Robb rips into the familiar chug and wail she introduced on her fantastic debut album, How to Moonwalk, with “A Kiss,” soloing relentlessly over a looping riff.  “Dispenser” finds her sawing the air with the guitar, growing only more frenzied as the song unravels. The centerpiece of the record, “Slowing Singing Bathing Shaving” locates Robb’s sound among the drone for which Philadelphia is so well known.

But there’s an intimacy here, too. It’s not a noise bath. It’s a deeply personal record – not in the sense that it’s telling a story that feels like a secret being shared – but that it’s just Robb and her guitar, alone together. The sound is at once austere and rich; you might overlook how the raw vulnerability of her work is what makes it so compelling. Unlike the maelstrom that is Astute Palate, there’s nowhere to hide in the mix.

That aspect reveals itself in the record’s more plaintive moments, like the meditative, “First Grow a Gold Plant,” underpinned by a throbbing chord that pulses beneath the melody. It’s countered immediately afterward by the wooly rave up  “Rolling Electric Ball.” It’s just a classic wall of riffage that blankets the listener in fuzz before decaying on the runout.

What makes Emily Robb’s work so remarkable is how much is clearly left in the tank. She’s an inventive, exciting artist making fun, engaging music. If misery loves company, then consider yourself invited.