From its very first shimmer, Nova Atlantis feels like a threshold slowly brightening, a sonic coastline where centuries meet and dissolve into one another rather than remaining neatly on opposite shores. Miako Klein, moving between Baroque violin, recorder, and electronics, and Jia Lim, tending a replica harpsichord entwined with circuitry, do not merely revive the past or ornament the present. They braid them into a single breathing organism whose pulse is at once archival and prophetic. The album drifts outward from Francis Bacon’s unfinished 1626 vision of a knowledge-bound utopia, yet it refuses the posture of illustration. Instead, Bacon’s imagined