While the sprinkling of uncommon instruments in the line-up – soprano guitar, acoustic bass guitar, contra-alto clarinet – partly account for the freshness of what is one of the best entries in Myra Melford's already impressive discography, it is not the only thing to applaud. There is great depth in the leader's writing and arranging that imbues this set with a real gravitas, as exemplified by a piece such as ‘A Generation Comes And Goes.’ It is a superlative example of how to create and sustain an emotionally charged mood that loosely recalls a Coltrane or Dolphy fanfare without falling into cliché. Bass and guitar create vaguely north African shimmers of chords over which the horns drift in wistful long tones that are punctuated by discreet bell or gong effects from Matt Wilson's percussion before the leader's piano takes up the reins with fraught, whirling minor key figures that then steer the song through a dramatic flux of tempi and harmony. The whole piece flickers with a tense tranquility. To a certain extent, that apparent contradiction in terms pervades much of the set where the music draws from some of the plaintive lyricism of early-1970s Don Cherry yet stirs in the chordal ingenuity and structural invention that has often marked the many groups led by Carla Bley. Very roughly speaking, there is a touch of her “fancy chamber music” aesthetic embedded in Melford's work, but her compositional style has its own signature. The nuance and detail of jazz and classical traditions flow into the singing melodic richness that often defines the folk songs kept alive by Spanish and Mexicans for centuries because the themes are so rich they maintain a grip on the imagination. For all the complexity of her arrangements, Melford appears to relate to that cultural praxis.