Named after a rather bulbous-eyed dragonfly, the opening track, ‘Redeye Skimmer’, sets the parameters for what follows. Using what sounds like the most synthetic of eighties drum machine samples to plot a Brazilian rhythm, a series of stark, glassy synth tones slide and writhe oblivious to the carnival beat. The same recipe is used on the majority of the twelve tracks presented here. Indeed, tracks like ‘Master of Deception’, ‘Hymenoptera’, ‘Hemiptera’ and ‘Anthromorphic Weevil’ all seem to feature the same jazzy hi-hat pattern dominating the sparse mix, giving the impression that the album is to be viewed as a single work.

And it’s a genuinely perplexing sound pitching the somewhat regular brittle beats against freeform R2D2-style chatter. Each soundbank seems to operate so independently as to create a cartoon-like sense of clumsiness that recalls some of Tzadik CEO John Zorn’s own efforts in homage to Carl Stalling, composer of the Looney Tunes soundtracks.

The more engaging pieces are those that largely avoid the incessant drum patterns. Best of all is ‘Luciol’, a sonorous paen to the firefly whose shifting showers of bell tones illuminate a tentative yet elegant evolution, coming on a bit like the indecipherable but no less charming conversations of The Clangers.

But for the most part Class Insecta is a frustrating and empty Butterfly’s Ball. With its repellently regular rhythms played on the same, thin samples placed so central to the mix, the more artful explorations in synthesis are easily missed. Instead of music that suggests the natural, stealthy movements of the most alien of species, it feels more like the sound of a faulty insect-making machine: somehow mechanical and cold yet chaotic.