You have to kiss a lot of toads before you meet the handsome prince, as my dear old mum used to say. A jazz journalist's lot is a happy one, being sent all these fab CDs to listen to, but when a Garrett release comes along, boy, do you know you're in the presence of The Princely One. Even at his most prosaic Garrett maintains a range of tone, an emotional verve, a lust for life and rhythmic control that beggars belief. This is not Garrett's ‘best’, whatever that means: the genius of Chris Dave is absent (Standard of Language) (although Bruner is formidable) while there's not the intensity of Trilogy or Pursuance. Instead this is a deeply personal album for Garrett, with each track summoning the spirit of a character who has influenced him. So the opening ‘Boogety Boogety’ is a rollocking song of joy for his dad, ‘J.Mac’ is a scintillating post-bop tribute to Jackie McLean and ‘Ballad Jarrett’ is just that, a lyrical trip for you know who. But the most moving song is the profound blues of ‘Detroit’ played for Marcus Belgrave and Garrett's hometown. There's nothing ‘post modern’ about Garrett: everything's straight from his heart to yours. Life's too short for irony or flash. Why use complex forms if they get in the way of the love. This is unadorned, classic acoustic jazz from a master on top of his game, backed by a core trio who know him well and play their best to get the best from him. Avoid all toads: buy this.