When Carlos Niño sits behind an arsenal of percussion instruments, he isn’t there to create pockets, lay down grooves, or keep a strict meter; he’s laying out a billowing textural blanket for other instruments to settle upon. As he once described his process, he aims to open up the soundscape like a little forest, utilizing bells, metals, plants, wood, and wind. If he does create a pulse, it is organic and rhythmic in the way cicadas’ buzzing or the synchronization of fireflies on a summer evening might be. His playing expands and contracts at an intuitive pace, guiding both his collaborators and his listeners deeper into the moment.
On a day off from tour in November 2025, Niño visited the London studio of pianist and composer Duval Timothy. Having been mutual fans for years, the two finally connected in person to create something special. Timothy brings a buoyant, circular approach to the piano, layering clusters of chords that dissipate into the air before he lands on a simple, angular melodic figure. His work, often enhanced by tape-delay saturation and field recordings, evokes a complex blend of comfort and nostalgic anxiety.
Despite their shared musical sensibilities, the pair had never worked together until this serene, gray day spent improvising a soundtrack for the drizzly weather. Back in his home studio in Topanga, California, Niño refined the recordings, weaving in archival audio and overdubbing new parts from his & Friends universe. Timothy added further layers of keyboards and piano, resulting in rain music—a small, contemplative wonder that feels remarkably expansive within its minimal parameters.
The collaboration is a natural fit. Timothy’s expressive piano playing thrives when blurred by Niño’s shakers and cymbal swashes. On tracks like the spiritual jazz-inflected opener “assata’s rain” or the ambient wanderings of “ideations on rain”—both featuring regular Niño collaborator Nate Mercereau—rain music gestures toward the widescreen new age sound Niño often explores. It is, however, a quieter, more indoor take on that aesthetic, favoring solitary daydreaming over collective bliss.
Some of the album’s most compelling moments occur when Timothy’s playing is at its most orthogonal, cutting through Niño’s atmospheric drift. On “loopy,” Timothy repeats phrases with a sampler-like precision while Niño creates long-tailed wisps of sound with gongs and chimes. It is a mesmeric experience that highlights how intently the two musicians listen to one another.
The duo also invites rapper Navy Blue to appear on “beautiful, tender, colours.” His flow sits comfortably atop the gently rollicking piano, filling the spaces Timothy leaves behind. While his writing is evocative, the true draw remains the strange, metrical interplay between the two primary musicians. They feel inextricable; Niño’s reedy noise floor provides the necessary friction for the sturdy tone pillars Timothy constructs. Without that constant swish, one could imagine the piano feeling too stoic or brutalist.
While a few moments of atonal noodling on tracks like “bumpy” might feel more transcendent to play than to hear, the record ultimately finds a perfect balance. It closes with “birds, shells, rivets, keys,” a six-minute piece that is barely, beautifully there. Timothy ballets around a mournful chord progression while Niño meticulously sets the stage with one instrument at a time. As the rain dries up and the sun glints off the puddles, the album leaves the listener in a state of quiet reflection.