Henry Threadgill’s status as a major innovator in creative music over the last 60 years is upheld by his relentless productivity. His steady rate of recordings charts his ongoing development but also provides an opportunity to appreciate just how distinctive is his language – both literal and figurative. From the title and artwork – a cloud between two buildings which is perhaps the symbol of one of the world’s many disappearing tricksters – to the instrumentation there is a sense of the artist’s unique worldview and sonic environment. The tuba-cello-guitar nexus which is often at the heart of the music is crucial insofar as it conjures up times passed and times future, with the languid almost wayward feel of the brass evoking an offbeat marching band while the strings have a neo-Spanish flavour.

Indeed, the whole unit often implies the music is in an outdoor space, as if Threadgill and co were street musicians who, in loose parallel to Charles Mingus’ Tijuana mariachi, retain a bluesy ruggedness as they take their work to heights of structural sophistication. Think of grease on a silk glove.

No less significant is the fact that Threadgill the composer has not ruled out Threadgill the improviser, who has sometimes taken a back seat amidst the complex orchestrations. He is in the frontline many times here and his alto sax is glorious – full-bodied, swelling tone, pithy teasing phrases, careful balance of restraint and emphasis to the extent that the ample space he often uses in an improvisation makes each note a little beacon against the night sky. Zooid is one of the great groups of today insofar as the visceral, earthy character of the music sits well with the intricacy and unpredictability instigated by Threagill, a leader in every sense of the term. This new CD is another high quality entry in what is proving to be a timeless, seminal body of work.