An improvising septet including sax, percussion, trumpets, slide trombone, violin, recorder and upright bass. The album was recorded to a one-track tape, and it shows. Distortion creeping everywhere, especially when the music gets loud. And believe your old curmudgeon, it does pretty frequently. The photograph of schizophrenia: subdued mumbling elucubrations, then all of a sudden – pow! Blasted horns, yelping traffic jamming, loaded trips to incurable dissonance. Vociferous mess to reach the narrow door of some sort of significance, most everybody going head-on and promptly being splattered against the wall. Did I understand correctly? A prison performance? Well, the inmates applaud at the end. For sure this sounds better than echoing hollering amidst the clatter of heavy gates. Responsibility should not be accepted for damaging relationships with your psychiatrist, definitely not prepared to accept this kind of maudlin expressiveness. Unambiguous stuff, hardly eliciting a second try yet alive and kicking. Probably funnier to play than to listen to it, but not a complete joke. Better still, it is not a joke full stop. I don’t really know what it is. Slanted aural excitement that won’t make you addicted.