Phillip Wachsmann's violin, David Leaghy's double bass and Bruno Guastalla's cello are joined at times by Trevor Taylor's spry percussion and Catherine Hope-Jones slippery "sounds". From the beginning track, "Spruce", melodicism unwinds into pin pricks and roughage, zippers zipped and paper rustled. A bit of delay enters "Maple" as the string trio dances on their own for a short time, string sonorities stretched and multiplied. "Willow" is the quiet rubbing and scrubbing and crinkle as the catgut gets inserted deftly and the bottle gets passed. Next up, the courtship of erhu and kayagum, supported by metallic bumping and whispery far-off asides. Weird and fleeting reminders of Lark's Tongues.

When the percussion enters, on "Sycamore", it's with equal measures of precision and surprise. This is the highlight of the set for me, with those strange descending sounds like tracers sliding by as you run headlong downhill, and stately marimba prancing out all showy and teasing. Rattle and pluck, chime and creak. From moment to moment like fingers interlaced, pausing here and there for a breath, I swear you can hear them listening. "Ebony" brings out the pop and crack, an uncannily constructed forest of snapping branches coaxed by the wind. I'm sure we've all been there. The duo interplay of bass and drums that opens up about 5 minutes in is particularly itch scratching. Perfectly integrated, as the kinds say. Elsewhere there are allusions to headachy digital shuddering and all-together-now quick-quick, and it's all quite deftly captured for our scrutiny and awe.