However, the package provides two disks – a CD and a DVD – giving its audience the option of using one or two of their senses. Initially taken as pure audio, the first piece, Köllt, recalls one of López’ earlier works from 2001 (Untitled #104) that temporarily set aside his usual environmental sound sources and instead took a range of speed metal samples and edited them into a hive of intense activity gaining comparisons to Kevin Drumm and Merzbow. Köllt follows suit source-wise, but is more focussed on percussive qualities, weaving together short loops of blast beats full of splattering double-pedalled kick drums and splashing hi-hats. At times, the dramatic source material gets unrecognisable becoming more like field recordings of war zones through the ages with ballistas firing amidst clouds of soaring, flaming arrows then later machinegun fire and tanks converge in a haze of freneticism. Elsewhere, López’ deft jump cut edits send the listener away from the action as a distant observer of waterfalls crashing and boiling before they vanish within heavy rainfall.

Kulu feels like the inverse of Köllt’s maximal metal mosaic, as for the most part it seems to be made of air moving through several different environments. The anxious aviary that flaps and cycles at its start is soon replaced by a tranquil, near-silent, hiss that builds and guides us through both urban and natural places, exploring industrial air conditioners and abandoned tube tracks, seashell interiors and riverside flora. The buoyant journey ends with ten minutes filled with what could be the sharp whirr of a fishing rod reel, casting multiplying layers of itself into a climactic pendulous march.

But will the welcome bewilderment of López audio work be lost when allied to moving images? Possibly this is true for Köllt, whose busy pummelling is convincingly represented onscreen as insect life. Marching ants, usually seen from above, are superbly edited in time with the thrashing fragments building swarms of activity that resembles abstract expressionist animation during the piece’s many intense passages. Kulu, on the other hand, is mostly a solid black screen, but one that is fairly regularly but always very briefly interrupted by a small, central strip of four frames neatly placed alongside each other displaying similar footage. They show at various times glimpses of snow-filled woodland, a railway track, riverbeds, and are often shot at night such as an orange-lit staircase, office blocks and a residential street. It gives the piece a voyeuristic quality that wasn’t felt in the audio, but being expanded to just under an hour and filled with virtual silences it’s more a case of crane and strain as one anticipates the next sensual event.

Interestingly, by staring at a predominantly blank screen the mind can feel better prepared to concentrate fully on what is ostensibly noise. Instead of wandering thoughts getting in the way of any immersion, this anticipative state can help induce the optimum behaviour to getting the most out of López beguiling sounds. So once viewed, the video for Köllt, though impressive in its own right, will always suggest ants when listening to the audio version again; and Kulu’s devious diversion of a blank screen, while helpful in processing unrecognisable sound sources, didn’t benefit from the many brief cameo locations that took the attention away from the magical properties of the sounds.