sing unorthodox sound sources akin to speckles of paint being scattered before your eyes, Birchville Cat Motel leaves the listener to forge them into whatever images and meanings they may. Nevertheless, there is method behind the madness.

Similar to Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Past, the opening wish-washy tape loop of With Maples Ablaze grabs you by the hand and carries you into a world of sounds you’ve most likely been reluctant to wander through often, if at all. This wish-washy, almost celestial, opening gambit, is abruptly interrupted by an abrasive screeching of metal, followed by disembodied guitar plucking fed through a broken amplifier. The threatening storm clouds clear abruptly, shafts of sun returning in the form of harmonious birdcalls and chirps. This is only the eye of the storm, however, as what was a light drone grows more pensive until it drowns out the unsuspecting bird’s altogether. The drone begins to sound similar to a vacuum cleaner sucking up all the surrounding life. After all the dirt has been cleaned away, the contraption retiles the remaining shards of the bird’s voices into a mosaic of noticeably cold bleeps and pings. What follows is a rich, wavy drone of multi-tracked tones, which echo into the distance until the crackle of a fire takes centre stage, with soft bells flickering in the background. Here, BCM seem interested in showing just how interchangeable polar opposites are. Opposing notions separate the unnatural from the natural, yet here they are, meshed so finely together that one seemingly becomes the other, until touching, both notions seem arbitrary.

At this point the rising action of the album takes place. The industrial scrapes and twisting of metals, which occurs throughout, imply harsh overtones of violence. The theme is further etched by high-pitched, moaning violin, which drunkenly wanders in and out of the sputtering percussion. With the inclusion of train track noise and people scurrying through and breaking garbage, the piece is intentionally difficult, though absurdists, as well as Set Fire To Flames fans, should appreciate its anarchist charm.

The final denouement unfolds into somewhat less than enthralling results. The oscillating, less saturated drones, make for a pleasant change in pace, yet they pale in comparison to the similar work of others, such as Keith Fullerton Whitman and Phil Niblock, who have been mining these territories for some time now. Even the rocking climax of endless snare rolls and crying children (altered to sound like warbling aliens) bears resemblance to Basil Kirchin’s landmark album, Quantom. Finally, tinkling chimes lapse into shibaki electronics, slowly fluctuating, swinging languidly from one tonal base to another. With Maples Ablaze is not an everyday recording. But, as a vacation, it’s worthy of a visit.