Let's face it, it's extremely hard these days to make palatable "experimental" music in any genre, or even develop a unique style. Under the aegis of award-winning composer and full-time music instructor Michael Vernusky, however, there just may emerge a perfect variant in the realm of "serious" music. This young and accomplished classical/noise-collage artist has turned in an ambitious and impressive array of drone-and-klang-accompanied chamber pieces -- a side of rusty razor wire with your filet mignon, if you will.

In fact, let's imagine that this is one such dinner party, at which the first thing everyone hears is the title track, a swelling barrage of ambient menace, bringing to mind (for those of us with Industrial leanings) Reptilicus and maybe some of Laibach's Macbeth. But then track two, "Tanah," surprises us with a hissing alien demon who leads the way through a futuristic chamber piece for "flutes and electronic sound." "Arc," an intensely moody, brooding piano solo, has intricate and interesting modern phrasings in six movements, which means we've made it to the main course without too much wine and hors d'oeuvres. For the next course, "Means and Meditations," we've now left the chamber and stumbled out into the aliens' subway system, with snapping, spitting third rails and groaning vehicles howling electronically by -- and then on our way back in, we stop only to listen to a solo classical guitarist playing a somber prayer ("Selah") amid the sound of the otherworldly metropolis thrumming in the background.

Now we've come to dessert, the live orchestral "Drawn Inward." There unfortunately is some dissonance in the performance of this last track, but kudos must be given to Vernusky for not copping out and doing it all on synth. In any case, by that time you and your dinner guests should all be in a catatonic stupor of pleasurable, drunken angst. I'm putting in my RSVP for the maestro's next soirée, which should be sensational, if this foray is any indication.

Hailing from the realm of Tangerine Dream is this pleasant collection of original synth music paired with nature sounds, from French ambient pioneer Ariel Kalma. In 1977, the year of its original release, the recording was sophisticated enough in both concept and execution not to be at all your typical space-trip. The music on each track is blended with rain forest sounds from Borneo brought back to Paris by composer/recordist Richard Tinti and layered in tastefully, if not artfully. On certain of the tracks different instruments are featured, such as soprano saxophone (track number one, "Saxo Planetariel"); harmonium (number three, "Planet-Air"); flute (played modally through "Forest' Ballad"); and guitar and organ (the also-remarkably-titled "Orguitar Soir"). Kalma himself claims to have employed a "circular breathing" technique whilst recording his wind instruments, a physiological twin to the classic technique of tape-looping, which is also featured in spades. The overall effect is eerily terrestrial and space-age at the same time. This can take you back to a blissful, pre-digital era just before the 1980s -- when the Yamaha DX7 took over all synthesized sound, and the terms "New Age" and "Rain Forest" came to mean phony crystal magic and overblown, insincere environmental causes. (And by the way, don't let that soprano sax scare you away -- this is a safe distance from Kenny G territory, so indulge yourself without worry.)

Songs of Eta Carinae, Orbit Service's BLRR debut CD, is dark rock that reminds one of a slower, quieter and murkier V.A.S.T., but with more thoughtful and interesting lyrics containing deeper poetics. A minor drawback would be Randall Frazier's vocal deliveries and intonation, in need of improvement in some places; on the other hand, there is good chord phrasing, with lyrical tropes and piano lines in a sort of loungey, torch-song vein, and some songs ("Sparrows") have appropriately added distorted guitar gloom. "Asphyxia" has echoey, reggae-dub accordion recalling old Bauhaus and OMD treatments, while "Halos" is an unabashed homage to early-to-middle Pink Floyd. The big prize goes to production quality, and this CD is arguably best listened to on headphones -- or on a really good stereo for an extended make-out session. The title, by the way, is named after a star in the southern constellation Carina, "the Keel". Steady as she goes, boys, stay on course.

San Francisco-based Tomo is the minimalist architect of an almost completely electronic soundscape, with more than enough sequencing, pitchbends, clicks, pops, LFO quaverings, flatulent time-stretch retardations and bouncing-pinball sounds to do Aphex Twin proud. On For Many Birthdays, his sophomore release for Daft Alliance, he crawls way up inside his headspace, leaving little room for the body, yet he emerges with a purely pointillist masterpiece that's all very rhythmic and not at all chaotic -- in other words, there is song structure that makes sense in every track. Maybe too abstract for some, but if you're the type who can sit staring out the window of a subway train and become flat-out mesmerized simply by watching varying brick patterns, wall textures, warehouse windows, pipes and odd pieces of garbage whir by, you can definitely roll with this recording. The title of the first track, "Time Is Me and It's Moving," certainly suggests as much. Others, like number nine, "Let Me (See) Think? See?" are just plain goofy and fun, with wacky vintage synth. The music doesn't remind me of (m)any particular influences, and I find that refreshing. As far as Birthdays is concerned, Tomo, here's to many happy returns.

Very competent fusion of emo songwriting with Industrial rock, from what seems to be a home-grown, self-released project. Tremolo-effected vocals in the first track "Forever Alone" is a nice touch, and a bit of fuzz-guitar riffing on "Desiderium", the following song, helps Jinn transcend their genre's inevitable NIN/Pink Floyd ancestry. Track number five, "I Am No Better", is exceptional, not just because of the murky movie samples (which some of us miss terribly, from the olden days), but also because it successfully pairs Floydian plainsong vocal harmonies with a bouncy, driving dance-rock beat. The last track, "Omnia Vanitus," seems to carry a Christian message, which (if I am hitting the mark, regarding this band) is thankfully not too-too-too preachy in tone.

Next time there should be a few more interesting chord changes, and perhaps some different vocal arrangements and techniques. And as far as overall mood is concerned, the capital-A angst in their chosen genre is by this time severely overplayed (and dated). Otherwise, nice stuff.