It's nice to be completely surprised and wrong footed once in a while.Until about halfway through the second track "Cricket," I mistakenlythought ol' Derek Bailey was duetting his instantly recognisable(ir)regular angular electric guitar chops with some German laptopboffin. Murky low end rumblings and gurglings form a bedrock for Baileyto ponder pluck loose on top of and around. Then the realisation dawnedthat Franz Hautzinger was getting brooding motormachine revs out of thetrumpet that most lung honkers wouldn't break wind for. There is arange of flatulence in his quartertone that is as amusing as it isuniquely odd. Anyway, three hours of farting about with intent wereedited down for this disc, which is quite likely the first I've everpicked up on the back of the Bailey name alone, despite his uniquestatus in improv lore. Bailey has continually sneaked into my CD pilevia the likes of collaborators such as Ruins, John Zorn, Evan Parker,Matt Wand, Pat Thomas and Thurston Moore, but he's always been welcome.Franz Hautzinger can come back for a rum splutter anytime too. Why doimprov reviewers so rarely mention the funny side?
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