Moon-shots had become routine by the time Gene Cernan walked on our satellite's surface in 1972, pottering about in the TV background where Neil Armstrong had inspired wonder only three years before Improvising to archive tape including NASA transmissions, Cope restores the space age's sense of rickety, risky grandeur, as humanity burst Earth's bounds. ‘Sputnik’ starts the journey in 1957, Cope's soprano sax circling like the satellite America's missions reach a nadir with Apollo 1's launch-pad fatalities in ‘Fire’, Rob Luft's guitar distorting as earlier excitement becomes an elegy Cope's warm tone then seems to entwine around Apollo 11's rocket in ‘Neil’, before soaring up then plunging down in combustible discord. The matey professionalism of Mission Control reacts to the Eagle landing: “You got a buncha guys about to turn blue, we're breathing again, thanks a lot.” This same bland tone chills in later, life or death chat, as Apollo 13 narrowly dodges doom. Elliot Galvin wracks his own resourceful imagination to pick out what could be a Civil War tune during the lunar surface interlude of ‘Magnificent Desolation’. This is mostly spare music which maintains a delicate touch, letting static and antique transmissions crackle around it. Cope keeps out of the way of his winning concept, as the ghosts of lunar adventure cast their own spell.