Water Bucket makes the full list of materials and captured sounds used to create it—bucket of water (unsurprisingly), vibrator, microphones, amps, feedback, record player, radio, heater, kitchen utensils, bells, a drum, a wooden box strung with hanging wire, rain, wind, other objects, people, cars, airplanes—readily accessible, but such transparency does little to make the curious little album easier to decipher. Queue’s use of trivial objects, homey extracts, and an intimate, lo-fi approach to recording results in pleasingly messy piles of sounds both familiar and uncanny, humanly imagined celebrations of the mundane. But occasionally threatening the sanctity these delicate personal spaces are intrusions of the outside world; the seam between parts one and two of the titular piece is exposed by an unceremonious interjection by a radio news station, the transmitted words describing just one small facet of our constantly discouraging reality nearly shattering the fragile bit of peace that has been so reverently cobbled together. In the following two tracks, the samples become more soothing inclusions, but on “People and Animals” their out-of-place-ness is made clear, the languid folk tune slowly encroached upon by shards of feedback and a stuttering turntable stylus. “Rain on the Rail” acts as an unassuming but unsettling conclusion, stitching together domestic detritus with the ghostliest of threads.