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Alexander von Schlippenbach (Piano) & Dag Magnus Narvesen (Drums)

Soweiso, Berlin. July 16, 2016 Photo by Paul Acquaro

Snakeoil in the Palmengarten 8/4/2016

Tim Berne (as), Oscar Noriega (cl), Ryan Ferreira (g), Matt Mitchell (p) and Ches Smith (perc). Frankfurt, Germany. Photo Martin Schray

Flin van Hemmen Drums of Days 6/18/2016

FvH (piano/drums), Todd Neufeld (acoustic guitar), Thomas Morgan (bass) Firehouse Space, Brooklyn, NY. Photo by Paul Acquaro

Wednesday, September 28, 2016

Ehran Elisha: Three Quintets

Ehran Elisha - Kindred Spirit: Quintets (Out Now, 2016) ****


By Paul Acquaro

NYC based drummer and composer Ehran Elisha's double album Kindred Spirit: Quintets is a rich trove of music hewn from close listening and deep personal/musical connections.

The first disc, Kindred Soul features the late Roy Campbell (1952-2014) on trumpet, and the second disc, the Spirit Suite, is an improvised group with OutNow label mates including Yoni Kretzmer and Michael Attias. The connecting thread, aside from the drummer of course, is that both quintets were recorded at IBeam in Brooklyn one night in 2013. 

A real treat of the Kindred Soul quintet is a chance to hear new posthumous work from Campbell, but it is the duo of Ehran and his father, pianist Haim Elisha, that are at the heart of this music. Ehran sets up the framework for the group's interplay as the album opens. The first track, 'Prism' begins with atmospheric percussion and a light sprinkling of mysterious arpeggios from the piano, then, when Campbell enters, a real boost of energy. The intersection of Campbell's melodic lines with open tonal clusters from the piano, accented by percussive textures, is a treat to savor. On 'Charted Treks' Campbell sets the stage as his blues-drenched trumpet work shoots laser-like through oscillating piano figures and an undulating rhythm. On 'New Horizon', violinist Sam Bardfeld goes toe-to-toe with Campbell in a kinetic tussle. 'Moving On' features an energetic bass and drum passage that bundles up melody and atonality in a tempting package.

On the second disc, Spirit Suite, the piano-less quintet offers up quite a contrast to the first disc. With the group's two saxophones, Sean Conly on bass, and Rick Parker on trombone, the approach has an edgier tonality and lacks the lush harmonies provided by the piano. 'Spirit Serenade' kicks things off again with Elisha's stick work, Conly plays a spritely walk, and the horn section enters with a legato phrase. The controlled free playing that occurs gives listeners many musical strands to follow, with an overall effect of weaving a rich sonic tapestry. Parker's measured and melodic trombone solo at the end of the track is a knockout. The track 'Two by Five' is as classic free jazz as it gets. Intertwining themes are lifted by the deft rhythm work of Ehran and Conly. The closer, 'Outrise' has a slow fuse, but it when it burns down ...

In both of these quintets, Elisha's drumming is an equal partner in melody and tempo. He doesn't try to stand out as much as pull together through improvisation and composition. His great strength comes through creating the setting and guiding the music through its complex moods and approaches.

Kindred Spirit: Quintets is an excellent showcase for Elisha's musical concepts and relationships.



Ehran Elisha Ensemble - Continue (CIMP, 2013) ****


Worth a mention is Elisha's previous album Continue. Also featuring the piano work of his father Haim Elisha, the tight musical connection that drives the Kindred Souls quintet is on full display here too, along with the work of violinist Sam Bardfeld, saxophonist David Bindman, and bassist Ken Filiano.

'Continue, part one' begins with long passages featuring all the players, but right about in the middle of the 18-minute track, there is a spot where all the points seem to connect, like the center of an intricate spider's web and bassist Ken Filiano anchors it. From there, the bass and violin take extended solos with minimal splashes of color from the piano. When the sax comes back in, the music has changed and part two begins. Another highlight is the short 'Kirat Moshe' - an homage to the Jerusalem neighborhood perhaps - tinged with a melancholic beauty.

The mix of instruments and sharp compositions makes Continue something to come back to again and again.

