Andrew Cyrille's Haitian roots have featured as something of a footnote in the biographies that rightly hail him as one of the great sticksmen to have emerged in improvised music in the past five decades. Yet they obviously loom large on his personal and cultural radar, and this utterly charming album celebrates as much. The whole tenor of the work is mostly removed from Cyrille's epochal sessions with such as Cecil Taylor and Jimmy Lyons, for the onus is more on the straighter, rolling rhythms derived from Haitian folk music, and the leader's effortless command of their sharp, often rimshotheavy pulse really marks him out as a great percussionist as well as kit drummer, or rather somebody capable of playing complex percussion on a kit. As important as the vigorous drive of the music is, there are a number of nonchalantly seductive mid-tempo ballads that make the important point that ‘island’ music sets great store by melody as well as groove. The combination of the heavy purr of Hamiett Bluiett's baritone sax and the lighter flutter of Alix Pascal's gorgeously sinewy acoustic guitar is a key element of the ensemble sound, and weaves in a distinct aspect of deeply emotive melancholia, which is very similar to the feeling of saudade that João Gilberto vividly brings to Brazilian samba. Above all, the way that Pascal's dark, almost sinister harmonies form a delicate backdrop to Cyrille's clever flitting between double and treble time cowbell patterns on ‘Spirit Music’ is arguably one of the highlights of the session because it shows how much excitement can be generated by boldly placed accents amid a series of skilfully voiced chords. Anybody who remembers Cyrille's great X Man quintet from the early-1990s – featuring a certain Pascal – will know that his Caribbean heritage has never been denied. This is a glorious confirmation of its importance in his entire musical identity.