Producer Eric Copeland's credentials as an equilibrium usurper are rock-solid: Just check his work with Black Dice and Terrestrial Tones. So it's no shock that his solo debut, Hermaphrodite, similarly conjures magic mushroom-y miasmas of ill frequencies and distorted symphonies of (dis)turbulence. Hermaphrodite is an apt name: It's impossible to pinpoint definitively any generic or stylistic category for this music. Its amorphousness and elusiveness are what make the disc a uniquely dumbfounding listen. While much of Hermaphrodite boasts atmospheres and textures that make The Residents sound tame, some moments of levity surface above the psychosis-inducing psychedelia and grotesque ethnic forgeries: "Green Burrito" and "Spacehead" offer relatively sanguine respites, but Hermaphrodite is strictly for the headwrong.