The worlds of free improvisation and Noise (with a capital N) are both rich traditions, by now, but they are often kept more separate than they should be. Put them both in a city large enough, for example, and things can get a little clique-y. The folks playing tabletop guitar, twisting knobs on a patch-cord-laden mixer, or blasting homebrew circuitry out of an old PA often eschew the improv shows and their connections to jazz; meanwhile the sometimes ponderous drones and harsh sounds of Noise shows can seem anathema to the focus on instrumental craft and control that often excite the improv crowd. Groups that bridge this divide, like the magnificent Konk Pack, are more rare than they should be.

What an exciting surprise, then, to discover the pairing of Johannesen and Furu, who seem to have their feet firmly placed in both traditions. The opening track, "Room to grow (vegetables)" smacks of the Noise aesthetic: Johannesen's guitar, vibrated and scraped into an undulating machine, sets up the "no rhythm" rhythm of the piece; meanwhile Furu breathes Houtkamp-like overtones into his saxophone. Yet — and here is the improv side of it — the piece avoids the preciousness of some Noise playing, with all its skittishness about making sounds that stand out against the wall of sound. Though centered on drones, this track has phrases. It is mostly about exploring timbres and masses of sound, and Johannesen and Furu do so exquisitely.


Then — boom — "Jack and the beanstalk" begins, and we are fully immersed in European-style free improvisation. The piece would fit nicely on a recording of Derek Bailey in duo with Anthony Braxton, Tony Coe, or Alex Ward. Furu's clarinet plays contemplative, atonal lines as Johannesen clangs and chimes along in the interstices. Though the interplay interesting in its own right, the piece seems almost an homage to that era of playing.

As far as free improvisation goes, the originality and skill of this duo comes out in bolder relief on "Microkosmos." It is a game of split seconds and splintered tones. Johannesen bows his guitar and Furu gives his saxophone a thorough tongue-lashing. This time the attack of the instruments is a bit more up to date, the techniques more extended. But what stands out about the piece is the sheer intuitiveness of the interactions. The two transcend easy call and response interplay, and a web of enmeshed sounds emerges.

The most compelling pieces, though, are the ones that seem to lie between to these two "genres," such as they are, of Noise and improv. "Ants Marching," for example, begins as a thumb wrestling match of extended techniques until Johannsen begins attacking the guitar with vibration devices (e.g. an ebow). At that stage the players seem to coalesce into a single complex machine, whirring and snoring to itself, a fascinating transformation and a great track.