-----
Musicians:
Kindred Soul (disc 1):
Roy Campbell - trumpet & flugelhorn
Sam Bardfeld - violin
Haim Elisha - piano
Dave Phillips - double bass
Ehran Elisha - drums

Spirit Suite (disc 2):
Michaël Attias - alto & baritone sax
Yoni Kretzmer - tenor sax
Rick Parker - trombone
Sean Conly - double bass
Ehran Elisha - drums

Continue:
Haim Elisha: piano;
Sam Bardfeld: violin;
David Bindman: tenor saxophone;
Ken Filiano: double bass;
Ehran Elisha: drums

Tuesday, September 27, 2016

Variable Geometry Orchestra - Quasar (Creative Sources, 2016) ***½



Boasting a forty-six member orchestra, the Variable Geometry Orchestra is one of the larger free-jazz ensembles I’ve listened to, and I can’t say I’m not a little surprised. First of all, the piece itself stretches to a mere thirty-one minutes; with such a colossal group at his disposal, one could easily forgive the VGO’s leader Ernesto Rodrigues for any indulgences - before seeing the run-time, I could have imagined the piece going on for three, even four hours. The fact that Rodrigues reins the Orchestra in and caps them at half an hour is impressive enough! The question that must be asked is this: does thirty minutes provide ample time for exploring the possibilities of the Orchestra? Can each individual voice get an opportunity to contribute to the roiling, rolling whole? The answer is: probably not. And that’s not really the point. Quasar is a journey through the textures such a group can construct, not necessarily the interlocking melodies or instances of counterpoint. In fact, there are no “solos” here, nor is there anything resembling a traditional melody. The piece could be described as one, continuous undercurrent - an uninterrupted series of shifting shapes that, occasionally, swells up to engulf the listener.

The name of the piece is “Apparent Magnitude,” which references how we measure the brightness of celestial objects from the Earth. If the opening of “Apparent Magnitude” could be quantified, it would register as the faintest of glows. It begins with murmurous undulations - rumblings that issue from indistinct locations, and the tentative susurrations of some percussionist (there are five listed). At some point, burbling electronics rise from the softly-churning mass, only to become submerged again. After ten minutes, when some brass instruments emit a short series of clipped, discordant tones, it comes as a minor shock - Rodrigues is so good at guiding the Orchestra through the murky and muted topography of this sound-world that it feels as if they will never break through the canopy. Those bursts are only short detours, however. The piece quickly returns to where it seems most comfortable: hushed textures, creaking strings, and Maria Radich’s possessed voice sounding like the whispered prognostications of an ancient oracle. Despite the seeming “eventlessness” of “Apparent Magnitude,” it’s to the Orchestra’s credit that things breeze right along - because of the large number of players, and because of the lack of any set structures to capture the attention, your ear latches on to whatever it can: a stray bellow here, a short snatch of subdued strumming there, and the occasional sigh of a saxophone. If you approach this recording as a document of the distinct, unrepeatable sounds that occurred at a church in Lisbon in the fall of 2015, you will be rewarded. It strikes me as a set of field recordings that extraterrestrial beings might make and be perplexed by for centuries: listening intently, but never quite able to work out just what is going on. In the final minute, when the Orchestra releases all of the pent-up energy that has been bubbling beneath the muted surface, you can finally see the blinding Quasar of the title - but far from casting any light, it leaves you even more puzzled: What just happened? And why do I want to hear it again?

Monday, September 26, 2016

Sachiko M & Eddie Prevost - 17.2.14 (Otoroku, 2016) ****


By Nicola Negri

Sachiko M – sine waves
Eddie Prevost – percussion

Free improvised music by definition allows musicians to work completely outside of established languages and traditions, and historically it has produced strikingly original musical worlds, radically different from anything that was before: Derek Bailey and his unique approach to the guitar, John Zorn in his duck calls period, etcetera.

Sachiko M, a Japanese artist active since 1994, has brought this approach to the extreme. Originally a sampler player operating in the “plunderphonics” movement, she soon departed completely from what electronic musicians were doing at the time, devoting herself to the manipulation of the sampler internal test tones, since then laconically billed as “sine waves”. This recent album documents a concert held in 2014 at London’s Cafe Oto, released as a digital download by the venue’s label Otoroku, and sees Sachiko M meeting one of the key figures of European free music, percussionist Eddie Prévost. A founder of the influential AMM in the 1960s, Prévost is another one of those musicians who consistently tried to go beyond the idiomatic boundaries of traditional music making, deconstructing the drum set and employing extended techniques to better explore his musical vision.

