NYC experimental accordionist and improviser Parkins originated this work as an hour long, 10-channel, site-specific installation in 2007 at the city's Diapason Gallery. Comprised of six fairly lengthy pieces hosting her instrument of choice and utilizing any number of un-named processors (and a collection of feedback loops), Parkins lets her imagination run wild in the antiseptic confines of the gallery's quietspace, where these sometimes gnarly, knotty, thorny sounds must have shaken up many a timid sensibility.

On record, taken away from its former context, Parkins' work bears striking similarities to the mic'ed-up gesticulations of Kaffe Matthews, Keith Rowe's mischievous tabletop guitar grumblings, and the no-input mixing board, sine-wave collaborations between Otomo Yoshihide and Toshimaru Nakamura. The opening piece actually is one of the more alluring works, Parkins banging away at whatever noisemakers litter her soundstage while her accordion becomes a tin machine oozing various squirts and squiggles. Track two works a noisier fundamental into the mix, rivulets of feedback arcing gradually in the distance � it must have been fairly disarming back in that gallery space. Parkins continues along this course throughout much of the recording, tweaking her concept for all its worth, though a good portion makes ample use of her accordion and its attendant re-contextualization via her laptop; at times spiky and spunky, at others a very Nakamura-esque cauldron of soupy noise, there's many new worlds to conquer here, and Parkins milks it admirably.

For all the technique on display, the disc's title ironically belies both Parkins' modus operandi and the issues that plague contemporary electroacoustic improvisation. Many plumb the depths of the "squeak and rub" school, of the vast onkyo divisions of improv labor. Parkins' is surely proficient at forging throbbing, untoward pieces of sound art, but does it ever coalesce into anything other than a clever marshaling of technology?