At first glance, "Garden Of Stone", the inaugural solo record by P. A. Huelsenbeck, seems to ripple serpentine. Scales over flesh topple softly as a snake piles high in the dim. A texture nearly like an overcoat, a shape almost like a huddled body. Almost, until Huelsenbecks hand beckons you into the reality that this is no snake, this is P. A. himself. "Garden Of Stone" is a molt, a shedding of one old thing to reveal something new. But instead of the shirking off of some glistening scaled skin the records nine pieces shed the raw human experience and from its depths rises Huelsenbeck. P. A.s voice, much like his image on the album cover, is hidden under each piece. He uses his voice as an instrument that drifts in from somewhere deep, dark, and below. In front, around, above, and underneath swim guitar, synthesizer, koto, saxophone, trumpet, horn, drums, and bass to provide a soft, lush foundation. From somewhere distant, each note carries the gentle scent of tall pines, forgotten cabins, and damp but breezy oceans.