There are records that present a significant challenge to the efforts of the compulsive analyst. While they are replete with ideas, stimuli, details and complexity, they shut all doors to absolute and decisive definition, especially when it comes to concepts such as "style" or "genre". After making several attempts to decode what appears to be testing at first, we proceed to the most natural act: letting go completely, setting aside our intellectual processes, and embracing the permeability of the auditory senses via a mass of sound that can simultaneously stimulate and disrupt our established cognitive framework. R�ims� G�ara, the latest chapter in the collaboration between Elliott Sharp and Scott Fields, belongs to this category of releases.

Having recognized the genius of Kai Sharp � Elliott's son � who drew a magnificent representation of dad and his artistic partner on the cover, the inside photos show Sharp and Fields, looking thoroughly focused while enjoying themselves, respectively playing a Gibson Les Paul and a CP Thornton. Surrounded as they were by amplifiers, cables and pedals, one can imagine the smell of heat emanating from the valves. We then plunge in the raw reality of an instrumental dialogue that, little by little, generates what the late John Candy would have called a "lean, mean fighting machine." The pair may start from rather precise compositional suggestions, perhaps hinting at obliquely catchy figures or insistent rhythmic cadences ("Self-Important Potatoes") as a foundation for improvisations that are as loquacious as they are "freely erudite." The impulse to spit out what instinct suggests, and what the guts struggle to hold back, is definitely stronger than any reductionist tendency. Still, we're not left without episodes of � ahem � rarefied fragility ("Slouch Tomato", "Squid And Meatballs").

More often, though, the aural matters spread across volatile dynamics with outpours of harsh, dirty sounds resonant with oxidized metal, yet comprehensible even in apparent bedlam. Effects are knowledgeably employed to disfigure the sonic perspective, never overstaying their welcome ("Pop Sci"). What initially appears grudgingly cryptic turns into invigorating vehemence. Ultimately, the ear must digest repeated overlaps of prickly harmonics, aware clangor and convulsive fretwork: a necessary condition to appreciate the effort of a duo that maintains coordinates visible to the listener, one way or another, and the lucidity of execution to bring every turbulent flight to a safe landing.

Sharp and Fields are both top-level composers, whose ability to blend predetermined structures and electroacoustic abstraction is well known. But on this occasion, they simply seem to have had a blast. The rest of us should learn to do the same, with an instrument in hand (preferably) or otherwise.