True story: when I received Dwight Ashley's first solo album, Discrete Carbon, I played it at once, and promptly left the room. My home office is one of the few rooms of the house equipped with speakers, and it's where I do most of my deep and concentrated listening. That night, I slipped Ashley's album into the player, and was called away from the room almost immediately, whether it was for a phone call or some other distraction, I can't remember. Needless to say, as I chatted on the phone, or whatever, Discrete Carbon played on. Every once in a while, I'd hear sounds filter out of my office: a bassy tone, a swatch of heavenly ambience, an unusual texture; all far-away sounding, as though I was picking up transmissions from a distant radio broadcast. Briefly, my office had been transformed into an alien zone, one I was not part of, one I could only experience as an outsider.

While I could never recreate the oblique experience of distracted, distanced listening, an active listen to Discrete Carbon yields its own distinct pleasures. Track one, "Eightfold Way," features synth swells, and unusual organic sonic blossoms, similar to the glurp of Robert Rich. It's a brief track, but also a statement of intent of sorts, as the tracks that follow are similar in mood. "It Happened in November" follows, with melancholy synth strains, the occasional piano tinker, and unique sonics. A sample sounds suspiciously like a crowd cheering, and is that a car horn I hear? We don't quite find out exactly what happened in November, and that's part of the mystery and charm of the track. "Katalepsis" shoots us into the ionosphere with mechanical chittering and interstellar broadcasts between astronauts. This is a tense composition with haunting textures and field recordings of unknown origin. A lovely synth passage begins, amidst the white noise, which fades in and out like fitful slumber--an oneiric and adventurous track. "I Thought It Was There" is similarly uneasy, as though something inexplicable lurks just beyond our field of vision. A waveform oscillates with synth textures that remind me of Jeff Greinke's work; pleasantly radiant. "Three Insects" is claustrophobic and deep, with a swiftly beating heart underscoring the atmospherics along with muted piano. It's a short but rewarding track, recalling the womb each of us has experienced, but none of us remember. "Denial" is pure post-industrial soundscaping, with roaring tones, reverberant guitar strums, metallic clanging; uneasy listening, but still cohesive and interesting, though foreboding. "A Colossus Succumbs" is my favorite track on the album, an angelic chorus subtly phased, harmonic, and drifting, conjoined with the strange sounds that are present on each track of the album. "Eat Me, Drink Me" is subterranean ambience again, this time submerged beneath dark waters which gradually open up into reverberant synth symphonics, always with an undertone of darkness. "Examined by Tweezers" is the longest track on the album, at almost nine and a half minutes, and also the most static. Drifting textures and ghostly ambience recalling the lighter Rapoon works flow lightly and gently--a nice floater after all the tension on earlier tracks. "Carbon" is the last track on the album (but not really), ending it in an unsettling cut-up that reminds me of submerged Severed Heads. Strange, and somewhat frightening. A few tracks of silence, and we're treated to a hidden bonus track of lively piano playing that recalls the playful work of Erik Satie, though the illusion threatens to collapse at any moment.

Discrete Carbon is a constantly surprising, inventive album, never held down by excessive darkness and never unnecessarily sweet or precious. While the tracks presented here never achieve album-length cohesion, the overall feel of the album is moody, deep, and mysterious. If today's ambient artists can be faulted for erring on the side of stratospheric, drone-oriented, spacious material, Ashley provides a refreshing tonic with a constantly diverse and varied sound palette that recalls the more adventurous works of Jeff Greinke. In fact, compared to many recent ambient works, Ashley's album is decidedly iconoclastic, with ambiguous and fascinating track titles, non-spacey cover artwork, and difficult to pigeonhole musical choices. This album is for the adventurous listener, there is no doubt. If much modern ambient and electronic music seems too cut and dried or obvious, Discrete Carbon ought to have more than enough surprises and engaging passages to intrigue over repeated listens. It's also a promising first effort, and here's hoping Ashley decides to release more work in the near future.