Hardly anyone starts out as a minimalist—at least, not a good one. Whether working in music, painting, or poetry, perhaps you can only effectively leave out as much as you've previously put in. Norwegian house music producer Bjørn Torske has been at it since the late 1990s, and it shows in his advanced level of idiosyncratic understatement. He builds enveloping, vividly fluttering shapes from the merest scraps of musical information—a plucked string, a smear of organ, a dollop of bass—which are deeply syncopated around contoured absences, where the more overt gestures of house music should be. Torske's constructions sound at once impossible and effortless, as if lightly carried along by their own oddball physics, and he treats 4/4 time like a curio cabinet that hides infinite compartments of different shapes and sizes.