Though his discography stretches back to 2002, La Ciutat Ets Tu is the first solo album from Poland-born Torontonian Tomasz Krakowiak, a musician whose work as a percussionist takes place almost in disguise. This is due not to any obscuration of Krakowiak's identity, but instead the extent to which much of this disc disavows most remnants of sound even reminiscent of it's percussive origins. Through liberal processing Krakowiak erases much evidence of his instruments' typical output, and while there are some telltale sonorities to indicate a track's ingredients, even with the knowledge of the album's general instrumentation, identifying particular sound sources can be a challenge.

Each of La Ciutat Ets Tu's tracks tends to showcase a particular sound or method, with little in the way of shifts in dynamics and/or timbre. While the sounds themselves may not be, Karkowiak's style is rather minimalist, and most tracks don't feature much in the way of dramatic shifts in sound or climate. The disc is diverse, however, from the muffled scratch and scrape of "O_Vbrdb" to the incessantly rattling ring of "Drhacze," with touchpoints many places in between. The buzz saw tone of "Aigua Per A" might have a hard-edged veneer, but Krakowiak doesn't force things into the red, and La Ciutat Ets Tu is palpably clinical, a collection of pieces crafted by a musician well in control of his sound, with little room for spontaneity or surprises. This almost scientific approach doesn't birth an album void of appeal, but some tracks aren't up to the challenge of sustained self-support, and, with most topping the five-minute mark, some occasional twists and turns might be a welcome addition.

Both Krakowiak's reimagining of percussion's sonic potential and the variety of sounds that he elicits from his instruments are impressive. In his hands, the simple striking of wood on metal can be recast in numerous ways, but while there may be no telling what sound he'll create from one track to the next, once the listener has settled into a piece, there's never much question where it will lead. Perhaps this is a partial explanation of why Krakowaik's discography is heavy on collaborations, as a dance partner could both lend an accompaniment to and elicit reaction from the percussionist. This isn't to say that Krakowiak needs help to make his music thrive, for La Ciutat Ets Tu has its share of vibrant sounds, yet another voice, whether provided by Krakowiak or another, might have been just what (at least in some places) this album needed.

Thurston Moore sure has been digging noise lately. The Sonic Youth guitarist has always been a fan of difficult sounds, but it seems that, as of late, the noise underground's the apple of his eye, as evidenced by his recent year-end list found in his semi-regular "Bull Tongue" column with Mr. Byron Coley. His top 26 is crammed with obscure noise vittles, and given how packed his cranium must be these days of such ear damage, it's no surprise that he's been getting into the fray. Once a near-constant improvisational partner of all manners of free music agitators of both wide and little renown, Moore has shifted focus in recent years, offering music seemingly more influenced, interestingly, by a generation of musicians on which Moore has had a profound impact. The guitarist is more likely these days to saddle up beside a youngster with an army of effects pedals than a free jazz legend with a saxophone, though it's likely any shift in his musical activities isn't so much a conscious move as much as it is simply Moore being draw in by what excites him. Either way, Sensitive/Lethal, Moore's debut recording for No Fun, finds the husband and father getting down and dirty all by his lonesome, but, as the title might infer, there's no major dichotomy within the disc's music.

Bookended by two longer tracks whose names constitute the disc's title, Sensitive/Lethal might seem the perfect arena for a showcase of Moore's Jekyl and Hyde, acoustic prettiness on one side, electric abuse on the other. "Sensitive" is built largely from acoustic guitar, but there's little very sensitive about the track, which builds thick walls around the acoustic strumming at its center. The sounds aren't gentle, but Moore opts for a layered attack rather than distinctly punishing sounds, creating a thick soup of feedback, drones, groans, and squeals under which the acoustic guitar trods on, quietly but insistently. It's only at the track's conclusion that Moore's acoustic seems to lose the battle, fading out beneath distorted remnants of the music's earlier heft.

"Lonesome," the short intermission between the disc's two titular pieces, isn't too shabby, but its sculptural feedback feels like a segue to "Lethal," which begins with ringing, distorted chords and a palpably darker tone. Moore's guitar is still a primary weapon, though it's augmented liberally with the purrs, squeals, and shrieks of electronics. The track makes use of a surprisingly hard stereo split, with much of the electronics in the left and guitar in the right, a move that can increase the music's disorienting effect, though, especially when the left channel's mostly a high, steady squeal, the division can feel distracting, an obstacle to the sound's potential to immerse. In a sense, the entire track deals with this problem; "Lethal," for all its noisy energy, tends to feel more obviously constructed than its predecessors. This isn't a death knell, of course, and the music doesn't feel overly forced or faked, but the track never quite takes hold the way it has the potential to, and these ears seemed inclined to keep the music at a distance rather than inviting it on in to rattle its inner realms.

Sensitive/Lethal proves that Thurston Moore's far from done finding ways to wrangle sound from his guitars, and that any fear of him relaxing as he ages is likely unfounded. The album's not going to scare most listeners as much as Moore did the young lady on the album's cover, but Thurston's still no stranger to aggressive sound, as evidenced here in spades. With his vast discography, this release might not signify one of Moore's absolute best, but it's a more than ample sign that he's in no way ready to let the kids have all the fun.