An earnest quest for the attainment of unusual sonorities from two “traditional” instruments (Flinn’s percussive arsenal and Tucker’s guitar) paired with Beresford’s electronics. Certain types of improvisation let some space for the listener’s brain to unscramble – at least partially – the signals deriving from bastard instrumental proceedings. In Ink Room this happens sporadically – the clarity of the participants’ mind is not in discussion – but there are also sections in which we found ourselves swamped by the sheer uncontrollability of the intertwined sounds, mostly tending to a harsh-yet-funny kind of boisterousness. Obviously noteworthy is the trio’s infatuation for inserting their nonconformity in obscurely spacious milieus characterized by the use of (supposedly) pedal effects such as echo and flanger; at one point, Tucker’s axe directly recalls a sputtering propeller aircraft, Beresford’s now scathing, now subdued ejections constituting an oil of sorts for the smaller wheels of the mechanism to spin a little quicker. In between, Flinn reconditions the conceptions that lie behind the verb “drumming”: barbed bowing, collapsing patterns and subtle cymbal dispatches live together in perfect harmony, as Stevie and Paul would have it. Wholehearted and genuine, worthy of repeated listens – preferably with headphones to avoid missing the fine details, and there are many.