An erstwhile master of ambiance and intrigue, Daniel Lanois’ unique aural imprint has, at various times, informed the works of Bob Dylan, U2, Peter Gabriel and Emmylou Harris, giving each the rarified feel of gothic haunts and shadowy domains. A producer and a player by turns, he served an apprenticeship under ambient auteur Brian Eno early on, and Eno’s influence is especially evident on this—Lanois’ most spectral excursion yet. Tellingly titled Flesh And Machine, it finds him opting for less of the former and more of the latter, while veering into sonic terrain eerily reminiscent of the dreamy atonal soundscapes once conceived by avant-garde composers like Steve Reich and Terry Riley. This, of course, means a lack of any material that could be deemed of the hummable variety; instead, these vague instrumentals are draped with hushed halo effects, a mix of random rhythmic pulses, droning tones and a brief shimmering sparkle. With the exception of the pensive yet plodding “Iceland,” the dry and ominous “Opera,” and the surprisingly lithe sway of “My First Love,” the material is amorphous and elusive, neither here nor there but wafting weightlessly through atmospheric realms in between.