At the rate Brian McMahan is going, we can expect him to release an album of complete silence somewhere around 2007. You can trace his progression down the decibel scale from the angry punk scruff of Squirrel Bait through the gothic angst of Slint to the sublime but uneven work of the For Carnation. Fight Songs and Marshmallows trod too close to conventional post-rock territory to make much of an impression, but this eponymous album, while not the aesthetic breakthrough Spiderland was, is miles beyond anything McMahan has done before. It may, in fact, be the album he'd always meant to make.

The primary mood of this record is one of calm and creeping dread-- impressionistic yet confidently rigid strokes of percussion and bass, sinister noises perched on the edge of your auditory range, and whispery vocals so close you can almost feel the air that carries the sound. It could easily be called trip-hop if that didn't sound like an insult, as the For Carnation have immersed themselves nostril-deep in the same atmosphere of suffocating, syrup- thick menace as the likes of Tricky and Massive Attack. This album is the sonic equivalent of standing on a deserted dock at midnight and watching fog roll towards you with a nagging feeling in your gut that some evil presence is near.

"Emp. Man's Blues" and "Moonbeams" ooze so slowly from the speakers that even the reverb sounds mired in sludge. The paranoia becomes more palpable on the more, um, "energetic" tracks such as "A Tribute To" and "Tales (Live from the Crypt)," but the For Carnation retains control of its sound, sublimely heightening or lessening tension with expert placement of each noise. Spooky serpentine synths emerge from the ether to snap at your nose, only to dissolve away just as quickly; distorted static bubbles up like the screeches of distant vampire bats. But "Being Held" is the undeniable apotheosis of the album; it consists of little more than an insistent bell-like drone, subsonic bass feedback, and a neck-snapping drum solo. That's all the For Carnation needs to keep you in white- knuckled suspense for 5½ minutes.

Sure, there's still a touch of post-rock to the album, especially on the woozy jazz shuffle of "Snoother," but that's to be expected with John McEntire's percussive contributions to the track. But the "Tortoise effect" is never as obvious here as on previous For Carnation albums, where the distinct influences of fellow Tortoise alumni Doug McCombs and John Herndon seemed to dilute McMahan's vision. Compared with past efforts, this record is the first to truly deserve its title: it's as close to the For Carnation as the band has come so far. But how much lower can Brian McMahan go? Only time-- the slow and deliberate kind-- will tell.

-Nick Mirov