In Pitchfork’s new column, Schnip’s Picks, editor Matthew Schnipper identifies unheralded music and sings its praises. For the first edition, he looks at Gavin Russom and Delia Gonzalez’s 2005 album, The Days of Mars.

Watching LCD Soundsystem play “Saturday Night Live” in May, I thought, Who is that keyboard player in the little brown fez? Over James Murphy’s shoulder, she was doing this weird skank, having the time of her life. It was not until the next day, when the world became similarly besotted with her performance through a variety of GIFs, that I realized this new member was an old one: Gavin Russom, longtime LCD compatriot and stalwart electronic producer. I’d failed to recognize Russom, whose work I’d followed closely for the past decade. Perhaps I was not alone. Shortly after the “SNL” performance, Russom told the world she is transgender.

Russom’s statement, and the relief present in it, made her “SNL” exuberance seem even greater. The outpouring of support for her was encouraging and exciting to witness. All the attention she garnered talking about gender is likely much greater than any she’s received in the past for her music. As a longtime supporter, I had to chuckle a little; perhaps this news might draw some attention to Russom’s extensive catalog of really excellent house tracks in a way my various praise over the years never could.

In her interview about being transgender, Russom said her gender identity and her music have always been intertwined. “Retroactively, this is a thread that goes through my entire body of work,” she told us. “It’s an interesting way to listen to it if you weren’t already getting that.” Putting her music through that prism, what changes? With minor exceptions, her music doesn’t have any words. What has she been trying to communicate? Russom said that coming out as trans now allows her to be a “whole person.” Could she have been using a different kind of malleable language, a way to communicate without labels or pronouns? If you don’t have to categorize yourself, can it be easier to be who you are? Perhaps it’s a safe way to share what is secret without having to say it.

Russom has remained present in my mind since her story was published, and I’ve revisited much of her music, including a personal favorite, The Days of Mars, her collaborative album recorded with producer Delia Gonzalez. It’s four songs; on vinyl, it’s a double LP with one song per side, plenty of space for each track to spread out. It’s ambient music at heart, though calling it techno wouldn’t be wrong, either. Neither genre, though, had much of a toehold in indie culture when it was released in 2005, somewhat incongruously, on James Murphy’s DFA label, then best known for introducing the indie world to the pleasures of disco. The Days of Mars feels like it’d rather introduce you to meditation and the films of John Cassavetes. The record consists of repetitious, coiled notes plodding along underneath long sci-fi tones, reminiscent of the late 1960s work of Terry Riley, plunged into an acid bath. The music swells, ascending, like steam. It generally feels positive and energetic in the way a tough workout does, struggling to get through while pushing for that reward of finally being spent.

There are so many moments of ecstasy in The Days of Mars, but they always come with an undercurrent of turmoil. Listening, unknowingly, we were part of the push and pull between Russom’s inner and outer life. In sound, that translated as a beautiful type of blossoming. Speaking to me in 2008 about her next project after The Days of Mars, Russom said of her move to Berlin, “I have a lot more space to listen and reflect on things.”