Christian Pyle is an anomaly in the modern world. Eschewing glamour, fads and celebrity he's pioneered all three in his own inimitable style as founding member of Acre, a Brisbane band that nearly tipped over into the hyperstream and would surely have if not for Pyle's refusal to kowtow to the flippant demands of passing fame. Instead he chose to live his own life and play his own music, producing a wide range of music for other acts in between. His use of spastic rhythms and counter-melodies, ghostly voices and antiquated instrumentation (ranging from toy pianos to homemade theremins) is local legend. Sometimes these quirks threaten to place him in the dadaist realms of John Cale, Sonic Youth or even Kraftwerk, but his love of a simple melody and primal pop structure are always underpinned by the guitar foundations that keep him entrenched in rock'n'roll. Those familiar with his work Ghost Mountain, the Re-mains, Jesse Younan, Billy, et al will recognise the subtle but layered vocals and reverbs, the obsessive, warped melodies, the cunning arrangements that recycle simple progressions and beats into seemingly complex symphonies. In fact some of the songs carry the epic melodic momentum of Pink Floyd or Radiohead, a statement he'd probably take issue with. In his latest solo album Nothing Left to Burn he's crafted a gentle but deceptively savage record that hacks and stabs at several of his private bete noires while maintaining an even lope, like an experienced lantana cutter excising his quarry with efficient, but deadly swipes of the brush-hook. CP plays all the instruments, displaying virtuoso talents that are almost impossible to repeat live. There is nothing predictable here. From the enigmatic 'Trees and Stone' to the perfect pop song 'Ray of Your Sunshine', you can not put this album in any kind of box. The urgent restlessness of 'Wait Son' a warning to his eager, impatient progeny is deeply haunting: 'Wait son don't you understand, our road's been walked upon since time began. We're just a borrowed coat tryin' to fit a stranger's shoulders, we're just the branches of a family...' Not for committed dance-obsessives or those prone to lyric-triggered depressions, 'Nothing Left To Burn' demands a certain amount of work from the listener. Lyrically caustic and sonically exquisite, it's an artistic and oddly elegant exercise that rewards diligent engagement and then just try and get the songs out of your head.