I still feel guilty for peering over his shoulder, but I had to look. Musicians usually launch their work into the world from onstage, yet here he was, doing one of the bravest things any artist can do: waiting in line at the post office to mail a stack of demo discs to various labels.

It's an anonymous act that compels musicians to wonder at the fate of their work. Someone either says yes and agrees to champion the music, or the uncertain, uneasy void—few labels take the time or have the courtesy to send rejection letters anymore—continues and maybe grows.

Peering over Timm Mason's shoulder, I espied his moniker, Mood Organ, affixed to packages bound for labels famous and unknown. Every artist gets rejected; by the time we find them, the ones we know and love have been ignored, rebuffed, and rejected countless times. Yet Mason seemed calm, as if mailing Christmas cards. The pensive, gloaming tones of the disc, Visiting a Burning Museum (Debacle), reflect this confidence. Mason inscribes his music with poetic details that reward headphone listening: lonesome guitar, rustles of wind, swelling tones, and keyboards that sound like they're underwater, blurred by shivering eddies and ripples.

Mood Organ celebrates the release of the excellent Burning with an in-store show (Fri Aug 28, Dissonant Plane, 5459 Leary Ave NW, 784-5163, 7 pm, free). Previous performances have ranged from a set on solo electric bass to pieces for prepared piano and harmonium; expect an approach that explores a continuum from the visibly instrumental to abstract, unseen sound.

Another local sound artist, Colin Andrew Sheffield, shares the bill. Sheffield performs too infrequently; but when he does (full disclosure: I've only had three short conversations with him, but I opened for his duo performance with James Eck Rippie in 2007), he hews glacial, heaving drones from a turntable and an old-school sampler. Released earlier this year, Sheffield's gorgeous Signatures (Invisible Birds) processes bird recordings, freezing skyward shrieks and swooping wings, into drones that refract hidden, shimmering harmonies.

Burning is another installment in "The Emerald City Debacle Vol. II," an ongoing series by Debacle Records devoted to documenting local experimental music. From scabrous electronics such as on the eponymous Summon Thrull to charmingly perverted plunderphonics, most notably Fuck Rockin' in American Airspace by the Broken Penis Orchestra, this series testifies to a gradual revival of the avant scene in Seattle. Be warned that Emerald City Debacle follows the current (and probably permanent) trend of avant CDs toward limited-run (usually 100 or less) discs that can get hard to find quickly. If you want it, get it. My list of discs I've missed gets frustratingly longer every week! recommended