In Emily St. John Mandel’s novel Sea Of Tranquility, a glitch in reality causes several moments across time to converge into one: the green of a forest, the whoosh of a lunar airport, a violin coda dragged across centuries. The effect on characters is a hallucinatory sense of dislocation caused by inhabiting multiple emotional and physical time zones at once, a kind of cosmic jetlag. Julie Byrne’s third album, ‘The Greater Wings’, arrives similarly bound by the weight of its own past and future, fixed at two of the same looping, interlocking entry points.

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