Singer/songwriter David Sylvian's career spans a long and enigmatic scene of experimental rock and emotional restylings. Not one to fully absorb the conventional ways of a certain circuit, Sylvian is a realist musician. He is ambitious in molding his own catharses within layers of woodwinds, horns, and homegrown synth beats, and 1999's Dead Bees on a Cake was only a small cue to Sylvian's forthcoming work. The new millennium brought the release of the double-disc Everything and Nothing, a reflection of Sylvian's previously unreleased older material. Sonically gorgeous with vocals comparable to Bryan Ferry's, Everything and Nothing is a vastly expressive record of 29 tracks lost in the vaults of remixes, time, and creative changes; it is certainly a moving package of lush elevations and underrated wordplay. The two-disc set hums with eclectic instrumental constructions and tinges of Middle Eastern material, especially on tracks such as "Ride." "Pop Song" is more attractive with its abstract guitar riffs and whimsical synth loops, and "Some Kind of Fool," a long-lost Japan song intended to be on 1980s Gentlemen Take Polaroids, is electronically driven. It's naturally abrasive in lyrical poetry, and Sylvian's atmospheric nature to float over the initial song composition is classic. "Jean the Birdman" echoes the sultriness of Peter Murphy, but Sylvian is shiftless at the same time with his funkadelic mood. The textural differences among the cuts make Everything and Nothing particularly inviting, reflecting the wholehearted desire that continues to make David Sylvian a fresh contributor. He is surprising, professional, and unattached to what's common. Everything and Nothing is undoubtedly a firm recognition of Sylvian's musical wizardry.