The Marathon Petroleum refinery looms over the Boynton neighborhood of Detroit, MI like massive drill bits that cored through the center of the Earth. At night, when the lights on its dozens of towers light up, it resembles an alien electric grid, its red, blue, and white bulbs imprisoned like trapped Tinkerbells within steel beams. A few years ago, the plant was forced to pay an $80,000 fine, plus almost $300,000 in “community investments,” after a broken pipe leaked toxic gas into the lungs and waterways of local residents.

Just down the road, Giovanna Lenski and Christian Molik sit in their home, which doubles as their recording studio, describing the process of making their debut album as Clinic Stars. After releasing a series of EPs, beginning with 2021’s 10,000 Dreams and following up with April’s Past in 2022, they’ve stepped up their equipment and their process for their first full-length, the woozy and whimsical Only Hinting, out this Friday via Kranky. “We’ve definitely put a lot of thought into acoustic treatment and utilizing the space to the best of our ability,” Molik explains. “It’s definitely very comfortable for us. I don’t think we could ever see ourselves recording in a [traditional] studio.”

Listening to Molik’s undulating guitar, Lenski’s gossamer vocal glissandos, and the silken synths that tie them together, one might think of a music festival held in an enchanted forest, or the vastness of the sea at night, or a band of wild horses running through a wide open plain, manes gently waving in the wind. In other words, the band’s blend of post rock, shoegaze, and dream pop sounds worlds away from the industrial environment just outside their front door.

For Clinic Stars, disappearing into dense layers of intricately woven instrumentals and Lenski’s echoing sighs is partially the goal. “We both really enjoy being in nature, and we enjoy living in a world that’s very different from where we currently are,” Lenski says. The two met in 2019, the same year the Marathon refinery’s pipe burst, through “the internet” and a mutual friend. Molik was in Detroit and Lenski was in the Chicago area, so they initially began making music remotely, sending stems back and forth to each other.

Finally, in 2020, they collaborated in person for the first time. “In person, we were able to have a different dynamic, feeding off of each other, versus passing ideas back and forth,” Lenski recalls. “It flowed a lot better.” They sent a three-song demo around to a few labels, and Kranky, a natural fit for their misty Midwestern ennui, happened to be the only one to respond. Next month, they’re playing a Kranky showcase in Detroit alongside labelmates Windy And Carl, Justin Walter, and Jessica Bailiff. “We’re still in disbelief sometimes about it, because we really love so many of the artists on that label,” Lenski says.

Despite the city’s often harsh infrastructure, the pair feel grateful for the scene around them in Detroit; many of their friends from the area are musicians, some of whom will join them on stage as they embark on a small tour this fall. They haven’t yet performed outside of Michigan, and they’re currently working on bringing their overdubbed, otherworldly music to a live setting. “To replicate something that’s even close to the album requires quite a bit of gear. It’s definitely a lot to lug around with us, but with a five-piece band, we’re able to get pretty close to the record,” Molik says. “It’s definitely a process to try to translate,” Lenski adds. “I think it’s hard because, ideally, we would have three guitar players in our band, or maybe even more, but we have just Christian and another guitar player, so we have to make that work. It’s definitely fun to play with other people and try to figure it out.”

The lyrics Lenski writes for Clinic Stars are “inspired a lot by literature,” she says. “The lyrics are a way to create a story for myself, a place I can go to with the music. With our music, we create somewhere we can escape to.” Stretched over elongated vowels, Lenski’s words exist in the realm of the subconscious, whether pondering secrets on “kissing through the veil” or imagining dancers “mirroring ancient wounds” on “i am the dancer.” On the latter, her voice and Molik’s guitar emerge from a thick cloud of reverb, not unlike a passing breeze clearing out a haze of gasoline smog. “With the music, there’s a lot of feelings of longing and a desire to be somewhere else,” Lenski adds. “We tried to create imaginary places that we can go to.”

Listening to her featherlight vocals, which glimmer with a subtle sharpness like light refracting through a prism, it’s hard to believe that most of Lenski’s previous projects were largely instrumental endeavors. “I’ve always enjoyed singing,” she says, but she hadn’t explored it much outside of her high school choir. On Only Hinting, she found the process of recording vocals “very freeing.” “There’s a lot of layers on all of our songs, and we record every vocal part, numerous times, on top of each other, and so I have to do takes over and over and over again,” she adds. “I get to this point where it’s a physical thing, and it’s been fun to explore that with this project.” Songs like “she won’t be” and “isn’t it” mirror this sense of haptic connection: Its layers of synths, percussion, and vocals are both free and tactile, delicate yet embodied, shimmering like a spider’s web dotted with rain.

It’s easy to see their surroundings as imposing or even hostile, but when they pass by the sprawling gas plant near their house, they view it a little differently: “Sometimes, when you’re driving at night, there’s a bridge that goes over the factory, and it almost looks like a city skyline.” Lenski says. “We try to see beauty or make it better for ourselves however we can by using our imagination.” On Only Hinting, Clinic Stars spin threads of gold from gasoline spills and power grids, finding tranquility in the warm glow of effects pedals and ethereal vocals.

Only Hinting is out 9/20 via Kranky. Pre-order it here.