y this point Bastard Noise is something of an institution within the noise community, so it’s a wonder that their albums—of which there are many—continue to be so varied, unpredictable, and engaging. Perhaps it’s the fact that the group’s line-up has hardly ever been stable, and their working methods often change from one release to the next. On Sound Engine, recorded at various places from 2000-2002, the group is stripped to the core duo of John Wiese and Eric Wood—with some guest contributions—and they’ve managed to keep their group’s sound fresh even as it’s instantly recognizable as Bastard Noise.

The opening “A Pedestal to Support the Invaders” (a live collaboration with Jesus Philben A.K.A. Chris Dodge of Spazz) is a lengthy stew of bubbling electronics, somewhat similar to the more restrained side explored on recent albums like Skull Wave and Live In Japan, but with a harder edge. The squealing, buzz-saw waves have a raw, sinister sound that grates sharply against the subtle rumbling bass in the background; the tension between calm and disruption is a nice development away from the predominantly slow, gloomy crawl that had been the group’s main trademark recently.

Following this opener is a trilogy of heavier, harsher and shorter tracks recorded in 2001 by Wiese and Wood. The rumbling electronics, shot through with high-pitched squeals and nervous, fast-paced rhythmic undercurrents, have an unsettling sound that’s augmented by the unbalanced recording quality. On “Asphalt Creature Sickness”, which starts with a single high beep before segueing into a stormy blast of noise, the high-frequency yelps are mixed loud and sharp, but there’s a fuzziness about the rest of the track. Everything blends together into a low, indistinct noise, accumulating with a physical mass that pummels the listener even as it remains impossible to separate each individual element within the mix. By the end of the track, only the higher frequencies remain, creating a delicate ringing like the insectile hum of rubbing a finger around the inside of a wet glass. This hollow murmur is picked up again at the beginning of “Destiny Carved By Internal Failure,” with Wiese and Wood layering harsh chunks of static over the chattering whistles. In the background, a mid-range melodic drone hovers ominously and constantly behind this chaos, the one steady point to hold onto, even though its enigmatic presence—simultaneously beautiful and frightening—is hardly comforting.

On the next track, “Human Denial,” the duo mixes things up by collaborating via mail with the Japanese noise artist Guilty Connector. This is another doom-laden electronic drone, enhanced by the presence of Wood’s instantly recognizable vocals, trading off between his low guttural growl and a high-pitched scratchy scream that may belong to Guilty Connector. After switching between these two vastly different (but equally terrifying) vocal styles, the music suddenly erupts into a fast-moving rhythmic collage, with static swishing back and forth across the top of a lumbering industrial juggernaut. Finally, the album switches directions again with the closing piece, a 26-minute live radio jam that finds the Wiese/Wood duo ranging through a distillation of their entire oeuvre. From the gurgling electronics that open it, to the thick, viscous, physically intensive drone that grows from that low-key intro, to the incredibly harsh sustained climax that takes up the bulk of the track, this is an epic journey through the inscrutable alien universe that Bastard Noise is so adept at creating.

Although this isn’t even BN’s most varied album—that honor would have to go to the masterpiece Throne Is Melting—Sound Engine is an excellent example of just how much territory this group can cover. This is a powerful, emotionally complex noise work: not simply an agglomeration of angry, caustic spitting, but a complete experience that has room for many moods and sounds within its boundaries. Sound Engine is an exhausting, challenging look into the soul of Bastard Noise. Stare inside this maelstrom if you dare.