Guthrie defines herself as an “acoustician”, a stimulating term potentially encompassing lots of different things. This 150-copy limited edition CD focuses instead on very few elements, the most important being the perception of the surroundings. The bulk of the matter is in fact defined by the incidence of metropolitan activity, close or in the background; the rest is left to expert processing, with a definite tendency to the choice of wrapping resonances that for long minutes escort the listener with head-congesting hums and lingering echoes. These spells comprise the album’s finest facets, shaped as they are from the manipulation and/or expansion of less momentous fragments in which the protagonist practices Bach on her French horn or sings a folk lullaby, in both occasions with appreciable humanity bathed in inadequate intonation. The latter episodes would like to be considered as soulful sketches of warts-and-all audio verité in a way, but the opening track in particular results quite tedious after repeated listens. On the other hand, the inscrutable mix of vocal currents and zooming cars defining “Annie Laurie (I)” recalls, to some extent, Akira Rabelais’ Spellewauerynsherde. An involuntary substantiation of this young woman’s conscientious ears.