Pianist Cory Smythe’s music “dissolves the lines between composition and improvisation with rigor” (Chicago Reader) and here improvises on the jazz standard Smoke Gets In Your Eyes — or some semblance of Smoke Gets In Your Eyes: its swirling, spiralling vocality, its portrayal of deceit and disappearance, its fluidic memorial to acrid, heart-breaking loss. In addition, he attempts to add to (and undermine) the piano’s resources of sound with extensions of concealed computerized origin. The piano here, like the love affair lamented in the Kern/Harbach standard, isn't quite what it seems.