One thing I've always found disconcerting is the logic behind those "you might also like…" lists. You know what I mean; on Amazon and alot of online record stores, a computerized algorythm guesses your tastes based on other items you've purchased and tries to make reasonable recommendations.

It's especially hilarious if you spend some time browsing for David Hasselhoff and Yanni between your regular fare ("Customers who purchased this item also purchased The Best of Zamfir: King of the Pan Flute")

In any case, my tastes in music tend to run toward the esoteric stuff that leaves most people scratching their heads in befuddlement. Once, I was stuck for three months working with a total buffoon. We had to work third-shift, and most of our time was spent driving. After the first couple of days, we both realized that conversation was a dead-end. I think it had something to do with me turning the radio up as loud as it would go when I got sick of listening to his constant prattle. Rednecks love to hear themselves talk about the same inane things over and over again.

His tastes ran to country music, not what I would think of as "country" music, but that glossy, sterile top-40-with-just-enough-twang that passes for "country" these days…the stuff Woody Guthrie and Hank Williams Sr. would be rolling over in their graves to hear. Rednecks also like to listen to their music LOUD, usually caterwauling along at the top of their lungs while thumping the steering wheel in some approximation of rhythm.

A man can only take so much of that before exploding into a homicidal rage and removing limbs. I had alot of sharp objects in the truck that would have come in handy for just that purpose, and I think Jonathan saw the gleam in my eye that suggested violence, so we decided to split things up. We'd listen to his stuff half the night, and my stuff half the night.

That didn't last very long.

Guys like Jonathan like music with words. Repetitive music with recognizable verse-chorus relationships and cliches galore. Stuff to which they can pound the steering sing away with orgiastic glee.

On the other hand, I tend to like music that's primarily instrumental and rewards concentration. Save the American Idol fodder for the folks who think NASCAR should be an Olympic sport…I like a bit of a challenge.

Jonathan did not. Often, I'd find him staring in shock at the speakers and asking questions like:

• "When do they start singin'?"
• "Doesn't this have gee-tars? I like music with gee-tars."
• "This sounds like a computer playin' music? Is this done on computers? I like gee-tars," and of course,
• "What the happy horseshit?!? You call this music?!?"

After awhile, he just gave up, and he'd carry on conversations with the cars we passed. I had this theory that if he stopped talking, his bodily functions would cease, much in the way a shark dies if it stops swimming. I've never understood why people talk when they've got absolutely nothing to say. I find it annoying.

I deserve a medal for not killing that horrible little man.

Anyhow, back to my taste in music, and online record-store recommendations. Most of the stuff I like is on smaller, hard-to-find labels, and as such, I have to buy direct from the label, or from more obscure online shops. Many of those shops have that "you may also like…" feature, and sometimes I pay attention to it.

This record was one that kept popping up when I ordered stuff from guys like Keith Whitman and Tim Hecker, so I finally broke down and decided to give it a shot.

This is one of those odd records that's quite modest in its aspirations, and though it didn't knock me out of my chair, it came as quite a pleasant surprise.

Parts of it remind me of the guys above, as well as Fennesz in his more coherent moments. Much of it is loosely guitar-based, though the instrument is used very sparingly and is highly processed. It evokes a sort of desolation that wouldn't be out of place on Labradford's last two records, but where Labradford keeps things as sparse as possible, Amute's music is more expansive.

Though the opening track doesn't seem to go anywhere, it's bristling with small details. Bits of static and surface noise imply a rhythm over thinly-stretched guitar arpeggios. "Landslips" rides a wavering, almost microtonal drone that sounds like untuned wind noise until the guitar sets up a bassline and a tonality takes shape. The rest of the track is driven by a series of intricate variations on the hiss and static that gradually creep in from the periphery.

Having gotten the academic bits out of the way, rest of the album focuses on more emotional territory, evoking a snowy soft-focus landscape of sorts. "Lose Nothing but Happiness…" wouldn't sound out of place on 4AD circa 1996, until the guitar part finds itself submerged in a gated echo and a half-hearted drum loop pokes its head through the ether.

"Aux Creux des Vagues, Mon Visa" rides a calliope loop and almost approaches something like traditional song structure before collapsing into a dissonant percussion part that oddly sounds right at home. "Weight of Time, Relief" builds to a still but powerful climax, while "Oublier et Doucement…" comes off as a pastoral, analog Robert Fripp experiment.

If all this sounds derivative, well…it is and it isn't. Most of the elements are familiar, but Amute puts them all together in a manner that suggests more discipline and training than most folks in this field. The result is a record made from disparate elements that still keeps a great deal of coherency. Highly recommended for fans of the Type and 12K records cadre.

Available from Intr_version records.