First the esteemed double-bassist Barry Guy gets all froggy for Trost and now this? Just what is it with these improv guys and their newly-found love for polliwog stew? This recording of ribbits and strings finds cellist Fred Lonberg-Holm venturing into the tropical wetlands of the Floridian everglades, cranking up the croak quotient with a colony of studioshy amphibians. He begins coyly enough, engaging in sympathy with his accompanying choirs of Cuban tree-frogs and the occasional narrow-mouth toad, churning out a covert series of simpatico groan-drones and guttural purrs. His tentative explorations show reverence for his surroundings, recalling the respectful restraint displayed on Schwarzwaldfahrt, an entrancing disc from 1977 documenting the Black Forest adventures of Brötzmann and Bennink (gotta dig those log jams). But goaded on by the incessant chatter of cicadas, Lonberg-Holm begins to illicit grouch and grumble, snuffing out the contributions of his would-be collaborators. Is this some metaphor for man's ‘civilising’ impulse? By this album's end it's as if the belly of the cello is crawling with Cthulhu-like amphibious matter. An acute case of toad-in the hole, perhaps?