There’s a moment on All the World is Running on a Mystic Code—somewhere in the middle of “Clockwork”—when the external world seems to fall away. The streets of Mullingar dissolve into metaphor, and we’re left with the unnerving weight of waiting. This isn’t new territory for Peter Doran, whose previous records have flirted with existential reflection, but here, he pushes further, crafting an album that feels like a whispered secret carried on wind.

Musically, the album walks a careful line between folk formalism and ambient experimentation. “Floodlights” is almost hymnal in its restraint, while “Steamboat Captain” feels like a fever dream from a forgotten sea voyage. These shifts are deliberate and effective; Doran uses space like another instrument, allowing songs to breathe and expand naturally.

At its core, the album is concerned with presence—being present during uncertainty, in grief, in love. The lyrics often toe the line between literal and allegorical: “God Bless the Now and Evermore” closes “Never Say Goodbye” with the cadence of an old prayer, but it’s also a challenge to live in the moment, even when that moment is unbearable.

If there’s a drawback, it’s that some tracks—particularly in the second half—dip into a uniformity of tone that could benefit from more risk. But this is a minor quibble in a work that’s otherwise cohesive and emotionally resonant.

Doran isn’t interested in spectacle. Instead, he gives us something much harder to come by: clarity. All the World is Running on a Mystic Code is a slow-burning, richly realized statement from an artist who has mastered the art of stillness.

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