In the right hands, jazz can transform its essential nature in a form of unrelenting daydreaming, therefore avoiding the risk of losing its immaculateness under the laws of that pillular rootedness which often standardizes the playing, handpicking blueprints from the tree of boredom. When John Stevens’ group refreshes intentions that too often are handcuffed by sterile codes, their well addressed energy becomes the most attractive feature of the whole acoustic flow; the interaction between Byron Wallen (trumpet, flugelhorn), Ed Jones (soprano and tenor sax) and the finely honed yet flamingly hearty rhythmic terminology of Stevens and bassist Gary Crosby is akin to a brilliant conversation among four masters. The leader’s hurdling drumming is still criminally undersung, as John’s inventiveness on his set rejoins his passionate hunt for new rules to be subverted – but never forgetting his erudite approach.