Five tracks, all labelled “Untitled.” Makes it easy to listen to this as one piece—in five movements. Certainly the overall sound of the thing changes very little from “movement” to “movement.” Nor does the basic aesthetic change much either. In other words, it’s a consistent piece from start to finish fifty-two minutes later.

If it sounds like I’m describing something that doesn’t change much, not to worry. It’s as various as anyone could desire. It’s a feast of clattering, whirring, plucking, tapping, clanking, droning loveliness. A mess of electronic noise will suddenly give way to a completely acoustic sound, either instrument or voice or some sound from a field recording, a sonic photograph as it were from one or other of Joel’s travels. The effect is startling, of course. The “natural” sound sounds newly strange coming in a context of “unnatural” electronic noises.

Not that Wormwood is at all about startling us. This music is about small sounds (some amplified so they’re quite loud), which clink and hiss and whine in a world of constant activity, with very little repetition, but which always sounds like itself and nothing else.