On paper, Soft Ice’s composition seems almost laughably simple. These six ambient pieces, which range in length from six-and-a-half to nearly eleven minutes, all pull from a relatively basic sound palette that consists primarily of murky clouds of pure synthesizer drift and piano notes so heavily reverbed, they seem to stretch well past the horizon.

Soft Ice contains some of Angela Klimek’s earliest ambient compositions, which might explain their simplicity. Even so, I’m hard-pressed to think of an album that better encapsulates what I desire most from ambient music: rich, evocative soundscapes suffused with emotion that completely envelop the listener.

Indeed, their simplicity is precisely what allows Klimek’s soundscapes to become so emotionally charged. That, and the fact that they were inspired by Klimek’s own childhood memories of Cleveland’s winters, from the gray skies and ice-covered Lake Erie to the sights and sounds of her favorite lakeside park covered in ice and snow. As such, Soft Ice possesses a wintry nostalgia that cuts me right to the quick every single time, particularly on songs like “Clouds of Breath,” “Southbound Formations,” and “The Park at Night,” which closes the album with slowly ebbing layers of synth-work that are as lush as they are majestic.

Klimek does venture into dark ambient territory on “Lake-Effect” and “When the Sun Is a Stranger,” but even then, it’s never ominous or harrowing. (Lustmord this most certainly is not.) It is, however, deeply immersive, particularly on headphones. The formless nature of Soft Ice’s compositions might seem the very definition of aural wallpaper that just fades into the background. (Not surprisingly, Soft Ice is a great sleeping aid.) But more often than not, I find myself captivated by Klimek’s music, and perfectly willing to lose myself within its snowy depths. I just need to remember to bundle up first.