Birds quietly chirp in the peripheries of "Parcel" and voices drift through as ghostly blurs, but otherwise these ten pieces are more or less synths and drum machines wrapped in subtle tape hiss. The music's timbral qualities are plenty engrossing, and the way Velarde loosely arranges her instruments only amplifies the allure. Arpeggiations swirl kaleidoscopically in "Bote," as harmonies flicker in the distance and pockmarks of distortion crinkle on the surface. "Memo" then inverts the piece as a sort of surreal synth pop, bringing structure to the mercurial tones with a soft bass pulse and cyclical drum patterns. The beatless "Wind" lilts and glimmers as it floats in the air, while "Gaze" bobs hypnotically through interwoven loops. With their one-word titles and uninterrupted flows, each song feels like a living world unto itself.
Non-electronic instruments also surface throughout the album—a piano is buried in "Parcel," a detuned guitar jangles in "Hoopla," and faint resemblances of horns, chimes, strings and woodwinds appear. They bring a sense of reality and humanity to the boundless, otherworldly music. Coming from an artist who has long been interested in location-specific recordings and performances, Parcel sounds surprisingly placeless and somewhat remote. But in creating her own spaces for a change, Velarde has uncovered somewhere well worth inhabiting.