The Nels Cline Singers have no singer; they're, at least based on this evidence, a power trio with a thousand faces. Nels Cline's shredding, Sharrockian reimagining of John Coltrane's Interstellar Space (a duo with drummer Gregg Bendian) is perpetually fantastic, and 2006's New Monastery, his tribute to recently deceased pianist Andrew Hill, was brilliant too. His work with Wilco pays the bills I bet, but it ultimately sounds and feels like sideman work. In any case, this latest Singers disc frequently brings Cline's noisy side way out in front, as upright bassist Devin Hoff slaps and bows along beside him and drummer/electronics guy Scott Amendola whips the living shit out of his kit when he's not emitting hums and buzzes and throbs like some kind of malevolent robot. But there are also tracks like "The Angel Of Angels" which are beautiful enough to make it onto the late-night shift of a new age radio station, and the 16-minute "An Evening At Pops'," which devolves into something almost like doom metal. (Cline, not Bill Frisell, should be guesting on the next Earth album.) But "Confection," is the post-punk gem, a four-minute blastfest that falls somewhere between psychobilly and skronk-jazz, a dose of raw excitement balanced with absolutely impeccable technique (there is no point at which Cline sounds less than 100 percent in control of every sound he's making) that oughta make your nipples rock-hard and your leg spasm like you've been snake-bit. So, really, this album has something for everyone. Except folks who insist on vocals, and there's nothing you can do for or about people like that.