Bells and double reed winds are prominent within the first section of "Agents of Altitude".  Oboes and bassoons have long been placed in the context of otherworldly, surreal music.  At first, they sound long, haunting tones, and later begin fluttering and bleating wildly.  A swell of toned e-bow feedback is gradually woven into the texture.  The thick drone wavers like images seen through smoke, and grows to massive proportion as the feedback reaches higher, becomes more dissonant, and is augmented by a choir.  It is an at least partially improvised piece, to be sure, but it seems likely that the recordings were precisely arranged and mixed after the fact to create a specific progression.

The 2nd piece has a more melancholic, desolate tone, and sounds a bit like Alio Die, with faint murmers of instrumental playing, wisps of chord progressions disconnected from each other in an unstructured, acqueous mire.  As time goes on, a drumset asserts itself with a steady beat.  The feeling becomes primitivist and tribal as layers of percussion build, and double reeds once again appear.  One could imagine that this rhythm is the cadence of an army's march.

This music is clearly influenced by everything from industrial, ritual ambient and drone to 20th century classical, orchestrated soundtrack music, and jam and post rock, among others.  It would be hard to classify it as anything, and yet it seems there are a great many recordings straddling these boundaries in this day and age.  I can't object, as the music seems very focused and purposeful, never lacking the detail and depth to fully transport the listener's mind.  It's a good thing, I think, for the world of high-brow art music and angry punked out experimentalism to be fully merged.

Smith is described as a percussionist in his bio, and although there is certainly percussion of various kinds on this album, it is not a heavily rhythmic album, and the most percussive sounds are often tucked back into the mix, providing subtle compliments to the long drifts and swells.  The final piece, title track "Remoteness of Light" contains notable use of timpanis.  The end of the track is a storm of hand drum rhythms, and even contributes some funky electric guitar straight out of 80's post punk.

Any fan of Guapo's less accessible material, such as the austere, dissonant drones of "Elixir", would likely be comfortable with this disk immediately.  It has the same sense of dread and formidable import, and some of the same instrumental timbres.  If you're looking for riffs and rapidly paced, note heavy music, however, there is none of it here.  Certainly some listeners may find this album lacking in reassuring warmth or any sense of peace or well being, as well; I would recommend it to those already comfortable with forboding and dissonant forms of orchestrally derived ambience.  It is a shamanic journey that moves far within those realms of the other in which the sheer massiveness of nature's mystery steals away all sense of safety.