HUBBARD's name pops up on several TRUMMERFLORA-associated releases, so it's no surprise that we find him forging together an album of his own, rather than appearing as a guest of others. As percussion is his main contribution to the world of music, this album is filled with a variety of things beaten, slapped, shaken and rubbed. What might surprise you is the width of composition and the wealth of sounds which go to make this album by turns intriguing, abrasive and nightmarish. He must have utilised anything which came within beating distance - some things are obvious - kitchenware and radiators, while there's just too much going on to easily spot that which otherwise might be mandane. And while his roots may be in Jazz, there's a whole lot of harshness here which might just appeal to the Noise enthusiast - walls of feedback noise clash against enormous bags of scrap and junk. Although there are moments when he feels inclined towards his Jazz roots, he is fearless when stepping into the land of Noise, indeed exploring areas few have dared to tread. There seem to be a handful of samples and a lorry load of studio technique - from back masking to fx - and yet the core of this music is the percussion, the live, dynamic meeting of human ability with non-living objects to create something far greater than it's parts. HUBBARD bashes, hits, stirs, caresses, mixes and generally tortures his seemingly limitless wealth of sounds to create a scrap yard orchestra which would make such folk as Z'EV and early TEST DEPT shake their collective heads in wonder. This album is not an easy listening experience - there are few if any moments where the sound is not destroyed and disturbed in one way or another. Confrontational, cacophonous, crazed yet cleverly composed, this is a furious wake up call to those of us who have lost sight of our Industrial heritage. Originally reviewed for Metamorphic Journeyman.