100 copies limited edition. Housed in high quality card stock with art silk screened by Alan Sherry at SIWA Printing * From their early '90s inception to the latter years of the 21st century's first decade, No Neck Blues Band appeared (to distant observers, anyway), to be something of the Platonic ideal for the "improvisational collective," in turn confounding ideas of authorship, recognition, and fame. A fragile symbiosis at best, the scrim of anonymity began to fray sometime around the turn of the century, and a group that looked like it might, for a second, become the ur-rock, drug-soaked United-States-of-American AMM, instead unravelled. As individual members began to emerge from behind the veil, the conceptual, compositional, and improvisational personalities behind the group's untouchable alchemy took form. Two of the group's lifers stood out -- Dave Shuford, undeniably the group's guitar powerhouse (who also revealed himself to be an ace songwriter with Rhyton, D. Charles Speer, et al), and Pat Murano, who founded his label Daksina to explore obsessions with deep electronics, metal's outer reaches, and late-night murmurings of all sorts. In addition to whatever else they were, Murano and Shuford confirmed their status as high-order improvisers, albeit with an expansive grip wielding far more power than the polite conversationalist permeating most "non-idiomatic" improv genres. On their second duo LP Sing and Play for the Guru, Shuford and Murano dig deep into the crevices of nocturnal electric moan, the first side a meditation on the abyss that sits easily on the shelf next to Murano's blackest Decimus musings. Building at a horrifically slow pace towards a sunless molten boil of vocals and electronics, the side is a perfect soundtrack to our ongoing entropic apocalypse, a "dark ambient" opus that manages to make Abruptum sound like Kiss. While it's a stretch to call side B "brighter," it moves from its opening guttural cyborg eviscerations into tranced-out elaborations on non-Western modalities (something both of these punters excel at) with synapse-cleansing grace. As a whole, the LP ups the ante yet again for Daksina, whose every release effortlessly resets the pinnacle for non-rock psychedelic entanglement. Regardless of your take on the future, it seems foolish to muse on society's collapse with anything other than this record on the deck, your ass in an armchair, and your libations of choice flowing into your gullet. Tom Carter