The album highlights from the start the musicians’ strengths and peculiarities, developing a slowly evolving soundscape based on surging waves of pure tones and subtle dynamics, reaching earsplitting extremes just to promptly recede to low volume drones, the sine waves and bowed cymbals effectively complementing each other in different layers of ethereal, high-pitched sounds. The careful attention to shape and form is exemplary of an approach to improvisation that favors texture and space, creating a fascinating, strangely soothing musical ambience. There’s a cyclical increase of density in the proceedings, and some recognizable percussive sounds begin to emerge in the second part of the performance. But they are always taken from a distance, appearing as minimal episodic gestures or ghosts of rhythm patterns. The overall structure keeps the music suspended between the mystery of silence and the perplexing beauty of pure sound, with few peaks of activity on an otherwise static base of slightly shifting sounds, slowly fading away into a long silent coda.



Sunday, September 25, 2016

Ken Aldcroft (1969-2016)



We were shocked to hear about the passing of guitarist Ken Aldcroft. The Toronto based musician was a celebrated musician, band leader, and teacher. His music explored free improvisation, honored Thelonius Monk and Eric Dolphy, and so much more.
Both in his compositions and guitar-playing Aldcroft manages to integrate the whole jazz-legacy without loosing his own voice, which is airy, carefully composed and free in the improvizations. At one moment it's bop, then free, then funk, then modern, but always with a creative touch, and a little harshness in the delivery, the tone of his guitar being more tuned for rock than for jazz, but it's accessible and compelling all the way. - Stef
It's an untimely and sad loss, our condolences to his family and friends.

Please take a moment to learn more about Ken Aldcroft's work here:
And on his website.

Andrew Cyrille Quartet - The Declaration of Musical Independence (ECM, 2016) ****



Following ECM’s requisite 5-seconds silence, the first sound on Andrew Cyrille’s new quartet album is his crisp snare tapping out the introduction to “Coltrane Time.” It’s a simple and deceptive beginning to an album of broad, expansive tones.

To put it plainly, Cyrille is a living legend, having recorded with nearly everyone covered and beloved by this blog: Cecil Taylor, Muhal Richard Abrams, Oliver Lake, Anthony Braxton, Borah Bergman, Peter Brötzmann, Irène Schweizer, Jimmy Lyons, Geri Allen, Marion Brown, David Murray, David S. Ware, and Marty Ehrlich. He also appeared on most of John Carter’s epic Roots and Folklore: Episodes in the Development of American Folk Music (he’s on the ones I’ve, admittedly, never heard, because they were on Gramavision and remain out of print). Cyrille’s contributions to the history and development of free jazz simply can’t be understated.

The quartet for Cyrille’s ECM debut is a slightly odd one, less reliant on musicians and instrumentations he’s worked with previously. While the drummer’s played for years with bassist Ben Street (as the symbiotic rhythm section of both Søren Kjærgaard’s piano trio and David Virelles’s Continuum band), the group is rounded out with Bill Frisell on guitar and Richard Teitelbaum on electronics and keyboards. Cyrille’s played in duos with both Frisell and Teitelbaum, but to my knowledge, this is the first time the two have recorded together.

The Declaration of Musical Independence is filled with lush, roomy compositions. Frisell and Teitelbaum bathe the album in sonic washes. Teitelbaum often fades in and out of the edges, taking an idea deep in Frisell’s chords and extending it into a vibrating countermelody. Street stays primarily in the background, providing a robust foundation for Frisell and Teitelbaum’s interplay. He periodically drops heavy notes in the middle of a languid group improvisation, as if to signal a reset or change in direction.

Cyrille, already a textural drummer and percussionist, has recorded dozens of compositions rich with improvisatory exploration, but this lineup takes everything he’s done and recasts it with airy textures and slow, abstract tempoes. There are no compositions credited solely to Cyrille. Instead, his songs’ credits—"Sanctuary," "Dazzling (Percchordally Yours)," and "Manfred"—are shared by all four musicians. In addition to these and the Coltrane cover that kicks things off, there are three from Frisell—"Kaddish," "Begin," and "Song for Andrew No. 1"—and one each from Street and Teitelbaum—"Say" and "Herky Jerky," respectively.

