Epiphany is a compelling, haunting, and almost genreless record that combines Fahey's experimental folk musings and some of those post-rock sounds -- sort of like Mississippi John Hurt meets Skinny Puppy, minus the Godzilla beats. Sort of. The opening dirge, "Tuff," introduces the eerie electro-acoustic soundscapes that pervade the entire disc. "The New Red Pony" sounds like evil technological monstrosities invading a placid backwater delta. "Our Puppet Selves" hums with deeply embedded, near-industrial electronics; its crafty arrangement rises above the aimless noodling of most explorations of this ilk. "Magic Mountain" evokes phantasmagoric sounds that vie with a steel-string guitar for the darkest tonal center.
The combo is quite convincing on those tense instrumental cuts. But when Fahey and Jones try a Beckett-like absurdist dialogue on the last two tunes ("More Nothing," "Nothing"), they come up with empty artifice -- an admirable attempt (perhaps) to bring out the frustrating recording process in words, but insubstantial nonetheless. Still, if the dadalike wordplay helped the duo submit to musical happenstance, it's best that they came up with nothing; epiphany surely lay in its wake.