When approaching, for lack of a better term, art music, one of the clues that differentiates or at least guarantees an argument of "this isn't just a bunch of dissonant, atonal noise" is how it's laid out; yeah, it's our � or at least my and everyone I test on this � "Western" influence and conditioning since the well-tempered, I/IV/V/I Classical Period. But it's hard to get away from form in "composed" works, even if it's just the outside edges of an intentionally elusive sonic palette. Perceived organization is the "aha" that this is about something, things happening are kind of relating even if it's just on a subconscious level. "I get it" is probably because the composer wishes this.

It's really the same with anything that one makes where no one else understands how much work went into ensuring that, if it were wrong, the audience would know. Pop music is dismissed and relegated into "underground, experimental" if the bass drum and vocals aren't meticulously shaped, or the choruses are in the wrong place, or there are no verses etc. Scenes where the director removes single frames can pull us back or push us into "something's off," but most of us don't generally turn the channel and celebrate "the continuous connection from second to second was exquisite � the camera crew made it feel like real life or a good reality show." I digress.

Forged by sound poet Phil Zampino, I WAVE on a Fine Vile Mist is built around Uncle Don's A Day at the Circus, a vintage record, per Discogs, of undetermined origin. While certainly, originally intended for innocent post-Depression era children, the 20th Century legacy of off-putting, dangerous, "please don't send in the..." clowns, and the alarming, pre-trauma-therapy use of calliope � post-Bernard Herrmann � provide a dichotomous, Lynchian-to-Fincher anxiety in the middle of otherwise morning coffee reflections.

The album's elements (Zampino's really neat synth oscillations and generous use of pitch-shift/warbles should be mentioned) swim in this mysterious soup, popping out of nowhere to deliver their self-contained or augmenting message, and overall lean into the phenomenon of Hauntology. However, while that aesthetic rides on sounds that are oblivious to their antiquity and spin their wheels in a stagnant point in history � telling us to look back or keep holding steady in a 1950s martini era � Zampino's music feels self-aware of its nature.

With nudging explorations of time, reverse, and a unique "turntable with multiple speeds and tone arms" approach, Zampino's effective manipulations keep everything alien yet...appropriate, is the best word. Approximation to watchdog porch gossip and howls, feathered "friends" in a The Birds style m�lange of intense sound design, a busy day at the park, being chased by bees and the angry farmer � these are managed with Zampino's quasi-turntablism and deft, precise Plundering of his own sound world, be it the aforementioned record or Cubase magic with a hard drive.

Inebriated clown, assuaging a sad child that balloons pop and fly away with purpose; "There it goes, up and up, and up." Shotgun blasts and "so much...bloodshed." There is a larger message which Zampino carefully lays out with judicious use of each element and the repeated, glue-like phrase, "What is a life?"

Without much fanfare, the anagram nature of the title begs for a slight attempt at poetry. One can unscramble the words "Melaniations" and "felonies" and "Nationalism" as well as "meatloaves, feminization" and "evolvement." "What is a life?" Zampino asks. Is that a statement or a question? The answer is to continue through and keep asking if your life has already begun, as this record has no beginning or end.

Begun as a "trio" around 40 years ago, CHANGES TO blind is Phil Zampino, whose name you might notice in a few spots on this page, as he is the founder, editor � the face � of Squidco/Squidsear. One always wonders if The Boss has an ear close enough to the ground to fill in if no one shows on Monday. After a few listens to this album, I have it on good authority that I'm safe to take a couple weeks off from turntablism, attempting bullet-proof unique field recordings, and I can lay off on the intricate details of "what is the Avant-Garde?!"