The omens are all good: right era, with the classic Dr John's Gumbo about to be released, right band (well, mostly, there's no brass here) and the right kind of event, opening for the Allman Brothers, who were still reeling from the loss of Duane. So, we're all set for a steamy voodoo-drenched night of mystic madness.

Well, kind of: the material is priceless – a grooving ‘Gris Gris Gumbo Ya Ya’, a swamp thang ‘Walk On Guilded Splinters.’ But, ooh, the sound sure ain't right, with Rebbenack apologising for the broken mikes, the mix is, um, mixed and something was amiss in the band in that local sessioneers were on board to help out. Some cuts are ‘excerpts’ and sadly it feels like it's been pumped out on the back of the anniversary of the great man's passing.

For completists of only the most masochistic ilk.