You could call this ambient music, or Kosmische; it's certainly indebted to Tangerine Dream and Klaus Schulze. But it also sounds unusually original, which is a word you don't get to use so often. I'm tempted to say that it's an unusually tactile music, as though you could hear Lopatin feeling his way across the surfaces of his machines. (It is, without a doubt, incredibly sensuous music.) But I'm not sure that that's true, either, given the way the sounds so often seem to materialize out of thin air. Having softened his attacks and smeared his notes into indefinite shapes, he seems to sever the music from any kind of causality, so that it simply floats freely, morphing, rippling in a dance of infinite regeneration, like some perfect lifeform.