It has no basis even in the established genre of electronic avant garde.  Due to the abrasive nature of many of these sounds, 'noise' may be a tempting label, and noise fans are possibly the most likely audience to enjoy this recording, but this album was clearly not created to express anger or violence, adhere to any established aesthetic of noise music, or achieve some kind of zen by being the loudest recording possible.

Noma's take on abrasive avant garde is simultaneously more academic and less pretentious - he seems to simply say 'listen', and proceeds to present the sounds from our every day lives in a very new context.  The tracks are lengthy, and do not really attempt any kind of linear progression, choosing instead to present different permutations of a general idea until an arbitrary end point.  No 'composition' is attempted aside from the textural, the combination of timbres.  There is nothing close to rhythm.  The goal seems at least in part to be the simple documentation of sound possibilities everyday objects possess.  Only a couple of artists stand in similar territory, David Jackman (of Organum) being the closest by my estimation.

Sometimes the resulting feeling is that of alienation, as in "Guitar on Computer", created by recording the inner workings of a home computer with guitar pickups.  Here, the emotionless yet constant ambience of the computer, left, as is Noma's custom, raw and unshaped into conventionally 'musical' structures, blares uncomfortably close and personal, in the forefront of the soundfield.  That familiar droning buzz, informing us that the machine is 'on', gives way to elaborate distortions seemingly caused by activity on the part of the computer.  Listening to this, the machines around us appear as unsympathetic invaders, dominating our lives in ever-increasing degrees while possessing no consciousness or understanding of the human psyche.  The track is coldly impressive, and the guitar pickups bring out these sonic textures in a way I've never heard before.

Other times, it's as if a strange empathy is created between Noma and his machines.  The centerpieces of the album are the two "Razor" compositions, actually created with unprocessed recordings of electric shavers.  What begins as a novel but academic exercise in texture becomes something uncanny - it's as if the 'singing voice' of the Razor is revealed.  Overtones somehow transform to beautiful, liquid resonance; the most perfect and subtle unintentional drone.  Many times, I completely forgot I was listening to the sound of a household object and mistook the track for something else from my dark / space ambient library.  "Razor 1" is more listenable and beautiful, whereas "Razor 2" keeps a more consistent sound which varies between a relentless nervous tension and a singular purity.

The last track "Main Theme 1" is the only track not to specify a specific 'domestic' sound source, and boasts a broader variety of sounds.  Rather than recording the inner voices of his sound sources, Noma seems to be expressing himself this time around, making some use of looping and editing.  It's a deeper track but not immediately memorable.  Texturally, it seems to combine all the preceding tracks, and thus rounds the album out nicely.

I find this album to be a stroke of brilliance.  For what it is - an abrasive and unstructured but deeply creative exploration into sound texture and timbre - it is magnificent.  I am aware, however, that its audience is extremely limited.  For this reason I considered changing my rating to 4 stars, but stopped myself due to a very important fact - somehow, this album is quite listenable to me.  Noise and avant garde albums often quickly lose my attention by being repetitive, droning on,  and presenting nothing memorable that the mind can attach itself to.  Noma's "Domesticism" changes at all the right moments and remains engaging.  Therefore, I'd say that if you've read this review up to this point and are still interested in the record, it's probably for you.