I’ve noticed I made a lot of notes about the spaciousness of this album, and it does float more gently than previous Cyrille albums. Maybe this is Cyrille in a melancholy mood. The songs are filled with longing and reflection, anchored by that unique sensitivity Cyrille brings to his playing. Although none of these tracks truly swing, that’s alright in the context of the album. It’s a muted declaration, but a radical statement of independence.

Saturday, September 24, 2016

Andrew Cyrille and Bill McHenry – Proximity (Sunnyside, 2016) ***½


It is rather amazing to comprehend Andrew Cyrille’s longevity as an artist—someone whose productivity over the last couple decades easily rivals that of his prime, when he was making his mark with Cecil Taylor in the 60s and 70s or confirming his legacy with so many superb Black Saint/Soul Note recordings during the 80s and 90s.  One only has to hear the music he’s made recently with the similarly ageless Oliver Lake and Reggie Workman in Trio 3 to know that he’s still got plenty left in the tank.  And that’s good news indeed.

What’s particularly noteworthy about Cyrille is his relentless exploration: his desire to continue evolving and trying out new approaches to his instrument.  As a drummer, Cyrille can certainly bring the heat, but he often seems most content when he’s simply a colorist, offering subtle commentary and pared-down rhythmic structures rather than explosive bombast.  This is evident on his latest ECM release, Declaration of Musical Independence, as well as this duo outing with tenorist Bill McHenry.  Although McHenry is the youngster in Cyrille’s company, the two have recorded previously.  They released a record years ago on Fresh Sound New Talent with Henry Grimes (Us Free), and a live recording from 2012 (La Peur du Vide) on Sunnyside with pianist Orrin Evans and bassist Eric Revis.  On this record, recently following a live duo performance at the Village Vanguard, McHenry and Cyrille were compelled to go into the studio to document the results of their partnership.

The results are quite enjoyable overall, as the two musicians clearly have a mutual affinity.  McHenry’s warm, inviting tone on the tenor is perfect for the spare, haunting “Bedouin Woman,” which opens the record.  Over Cyrille’s quiet mallets on just a couple of toms on his kit, McHenry puts his touch on a track clearly inspired by the spiritual searching of late-period Coltrane.  Cyrille continues his avoidance of the cymbals on the next couple tracks, using just the drums to tease out melodic phrases on “Fabula” and “Drum Song for Leadbelly,” and in response McHenry offers jaunty phrases of his own.  Later on the record, though, on tracks like “Let Me Tell You This,” or “Drum Man Cyrille,” the two musicians break free of the tempered constraints of the earlier cuts and the music becomes much more exhilarating, with McHenry’s soaring flights and tempestuous flurries of notes met by Cyrille’s equally spirited contributions.

At only 38 minutes or so, the record does feel too brief, as it’s clear these two have a lot to say!  But since Cyrille shows no signs of slowing his pace, I’m sure they’ll find opportunities in the future to continue their collaboration. 

Friday, September 23, 2016

Oren Ambarchi / Stefano Pilia / Massimo Pupillo - Aithein (Karlrecords, 2016) ****


By Antonio Poscic

There is no rhythm, explicit or otherwise, on “Burn,” the first of the two long pieces that make up Aithein, the debut collaborative release by Oren Ambarchi, bassist extraordinaire and shaman Massimo Pupillo (Zu), and the hushed creative force of guitarist Stefano Pilia. Instead, it builds its inner tension with textural expansions and contractions, and through clashes of extreme sonic abstractions. In a way, the effectiveness of the fabric of this music is amplified by its simplicity. Shrieks try to come alive only to be maximized through reduction by endlessly processed and fed back guitars. Vast and bulbous sounds, wails, and screeches float like fragile bubbles in an abyss in which colossal beings communicate gently. The trio’s roars oscillate and reverberate, as if searching, trying to understand and learn, discovering their own dialect of Morse code. Almost unintentionally, the three musicians chisel out a transparent, elastic wall of sound—a byproduct of their exploration. It’s existence is sine qua non for music devoid of any perceptible buildup or climax point. Music that rather relies on constant and simultaneous creation and destruction, a process lost amidst a sense of desolate beauty. Near the end of the cut, one of the guitars will venture into what could be described as a field of accidental harmonies, while the other will try to pull it back in with grating, sawing sounds. It’s unfortunate that this poignant interplay is cut short when Pupillo’s bass starts to rumble a transition to the second part of the performance recorded live in Bologna in April 2015.

