Supersilent has always been difficult to label. Their darkly atmospheric mix of electronics (processing, vintage synthesizers and the like) and acoustic instruments (trumpet, drums and the occasional guitar) seems to fall somewhere in the vast no-man’s land separating post-rock, out jazz, and abstract electronic music. This fourth release by the Norwegian quartet finds the group in fine, brooding form. From the opening notes of the record, the group strikes a somber, elegiac tone, creating an extended magisterial dirge of organ augmented by clattering percussion and increasingly insistent squalls of electronics that swirl and howl like demons. It’s an often somber, even funereal record, with few moments of unalloyed beauty (most often courtesy of Arve Henricksen’s plaintive trumpet). And yet, oddly enough, 6 is Supersilent’s most immediately accessible record to date with its evocative half-melodies and glacial, drifting drones.