For an instrumentalist whose vision and creativity are such an integral facet of his reputation as a musician, Nels Cline seems to have gathered much of that renown through interpreting the visions of others. Over the past few years, the L.A. scene veteran has raised his profile considerably as a sideman and collaborative partner to too many notable names to mention, and most recently reinventing the works of John Coltrane and Miles Davis within his own magisterial, stringed-instrument scope. Meanwhile, some focus has been taken off of his role as a composer and bandleader, having dissolved the jazz-rock powerhouse of the Nels Cline Trio and slowly worked toward the debut of his next ensemble, Destroy All Nels Cline.

So enter the Inkling, a quartet project fit for returning Cline to his own personal creative energies. From the acoustic picking of the opener, "New Old Hat," it's clear that this will not be just another platform for Cline to go buckwild on his arsenal of distortion pedals and kitchenware. Just listening to the man go to work on a sparsely accompanied acoustic guitar is a joy enough to listen to, but the track's seven meandering minutes also effectively expose Cline's ill-equipped facility for finding an actual tune anywhere therein.

"Spider Wisdom" kicks in with a fine, stuttering intro from drummer Billy Mintz, who worked with Nels in the Vinny Golia Quintet. Soon, Cline comes in with his trademark trebly electric frequencies, matched and one-upped by Zeena Parkins' electric harp. Mark Dresser's upright bass belches out some pretty straightforward bent notes that meander about for a while before settling into a solid rhythmic bedrock for the rest of the instruments. Cline strings together a serpentine series of atonal progressions like no other. In fact, it's a bit disorienting. And when "Sunken Song" takes a similar sound in a more decisive and structured direction, it comes as a relief. Mintz' fizzing cymbals usher in the lounging "Moth Song" as one of the more aesthetically palatable moments, but does little aside from merely sounding pretty.

While most of the album is an affair of Cline's own invention, the exception prove interesting in themselves. Spread across the hour's ten tracks are three short improvisations between the four players. "Circular" summarizes Cline's longer acoustic pieces with angular spareness and a sharp rise that demands more attention than any other moment here. "Shale Bed" tickles every instrument with busy, skittering flourishes. On "Cork Farm," Parkins takes the lead with tinny textures around which the others tumble like a brewing storm outside the cabin of a ship.

"Alstromeria" tests the inherent limitations of The Inkling's acoustic pieces, simply by being fifteen minutes long. It also manages to test patience with unending minimalist prodding around the edges of Cline's whims. However, about halfway through, the track surprisingly springs to life, as Mintz picks up a low groove that ties together the tinkling strings surrounding it, before suddenly evaporating into near silence. Then, without warning, the insect buzzing of Parkins' electric harp fades in, and Cline delivers a quiet, beautiful passage that reveals-- of all things-- an actual melody.

"Queen Of Angels" faces a running time similar to "Alstromeria" but bounds off in the opposite direction, with restrained skronk giving into the tense yawn of a bowed bass. Dresser and Parkins harmonize with a gloomy intensity while Cline unravels little puffs of scratchy noise. Before giving into the ominous risk of aimlessness, Cline pounds some droning chords with the same hypnotic simplicity that made his duels with Thurston Moore such ear candy. The album closes with "Lullaby for Ian," which, while disappointingly not written for Anthrax's Scott Ian, serves as a gentle tranquilizer after such avant madness.

The Inkling is the type of project that one would expect to fare well only in the context of an understanding of the artist's previous work. But at the same time, it's illuminating enough that it might serve as a better introduction to the inner workings of Nels Cline's busy mind than one of his solos for the Geraldine Fibbers or Mike Watt. Still, a cold listen for the uninitiated could easily result in a frightening experience.

-Al Shipley