Recorded during a recent trek to the Pacific Northwest, this session is very damaged by the post-tongue explosive devices packed by each of the quartets members. Skittering along the most devious edge of improvisational madness, Greg, Greg, Bill and Mr. Shoup bring four chunks of deep underground moisture into the air for the first time. Let us make to examine them. Morning greets the listener beneath a raucous grackle filled tree, mounting to a commuters rage. Then along comes a mage with mushrooms, and the growl and rasp spreads out into what one must imagine a stoned rabbits brain records from a dawn. In Separating a door from a window, Mr. Shoups sax limns the wall of sound into permeable spaces. The horns and percussion throw up bramble hollers of humorous squawk, but in the end, Wally is triumphant. Like smoke snaking over the door, Transom is a very present and seductive piece. If you are a programmer, this is an excellent sound experience to loop, as it is both loving and bossy. Horn and reed lead you into Nothing is deprived of its warmth, and then gleefully pierce your eardrums with needles. Once the path has been cleared to your brain, molten notes are poured in and, like a Dead Head prostrate with his pipe, you become one with the universe. A warm universe. At first I thought it was weird they named this album after the lost book of Tolkiens Silmarillion. Now Im not so sure. - Lili Dwight/Byron Coley, Deerfield MA 2015.