Their brand of noise comes in little spurts or messy, splattering gushes; ear-piercing screeches; slobbering, distorted babble; the random plucking of what sounds like tuneless guitar strings; curious creaks and rubbery squeaks; what could be someone straining to blow up a balloon; Autechre-like snatches of glitchy audio grit; and Ptak nervously repeating the phrase "And now it is calm" so many times that she seems anything but. By the ninth track -- "1 Million Synapses Frying" -- this unfathomably unorthodox work has become so comfortable that the decision to throw in some harmonica seems, well, sort of freakish. -- Ray Cummings