"A map of invisible particles" say the liner notes, and it's an apt description of the goings on here. With only a couple of horns and drums, Flinn, Monchoce and Kim create small sonic worlds using non-standard approaches.

"Frozen Lakes" is composed of drones and fluttering harmonics, at one point reminding me of the beginning of Coltrane's "Meditations". It doesn't so much stop as evaporate. "Contour Of A Square" seems even slighter, a hollow ring and what sounds like feedback entwined with note. These gentlemen are layering notes here, to build a thin wall of oscillating throb. You might call it menacing even. Are those sleigh bells I hear in the distance? A fogged-over thump and some squeak worried over.

They rarely resort to the kind of rapid-fire interplay that one might expect from a reeds and membranes trio, instead utilizing sustained sounds and wielding tone and timbre as weapons. During the throes of "Yaks" it's difficult to tell just what you're hearing, but it sounds like it's alive and crawling toward you. "Himalayas", the set closer, is an almost twelve-minute exploration of cinematic intent. It manages to employ the classic 'slow build to a fever pitch and subsequent tapering off" found in so much free improvisation, still without resorting to the ol' quick-quick. A sweat is formed through concentration more than physical exertion. Pretty nifty I say.