As I keep discovering new biographic items about Reg Bloor (such as her past as a successful merchant of guitars) while getting socked in the ears by her first entirely solo album, the already existent gut feeling of utmost respect for this apparently impregnable woman grows stronger. Not only she is a very acute instrumentalist, totally aware of the properties of an electric guitar in variegated rhythmic contexts; Bloor is also a hard-nosed researcher in melodic designs against the grain of ordinariness, featuring grating timbres and potent propulsions that give no respite whatsoever. My suspicion is that, on occasion, she’s recording the acoustic sound of the strings, mixing it with the rest of the cataclysmically shrieking tones we hear throughout. And you’ve got to love those track titles: “Dada Suicides”, “Unconscious Decay”, “I Didn’t Wake Up This Morning”, the latter comparable to being attacked by a swarm of enraged bumblebees graduated in extremist resonance. This music literally constricts the listener, enforcing a careful evaluation of every nuance and turn of events, ultimately luring the persistent ones into a whirlpool of frenetic lucidity. Without an ounce of braggadocio, for good measure.