In the arms of Otis Sandsjö the tenor saxophone is a many-splendored thing. His suck-blow-suck fluctuations that sensitively held Lucia Cadotsch's vocals on her album Speak Low, are still evident, but Y-Otis 2 is a lawless experiment. No track starts as it means to go on, continual shifts can feel haphazard, but there is an engaging honesty.

Sandsjö is having a growth-spurt, sometimes it's awkward and confusing, but now his use of circular breathing is more subtle, allowing a physical intimacy that almost pulls the listener into his lungs through his throat and mouth. This is matched by quiet melodies that offer genuine insight, as in ‘koppom’. Here the deep relationship of the band shows what it can do; a synthesiser swerves by, the sax runs, becoming distant and dubby, before succulent bass notes and beats bring a head-nodding cool to its closure.

Dan Nicholls, Tilo Weber and Sandsjo's partner-in-crime, Petter Eldh graffiti randomly on walls, sometimes blending into a single line so it's unclear where one instrument finishes and another starts. The arrival of Nicholls has twisted the mentality and the opening of ‘bobby’ could be straight out of a Bristol club after-party with sampled vocals and rhythmic mayhem. Bubbles of futurist notes rise and fall in ‘ity bity’, elevated by the longing of Sandsjö's sax and the soul of his casual vocalisations.

This is micro-music; it requires the mind to be still so as to tune in to Petter Eldh's piano notes that taste like teardrops on the tongue in ‘abysmal’ or the apparition of Lucy Railton's cello in ‘atombahn’. There is a nod to the clarity and groove of the first album in ‘tremendoce’ with its flute power and beats, and it could do with being less self-conscious at times, but the refusal of Y-Otis 2 to be obvious means it reveals more and more on each listen.