Unlike Man Ray’s dreamlike 1928 surrealist film of the same name, her score for it is severely in focus: carefully placed single notes of electric guitar hang in a space made so tense by expectation that the air feels like glass under pressure. Buckling under the weight of their own naked intensity and the film’s obscure ritual logic, both takes end with a sudden descent into a seasick pitch-shifted blur. On the flip, seven etude-like songs recorded in an Austin hallway, were inspired by solo saxophone exercises. These pieces are meditations on sound rather than words. Tongue and throat animate the air, unconstrained by lyrical concerns; vocal shapes are carved, probed, turned over, and discarded. Previously released on cassette (Freedom From 2000). Silkscreened jackets. Edition of 300.