After so much of a similar thing, it's just great to hear Frisell being pushed in a new direction.
By 2004, Bill Frisell had spent years establishing himself as a careful, often restrained melodist — someone you could trust to serve a song rather than dominate it. Unspeakable breaks that contract. The album strips away much of the refinement listeners had come to expect and replaces it with texture, noise, and genuine unpredictability. Tracks like "Stringbean" and "Old Sugar Bear" deliberately court harshness: keyboards that don't apologize for their artificial sheen, guitar tones that buzz and distort rather than bloom. This is Frisell letting himself get loud, and the effect is bracing.
The shift matters because Frisell's catalog to that point had settled into a comfortable groove. He was respected, prolific, deeply embedded in the Nonesuch catalog, but Unspeakable catches him restless. The noisier passages won't sit well with everyone — listeners drawn to Frisell for his gentleness will find themselves flinching — but that resistance is the point. There's playfulness here, a willingness to pursue sounds simply because they're interesting rather than because they resolve neatly into a finished emotional statement.
AllMusic reviewer Sean Westergaard gave the album 4.5 stars, recognizing both the deliberate provocation and the underlying craft. What distinguishes Unspeakable from dilettante noise-making is that Frisell still understands melody and structure; he's just chosen to suspend them in favor of something rougher and stranger. For listeners willing to follow him into that territory, the album rewards attention.