A few years ago, I had the fortune of borrowing a folk harp (a big one!) With a background in guitar, percussion and improvisation, I thought the transition would be easy. After several months of fumbled microphone placement and long, wandering (read: boring) performances, I came to a few conclusions: 1) the harp is really hard to learn 2) once you learn how to play the harp, moving past the idiosyncratic language is a difficult obstacle 3) if you get the hang of it, all the interesting stuff you might do with a harp, Zeena Parkins already did / does a lot better than you ever will; having custom electric harps built according to your specifications might help, but good luck with that.

However, as evidenced in her solo work, particularly on Between The Whiles, Parkins is not merely a harpist, but a wearer of many hats (she was also a trained pianist and dancer in a former life), most of them bright, fancy and sparkly metallic to go with the magic jewel-encrusted baton she waves towards her many collaborators on this disc (the title "Conductor" is probably replaced by "Suggestion Giver" or "Editor", but it's a fun vision, anyway).

With a watery dollop, Parkins opens with "Glass", an initial exploration of rubbed goblets that morphs into a singing bed of strings-as-accompaniment to pair with muted harp plucks (sounding much more Muddy Waters than Debussy). As the shimmer peels back, Parkins sneaks in a faint lullaby melody, then counters by reinterpreting the introduction with synthetic squeals. Gracefully soaring, these meld with hyperactive pitch-bent fingerings, all decaying into a slowly imploding music box until fade. On "Vibratory", her rolling arpeggiations purr, loop, build and lull the listener into a false meditation soon broken with agitated string scrapes and slides; Parkins thrusts this calm aside in favor of distortion pedals that rumble speakers, windows and small buildings with an earth-shaking-yet-dynamic maelstrom, taking her from the "Jimi Hendrix of the amplified harp" to the "Wolf Eyes, period". She follows with the sans-affected / effected "inyoufrom", a virtuosic � yet elegant and musical � demonstration of layers, nimble runs, hammering, slaps and grinding open strings that says "did I forget to show you how well I know this instrument?" With edited breathing, crumpling foil and pulsing bass tones creating loose rhythms, Parkins' sister Sara's dreamy violin work turns "Gold" from sensual to something with the tenderness of Takemitsu's In an Autumn Garden and melancholic tension of Messiaen's Vocalise, pour l'Ange qui annonce la fin du Temps.

After an extended Spectral-like meander of spinning, celestial atmospheric conversations ("Wire") and a Memory Moog meets Gamelan meets crow caw piece with a mysterious liner note credit to four people for "jumping" ("Jumping Juggling"), the closer, "Bubble", pushes the listener into a sonic post-civilization ghost town, one scattered with nearly drained neon signs and waning industrial hum. Like a barely perceptible yet thriving and harmonious ecosystem, twining vines of constrained feedback and supple echoes glide with Parkins' occasional hinging twang (literally hinging, as having listened several times with this scenario my mindset, it sounds as a creaking door of an abandoned house after a hurricane) and sudden melodica and glass harmonica duet.

When discussing the frustration of my "Harp Year", friends have probed with, "But did you really try?" After Between The Whiles, what is the point � and now glass harmonica is off the table, as well. Ms. Parkins remains queen of this jungle.