The second in a series of EPs from Terre Thaemlitz, 1994, with almost half an hour of gorgeous, bleary-eyed dreamweaving that slots in the all-time sublime alongside The Art Of Noise’s ‘Moments In Love’, on vinyl for the first time, in two extended versions.

EP2 in the ‘Tranquilizer’ reissue series gives new afterlife to the curtain closer of Terre’s debut album with a previously unheard extended mix, and that gorgeous Art of Noise style version that also recalls SAW II-era AFX x Bryn Jones on a deep one. Both sides scroll right back to a nascent Terre, sensitively feeling out a sound between the tumultuous summer of ’93 and spring of ’94, in the years after she’d carved a name for herself as an influential deep house DJ in Manhattan’s queer bars and clubs.

Terre’s debut album ‘Tranquilizer’ would emerge as a reflective antidote to club pressures with a lushly melancholic, deeply atmospheric suite intended to cushion bodies and minds in a vein spawned by the dreamy collages of The KLF’s ‘Chill Out’ album in 1990, and further developed by a rhizome of international artists including Terre’s Instinct labelmate Dave Moufang (Move D), and the likes of The Orb, AFX, and many others whose work endures to this day.

‘Fina-Departure (Original Long Version)’ extends the balmy, beat-less scene of woozy keyboards, cicadas and swooping crop-duster planes to twice as long, with what we detect as a personal frisson of melancholy/nostalgia for the Midwest planes of Missouri, Kansas, where Terre grew up. The flipside’s ‘Fina’ feels like a hidden level addendum to the album, where night settles on the plains as distant drumming mingles in the hot air to form an utterly timeless scenario reminding us of the stark drum passages of Aphex Twin’s ‘Selected Ambient Works’ or the kind of ritualistic ambient pursued in Stroom reissues of ‘90s Pablo’s Eye. Aye, it’s a special one.

Some words from Terre:

Up until 1984 or so, there used to be a Fina gas station on North Glenstone Avenue in Springfield, Missouri. Sitting on the floor inside was a cardboard box filled with records for $1.00. It was a way station for unwelcome electronic music in a town of bluegrass, gospel and rock'n'roll. Neuromantic by Yukihiro Takahashi, Vapor Drawings by Mark Isham, Vistamix by Bill Nelson.... Albums that had strayed outside their intended distribution systems, only to get lost on old Route 66.

I was a faggy, gender-bending teen similarly stranded in that town ironically nicknamed the "Queen City of the Ozarks." Daily life consisted of being ritually bashed in public, and defeated by psychotic family dynamics in private. With nowhere to go, I drove aimlessly in a 1960 Ford Falcon woven of rust, dents and torn upholstery. Baby blue, four door, three-on-the-tree manual transmission. A little-old-church-lady car with a color coordinated baby blue rosary hanging from the rear view mirror. On the back seat sat a boombox for playing home recorded cassettes. I checked in on the box at Fina whenever possible, offering records a chance to depart. Between the gas and music, the kindly staff at that fueling station variously offered me the same. At the end of the day, that was our unspoken agreement.