Hopefully, my friend Dan Warburton will take a look at Martin Küchen’s liners before daring to call me a “purple prose peddler” for a second time. Hard as I tried, it was impossible to understand them (just kidding, Martin!). Then again, what’s the matter with the interpretation of words when the music is, for the large part, stirring? Because this disc, which besides the saxophonist (alto and baritone) features the services of bassist Per Zanussi and drummer Raymond Strid, can be enjoyed frequently and gladly. Eight tracks that, at the beginning, seem to privilege a sort of somberness – the opening “Like A Drum” almost made us believe in a drone-based offering, on Pedro Costa’s label of all places – but when the furious dances start for real, the fleshy components materialize with punishing intentions, and the fun really begins. Küchen’s spirit is totally free, typified by a modus operandi that’s only apparently ungrammatical during the most incensed blowouts (check the title track’s howling cries, or the subsequent “Strid Comes” as examples). On the contrary, the man knows his way around a flurry, the articulation of those outbreaks ultimately prevailing when the pulse is steady and the sense of galvanization is definitively established. Zanussi does not appear as one for the safekeeping of regular beat, either; furthermore, he is able to deliver dynamically charged solos when the moment is propitious. Strid is functionally susceptible to the interplay, admirable in the restraint department (“Walking The Dead”), compellingly talented in the selection of percussive colours utilized with a singular concoction of abstruseness and accuracy, rhythmic independence unchained at last.