Certainly Diaz-Infante and Forsyth are not in a hurry. They moan, pluck and pick, catching and releasing glimpses of rusty yet angelic guitar chorales, always leaving lots of open roads for your mind to roam. Rarely guitar music sounded so transcendental and with no elemental definition; the two hit their stringed arsenal with any possible technique, accompanying drones and repetitive strumming on dissonant open tunings with random pickup noise/hum and sudden electrocutions. It makes for a beautifully desolated audio painting, perfect soundtrack for scenes placed in unknown desert towns, or maybe better suited to those segments of life where one needs no more than just sitting and remaining totally silent. Lovers of Branca, Chatham and Moore/Ranaldo are invited too, as far as they don’t expect powerfalls and noisy rock. Thumbs up in the sea wind, this is a great record.