There is a wooden strike- anywhere match rattling in the spine of the case of the Fatalists' Take the Water. It reminded me of the Fluxus conceptual art collective of the 1960s: they would offer a matchbox as art, suggesting that you burn all masterpieces and save at least one match to then burn the matchbox. It may not have been the intention of the Fatalists to include a crude self- destruct mechanism in their new release but it certainly colored my reception of the work.

The music on Take the Water is difficult, repetitive and abstract. The guitar is the only conventional instrument discernible, and while the guitar work ranges from faintly beautiful ghostly melodies to abrasive dissonance, it's the only thing remotely human on the album and you tend to hold on to it for all you're worth. Everything else is electronic noise of varying degrees of complexity and appeal. The opening track, "Take to the Water/ To Have and Have Not," opens with a howling yet distant distorted guitar succeeded by a spare sequence of notes repeated on an acoustic guitar that's gradually usurped by sheets of static. The complexity of the noise is altered as more (unnamable) elements are added, and the piece grows more machine- like. Weird, fractured Derek Bailey-esque guitar flourishes accompany the layers of noise. The album proceeds in this vein: guitars entwined with noise in various knots and arrangements.

The guitar, when audible and dominant, as in the last few minutes of the introduction, is expressive and lyrical. When the electronics dominate, the album is less enjoyable. The pieces all lack resolution: they either stop mid- drone or die away in a simple volume fade. This is indicative of the album's overall feel. A fraction of the time on these eight- to twelve- minute pieces is squandered on moody electronic noodling. However, they never fail to find the narcotic noisy groove somewhere in the middle; after they've lost it, they grow bored and kill the track without ceremony. Occasionally, this searching pays off and the band digs up something fruitful, but it can be taxing on the listener.

"Ashtray" is an eerie, soupy masterpiece of dark ambient. "Just Over the Horizon" conjures up Gastr Del Sol's Our Equisite Replica of Eternity, along with everything I disliked about Upgrade and Afterlife. Nevertheless, the guitar always seems to save each track-- if only for a little while-- from calculated robot sterility. The brief twangy songs "Rain Delay" and "Passing Light" are both strangely honest pieces of psychedelic Americana. The album ends with "When the Breathing is Over (for Samuel Beckett)": a snippet of a line from what sounds like Krapp's Last Tape and the loud click of the Stop button on the Tascam Porta being pressed-- another unsatisfying conclusion. Especially for an album of such intermittently beautiful experimental music.

But you never really stop staring at the match in the jewel case. At times, in the most aimless and abrasive mires of the album's dark electronic landscape, you're tempted to crack the case open, strike anywhere, and burn. You'll probably leave the match untouched, but it's a comfort to know it's there.

-Brent S. Sirota