Bear with me, and bear with Jogger, for just a minute.

I heard about the release, and within hours, there are reviews and news, popping up.

They are little techno-color mushrooms after a squall. Little eyeballs into a different world. Watch out for people who like things too much, too quickly; they are trying to trick you. Right?

Boom Boom Chik, Shilo Urban, I Am a Laser, a dazeddigital.com interview ...

Cue the tracklist, hit the play button. Giddy-up.

I listened to it all the way through, and the word that I kept defaulting back on was “irritating”. The sonic twists and turns were pricking at my ears and my attention; I was having no trouble focusing on the music, but was struggling to find meaning in it.

As the album progressed, a mental image was forming. Two guys facing each other in a sandbox in the middle of a park. In front of one guy, an old Casio synth keyboard he’d just bought from Goodwill (the type with the beige buttons you push for tone selection that say “Piano 1” and “Piano 2”) and an old step sequencer drum machine with a broken tempo knob. And in front of the other guy, a guitar and a banjo, each lightly dusted with attic dirt. Every once in a while, they would pull out drinking straws and shoot spitballs at each other. It was safe to say the story of this music was eluding me.

When I sit down on the couch to really dig into an album, my cats will come to visit and listen with me.  Halfway through “Falling”, they both woke up, looked around the room scared, and took off running.

A few tracks later, Jogger deconstructs Booka Shade and M.A.N.D.Y.’s original version of “Superman”, and I am thoroughly unsettled.

But I have a mantra - : Never listen to anything just once.

Some hours later, re-settled, turn the lights off, close my eyes. I hear the cats wander back in and curl up on the couch. Take two.

Right away I can tell my ears are tuned differently. The Allman Brothers String Cheese Incident –esque guitar riffs are more balanced now. Because I know what to expect, the vocal harmonies aren’t tweaking my musical sensibilities anymore. I can hear the care that went into the phrasing of some of the hyper-speed drum sequencing. There’s still a sense of This Is Happening/Now This Is Happening, the A to B switches, like someone is hitting stop on one cassette tape the same time someone else is hitting play, but the deeper layers are becoming more apparent.

I’m in my favorite spot, inside the music instead of outside searching. I’m catching nuances; edits and pieces of stray audio. I know some of the intentional dissonances are coming, so I’m prepared. The Casio keyboard is now on the Piano 1.789 setting. Yep, I think that was just a sheep baa-ing that I heard. Yep. Definitely a sheep.

I remember when I was little, maybe 9 or 10 years old, when my mom wasn’t in the house, my dad would run down and grab a few records out of his collection. He’d play Isao Tomita’s Greatest Hits, Firesign Theatre albums, soundtracks produced by Wendy Carlos. I probably didn’t understand what it meant at the time, but I was feeling the energy of being let in on a secret.

After three listens to “This Great Pressure”, that feeling was back. I doubt Jogger is looking for mainstream fans with this album. This is not a popularity contest, any way you slice it. The music is almost entirely inaccessible if you’re looking for something comfortable to listen to, either as individual tracks or as a compilation. Tunes like "Nephicide" are just as much about you stripping off your layers of bias as they are about anything else. You have to hear it to believe it.

Have no doubt, those two guys in my mental sandbox are grinning at you every time you look away; you just need to take the time to figure out what, exactly, they’re grinning about.