Pianist-composer Kris Davis can be found among a small coterie of contemporary New York underground scene experimentalists, including Ingrid Laubrock, Tyshawn Sorey Mary Halvorson and Craig Taborn, blurring the lines between cliché-free composition and improvisation. She follows her piano duo album with Taborn on last year's Octopus with probably her most ambitious broad-ranging opus to date. It might be better described as a largely low-key series of sound sculptures rather than tunes, fusing elements of electronica, no wave, free improv, post-hip hop and turntablism. Made up mostly of originals, along the way we hear Davis' enigmatic signature of piano vamps, ripples, splashes and glisses that nod to both Carla Bley and Cecil Taylor; the invigorating drummer Terri Lyne Carrington is at the centre of everything, and her and bassist Trevor Dunn morph unwieldy abstract shapes into engagingly hip grooves. Other discerning contributions include turntablist Val Jeanty's cut-ups of Cecil Taylor quotes that call for originality and a higher purpose, Esperanza Spalding's kooky avant-garde poetry, Nels Cline's eclectic avant-rock guitar and the superb saxophonists JD Allen and Tony Malaby apply their contrasting substantial phraseology, but only when necessary. Somehow Davis' meticulous curation transforms the recording's unpredictably diverse elements into a cohesive whole.