Loren Connors and Jim O'Rourke show palpable conviction in the pure aggression and directness of the pieces that comprise this, their second collaborative release. Nothing ever sounds stuck or repetitive; it's a focused free-for-all � heavy rock with the safety catch off � that dabbles in O'Rourke's unmistakably ramshackle approach, breeding powerful freestanding moments, while at the same time seeming almost always saturated with a certain blues feeling.

A primitivism comes forth in the way the two grab ideas and tend to freeze them in time before they go off the boil. Album opener "Maybe Paris" comes across as a sudden salience on the mind, which the two don't subject to critical consideration, but treat it as an exploding vamp, following its raw energy in such a way that it remains exciting throughout its duration.

There is no shortage of moments in which the two form such a unit that draws them each beyond their own respective boundaries. As successful as they are in this mode, they also split in two, diverging from these hoarse, rough-hewn passages, and artfully match them with exquisite longueurs and contemplative silences more characteristic of Connors solo efforts.

Most engaging of all, though, are those works where the duo abandon this either/or for a both/and. In this vein, "Most Definitely Not Koln" takes a sampling of cellar-gutter-attic-grime and weaves into it everything found in between. Fragmented, sparse chords open the piece, followed by more blunt gestures, which finally crest in a morass of white-heat fuzz striated with strained red tones. In these tenuous places, the duo canvass the expected and unexpected to equally satisfying result.