(Clean Feed)

Feasting on the remnants of perishing modulations and switching metrical tails, this trio – Gayle on tenor sax, Sirone and Gerald Cleaver as a fractally propulsive rhythm section – stands between controlled racketing and the need of curbing cries, for they will never resign to a complete disembodiment of their primal sketches. Gayle’s harassment of commonplace thematic rituals footstomps its authority through pieces that pour a hangdog spiritual reverberation over precarious lightings, like hearing the last notes coming out of desperate individuals struggling for a cheap ticket to innocence. Questioning each one of their steps, the musicians leave no room for easy neighbourliness as their interplay takes all of your concentration to be fully acknowledged; yet, theirs is that sort of constructive empathy that – even during the most dust-encrusted pages – links the need to escape from life’s ugly evidences with the desire of belonging to a disintegrating tradition that Charles has absorbed in full. The fascinating perfume emanating from his (uncredited) piano in the fabulous version of Vernon Jordan’s “I can’t get started” is yet another tasteful morsel of his uncompromising talent.


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