True to its name, “Shine” takes the patient glow of “Burn” and flares it up a thousand times, bringing it ever closer towards a painful explosion. It makes for a wonderfully contrasting half and evokes stills of darkness, light, and a certain dreadful inevitability from Danny Boyd’s film “Sunshine.” With Ambarchi moving from guitar to drums and percussion, “Bright” is delineated by a solid and at times very structured rhythm. It’s a driven improvisation that keeps rolling forward, towards the brightness, never looking back or even alluding to what came before it. The piece thus feels closer to conventional forms, but Pupillo and Pilia keep it from sounding anything but conventional by weaving abrasive textures around it. Their resonances are dynamic and loud, often reduced to short bursts of energy. While “Shine” progresses, a sense of urgency emerges and the tune starts to dissolve into shapes close to post-rock and drone. The crescendo that was hidden in plain sight, now slowly reveals its full glory as all of the sounds coalesce, forging a rocking whole.

A truly compelling album.

Thursday, September 22, 2016

Keiji Haino / Jim O’Rourke / Oren Ambarchi - 君は気がついたかな 「すみません」 という響きがとても美しいことに それ以上悪くしないように (I Wonder If You Noticed ”I’m Sorry” Is Such A Lovely Sound It Keeps Things From Getting Worse) (Black Truffle, 2016) ****


By Eyal Hareuveni

Japanese Keiji Haino, Tokyo-based American Jim O’Rourke, and Australian Oren Ambarchi are all sound sculptors and multi-instrumentalists that never cared much about genre or style boundaries. Free improvisation, art-rock, noise, minimalism, ritual music and live poetry just begin to describe the dynamics of this trio's seventh album since 2010, and as the previous albums, one with a suggestive, poetic title (and if you will follow Haino tweets you will find many more of such koan-like poetics). This album documents the trio's entire set at Tokyo’s SuperDeluxe club on March 2014. Haino recites and sings his metaphysical ponderings in English (for the first time) and Japanese, explores the Turkish string instrument baglama (that sound almost like the Japanese shamisen) and the contrabass harmonica and adds electronics; O’Rourke plays on effects-laden, processed bass and Ambarchi plays percussion and drums.

This performance as many of the trio past ones is a kind of futuristic-tribal ritual and Haino, no doubt, is the master of ceremonies. He leads the first piece, "Who is so cleverly manipulating The word ‘Everything’", with a fragile, haunting recitation in English and economic, repetitive riffs on the baglama while O’Rourke and Ambarchi build the tension methodically with psychedelic, heavy bass pulsations and pulse-free percussive touches. The second piece "Be careful of this word ‘New’ With it's glittering trap" adds a mysterious vein to the already established ritualistic spirit. Haino recites now in Japanese with a much more authoritative command, soon his guttural growls are washed in a dense electric storm comprised of the tortured-spacey of O’Rourke processed bass and Ambarchi massive, cosmic pulse. This epic and volatile eruption becomes even more bizarre when Haino experiments with the contrabass harmonica, a sound that softens the previous tsunami waves of ecstatic noise.

The third piece "The universe is tired Please For just one second stop thinking" changes the course and now O’Rourke resourceful bass work is in the center, heavily processed with an array of effects, sketching a magnificent, hypnotic noisy drone, backed by the repetitive, thunderous drumming of Ambarchi and occasional screams of Haino. This sonic storm suddenly quiets and leaves Haino pondering his cryptic-metaphysical ideas in a tempting-tortured voice, often obscured by O’Rourke bass noises. The last piece "That ‘?’ Squatting Proudly at the Edge of Surface Tension Is It Perhaps a Mystery..?" continues the explosive spirit with a simple but highly addictive single-chord grind that brings to mind Haino seminal psychedelic group Fushitsusha. Haino keeps screaming “explode” between his Japanese growls. Again, suddenly the grind halts and Haino closes this ritual as it began more than an hour ago, chanting with a soft and compassionate voice and playing gently on the baglama.

A moving experience.


