themselves, formerly them, are doseone and jel- the former a nowhere man out to make the world small and his neuroses something lovely, an artist who is free of form and slave to his own scatterbrained genius; the latter the drum machine's premier musician, whose distinct few-bit sound and rhythmic sensibility get him coveted by vocalists far and wide. the no music. is dose and jel's second full length, an American ode to the exposed nerve. At times the soundscape is layered to the point of opacity, only to peel away and reveal the sometimes buried drum bone and sick sung skeleton beneath. the no music. sounds like the polyphony of all the machines in the factory that turn fetus heads into skulls. The project is dark, maybe morose in parts, but it never takes itself too seriously for too long. Although the words are sometimes cloaked beneath layers of noise, they are consistent, confidently self-aware, and deliberately interrelated. the no music. is part composition, part organized chaos.