectral Ocean” and “Distant Wildlife” offer glimpses of peace amid the chaos, where the ghost army pauses to watch what remains of life. These are the album’s quiet epiphanies - moments when Sinier’s machines sigh instead of scream. And then “Neon Sign” closes the album like an exhausted beacon, blinking its final message into a void that no one’s listening to.

"Army of Ghosts" feels like the natural evolution of Sinier’s long-standing fascination with digital melancholy - from "Brain Kitchen" to "Welcome to My Orphanage", he’s always been cataloguing the absurd coexistence of brutality and beauty. Here, he finds a strange equilibrium: a world beyond flesh and fear, where everything collapses gracefully.

It’s easy to hear this as a metaphor for our era - our algorithmic addictions, our virtual hauntings - but Sinier, ever the sly surrealist, refuses to give us a moral. He just invites us to join the spectral parade, to become another flicker in his haunted circuitry.