It is incredibly hypnotizing to listen to American composer Robert Ashley's monotonous drawl incant the two long-form text pieces that comprise Private Parts. Accompanied by the lush keyboard work of "Blue" Gene Tyranny and a roiling tabla rhythm courtesy of an individual named Kris, the absurdist pseudo-narrative unfurls calmly and deliberately, belying the idiosyncratic nature of the text itself.

A man might be disconsolately unpacking his luggage in a motel room; the man seems to want to use the phone but hangs up; the phone rings. A whole confounding series of thoughts, events and observations occur before Ashley intones: "This is not a record. This is a story." Obtusely enough, the narrator has just finished telling his audience that there are "two gees in eggs."