(Cuneiform)

The new release by George Cartwright’s assassins hits you suddenly while you think everything’s under control, just like a heatstroke. Curlew place hearts and fingers into that contoured area where creativity needs no definition – Rock? Jazz? Free? Insert your own voice, only to be disillusioned because you failed to correctly spell the cathegory to which this exceptional New York group belongs. Members may vary (we have a new raging guitarist, Dean Granros, in place of Davey Williams here) but the “Curlew spirit” is always the same since their very first days. George Cartwright blows your socks off with everything he decides to bring to the table, be it one of his fabulous fractured themes or a full-fledge roar during a “liberal” improvisation; meanwhile, comrades Chalenor, Parker and Golden push the music to the highest energy level, deserving customary kudos from those who know. When you think you’re suffering from artistic desiccation, put this superb record in your player and start spastic-dancing, even if you’re right back from the office with your tie still on.

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