Although I've never met either of them, I feel like I have grown up with Bill Rieflin and Chris Connelly. My first encounters with them were as part of Ministry's legendary The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste tour. Rieflin's crushing drums and Connelly's frenetic howl knocked me sideways into the dark world of industrial music. This sound was taken to its illogical conclusion with the Revolting Cocks and a host of side projects. As I grew older and somewhat more thoughtful, Connelly showed me new angles of sound with the musical circus known as Pigface. Tracks like "Point Blank" taught me how a simple melody in the center of cacophony could rise above its obvious self to become a transcendent moment of beauty. More time passed. I began to mellow, and the pair grew with me. Connelly recognized that a well-timed phrase and an acoustic guitar could be more powerful than a wall of distortion, and he used this knowledge to stunning effect on albums like Shipwreck and his recent work with the Bells. And as I began to delve deeper into jazz, so did Rieflin, through collaborations with Trey Gunn and Robert Fripp.

Now, as I enter a stage of my life in which I am "settling down", Rieflin and Connelly have provided me with yet another soundtrack for my life. Eschewing both prominent drums and synthetic sounds, Largo is dominated by two forces: Connelly's poetic voice and Rieflin's haunting piano. The roots of this approach can be found in "The Last of Joy", a collaboration between the two which first appeared on Connelly's Whiplash Boychild album and resurfaces here in a new form. The title track begins the album with only these two textures, setting up a mood of uneasy solitude. The music could almost be peaceful if it wasn't for the hesitation, the sensation of waiting for the other shoe to drop. The space between chords feels naked, and it isn't until the introduction of strings during the bridge that you begin to feel as if you're on solid ground. Then, just as the music wells up into a comforting arrangement, everything drops out of the mix except for Connelly's voice and a subtle, ticking clock. This is by far the most melancholy song either artist has written, and it's one of their crowning achievements.

The rest of the album isn't quite so haunting, but it's just as touching. "Pray'r" adds acoustic guitar to a piano line that has the innocence of a sunny day on the boardwalk. With its walkabout chorus, "Pray'r" is the album's most immediately appealing track. Another gem is "Close Watch", a cautious song which makes optimum use of Connelly's baritone and is possibly my favorite Connelly vocal ever. Besides the aforementioned "Salt of Joy", the song that comes closest to their past work is "Wake 3", which combines a tempestuous minor piano with Connelly's trademark wail. Even here, however, their maturing skills are demonstrated when they opt for Wagnerian desperation instead of industrial pummel.

Classic and classical, Largo's simple approach leaves plenty of room for the listener to project themselves upon it, giving the disc both longevity and an enduring depth. Containing some of Rieflin and Connelly's best work to date, Largo gives still more insight into the minds of two wonderful musicians as they hone their already impressive skills.