Steven Stapleton’s latest release as Nurse With Wound marries some of his long-floating tendencies: serenely eerie feedback loops, voices screaming and/or shuddering in various foreign languages, and barely-there piano tinkling. Where last year’s Huffin’ Rag Blues threatened to tip Stapleton’s hand with cringe-inducing moments of beatnik lounge collage, The Surveillance Lounge offers less in the way of surprise, but returns to the starkness and po-faced absurdity of his (cringe) canonical albums. Like all of NWW’s best work, this is one to put on when you want to feel your room slowly close in on you. As good and familiar as that can feel, it’s hard not to feel like NWW’s work is a bit of a shell game at this point in Stapleton’s career—though that should only add to the charm for fans.