Wednesday, September 21, 2016

Oren Ambarchi / Kassel Jaeger / James Rushford - Pale Calling (BlackTruffle, 2016) ***


By Eyal Hareuveni

Pale Calling is the first collaborative work of three electroacoustic sculptors - Australian Oren Ambarchi, Parisian composer Kassel Jaeger, and Australian composer, Los Angeles-based James Rushford. The two side-long extended pieces of this vinyl album, recorded at GRM studios in Paris in 2014, sketch an intriguing and quite accessible sonic territory. Both are layered like gentle, surreal puzzles of weird-sounding field recordings, unintelligible vocals and child-like cries, processed electronic sounds with fragmented, rippling percussive touches.

The two pieces, “Pale” and “Walking”, navigate organically and patiently through hazy, atmospheric terrains according to their inner dream-logic compass. “Pale” suggests a more subtle and sparse sonic scenery, spiced with a surprising, minimalist reference to the iconic organ theme of Procol Harum’s “A Whiter Shade of Pale” at its coda. “Walking” has a clear narrative, progressing along an addictive rhythmic pattern matched with a seductive cinematic theme played on the harmonica and the piano. This theme sounds as coming from a futuristic David Lynch film, obscured more and more by disturbing wordless, human vocals, but ends with a field recording of distant animals and insects.

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

Oren Ambarchi & Jim O’Rourke - Behold (Editions Mego, 2015) ****½


By Derek Stone

In the worlds of improvised and experimental music, the company you keep can be just as significant a choice as the compositions (or lack thereof) that you play. Oren Ambarchi is no stranger to this maxim, having associated himself with some of the weightiest names in the game: Keith Rowe, Merzbow, and Keiji Haino, to name a few. On Behold, Ambarchi once again shows his penchant for first-rate collaborations, as he here joins Jim O’Rourke. O’Rourke cuts an interesting figure in the music industry - he’s released or been associated with a mind-bogglingly diverse range of projects, from acerbic pop (Insignificance, Eureka), to the Fahey-indebted folk stylings of Bad Timing, to the free-jazz guitar workouts of 2014’s Vandermark/Nilssen-Love collection, Extended Duos. While Ambarchi and O’Rourke have worked together numerous times in the past few years, this is only their second duo recording (the first being 2011’s Indeed).

“Behold One” opens with muted, spectral tones, and quickly unfolds into something resembling an ambient soundscape. From the get-go, it’s clear that a great deal of thought has gone into fleshing out these textures - far from simply being a homogeneous drone, this first piece is packed with unanticipated textures and effects: snatches of conversation, cars starting, synths that bubble up out of the ether and rapidly dissipate. A few minutes in, when Ambarchi’s drums enter, it’s clear that Behold cannot be written off as just “ambient.” In fact, quite the opposite: it actively seeks your attention, and it rewards careful listening. Midway through, Ambarchi’s kick-drum is the slowly-beating heart of the composition, while O’Rourke’s alien sound-effects orbit and swirl all around. When a thick, bone-rattling bass-tone rises up from this whirling mass, it’s both startling and exhilarating. Clearly, Ambarchi and O’Rourke know how to establish atmosphere and ratchet up musical tension; the first half of Behold is proof.

“Behold Two” exhibits the same meticulous attention-to-detail heard in the first, but it seems more willfully “song-like,” with organ effects and retro synths that recall the spaced-out melodicism of mid-70’s Tangerine Dream. A few minutes in, Ambarchi’s drums return to provide a steady pulse to the composition, while blissful layers of sound stack themselves up to the heavens. More than halfway through, all of this build-up (though admittedly enjoyable in its own right) results in a simple, repeating motif on the piano from O’Rourke, one that helps drive the piece upward. While the opening is somewhat minimalistic, akin to floating in the frigid depths of interstellar space, “Behold Two” eventually pushes itself into a more celestial sphere, with squalling guitar feedback from Ambarchi and percussion that gets louder and louder.

On Behold, Oren Ambarchi and Jim O’Rourke meet at the glorious intersection of electronic and analog, producing something that marries the best tendencies of both. It’s swathed in synths and textures, but it is warmly human; it’s driven by Ambarchi’s percussion and (later) O’Rourke’s stirring piano, but it is often otherworldly. These are contradictions, sure, but one of the joys of experimental music lies in its ability to cut through seeming contradictions, to show us combinations and configurations that we thought impossible. Behold does all of this, while still being eminently listenable and engaging - I’d call that a success by any metric!