Since then they've released their second and third albums, and continued to develop ideas, including a variety of projects and collaborations. For a self-contained creative unit, collaboration with another band can result in a dilution of the distinctiveness of both, but this new one (actually featuring only two of the Sutari trio: Basia Songin and Kasia Kapela), with Polish instrumental trio Bastarda, works really well, emerging as a single well-balanced five-piece.

Bastarda in its own work takes early music as its source and develops it with arrangement and improvisation using clarinet (Pawel Szamburski), cello (Tomasz Pokrzywiński) and contrabass clarinet (Michał Górczyński). The deep woody tones of their three instruments create a rich foundation and environment for the Sutari duo's voices, violin, frame drums and occasional chimes of kanklės (Lithuanian Baltic zither, close kin of Finnish kantele, Latvian kokle and Estonian kannel).

Their material for the album draws on Polish, Lithuanian and Belarusian musical traditions, exploring the old cultures of these bordering countries, with original lyrics by Songin and Kapela inspired by, and sometimes quoting, tradition. The title Tamoj means ‘out there, not far away', and album is founded on the idea of borderlands, particularly of these central and Eastern European countries, whose borders and peoples have moved, or been moved, throughout history, creating zones of mixed population and cultures. In a Polish interview, for the web-zine Nowe Idzie Od Morza, Basia Songin says “I prefer to think of borderland as a meeting place.”

There's a quiet surging calm to the opener, “Ty pójdziesz górą” (rough translation of the Polish: 'you will go up'). Then contrabass clarinet makes short puffs, and voices make bird-like sounds before they all overlap, skudučiai-like (see below) in the song “Tam nad puszcza” (‘over there in the forest') which, judging by its title also being written in Cyrillic, has a Belarusian connection; the digipack has general notes, in Polish and English, but there are no individual song details nor texts.

In “Skudučiai” the voices and violin make interweaving repeating patterns of short notes, in the manner of the Lithuanian skudučiai of the track's title. They're end-blown short, stopped tubes, like dismembered pan-pipes, that are shared out amongst a group of players, one or two each. The music they play is an instrumental form of the Lithuanian polyphonic multipart singing of sutartinės, in which female voices, in pairs, trios or ensemble, interact with repeating phrases in canon or parallel harmony. Indeed the word ‘sutarti' in Lithuanian means ‘to agree.’ Spot the connection with the name Sutari.

The relative calm of preceding tracks is shattered by wild high wordless vocals in the opening of “Granica / Pasienio / Hranicia,” which settles down to a cycling vocal drone over an instrumental pattern, moving to chattering spoken words before returning to and intensifying the screaming wildness. “Wojenka” has a hovering, fluttering, ominous instrumental opening leading into, and underpinning with a slow ostinato, a vocal conversation, that very suddenly snaps into a rapid, harmonising burst of words. It speaks of Ukraine; indeed that bordering country's name comes from the Slavic word for ‘borderland'. Sutari put together the song before the Russian invasion but by the time they were making the recording it had become more current and painful.

“Dūno Upė” has Lithuanian sutartinė style repetitions of short phrases in canon, developing in intensity as the instruments join in, similarly overlapping. “Nim Świt Nastanie” (‘before dawn') begins as a gentle surge, picks up weight, then returns to a tranquil ending for the album that reminds of the quiet mood of its opener.