Over half a century ago the seismic impact of the new ‘rock’ music so mystified mainstream music industry moguls that they were prepared to invest in anything that might turn out to be the next big thing. Things melted down: jazz musicians exploited rock technology and attitudes, rock musicians acquired jazz pretensions and RCA Records chartered a private jet for Keith Tippett’s 50-strong Centipede.

This quirky patchwork album is a cheerful hark-back to those halcyon days and Kevin Figes, himself a protegé of Tippett, first studied saxophone under Soft Machine’s Elton Dean, linking him to the influential 1960s Canterbury scene. The Wallpaper Music project allows him to bring musical trademarks like concealing more complex time signatures in smoothly flowing melodic structures into a more playful context.

Eight of the 13 tracks are songs, delivered with limpid clarity by Brigitte Beraha, and they range from delicate mysticism and quotidian mundanity to aggressive nastiness and downright meaninglessness: ‘Amethyst Stymied’ devolves into a series of wordless anagrams of the title. The whimsy does not extend to the music, however, which is nicely judged throughout. Figes delivers a squawking counterpoint to the arrogant vocal of 'Dot Dash', while his meandering flute intertwines nicely with Beraha’s wordless vocalising on 'Amethyst Stymied'.

The episodic ‘Tension’ shifts into a fine period-piece synth solo from Jim Blomfield underpinned by Ashley John Long channeling the great Hugh Hopper’s weighted bass, contrastingly the freeform electronics of ‘Patterns of Decay’ evokes a bleaker soundscape, complete with cosmic Mellotron sounds. It’s knowingly clever stuff, good fun to listen to: expect the unexpected and you won’t go far wrong with this 'wallpaper music'.