Saxophonist Perelman's decision to swap regular collaborators such as pianist Matthew Shipp, doublebassist William Parker and drummer Whit Dickey, for two other reed players is daring. Yet, in both cases, the potential difficulties posed by the absence of a chordal or percussive instrument are convincingly overcome. Firstly, the sound palette created is sufficiently rich. Secondly, both the harmony arising from the overlap of the horns and the strong rhythm, the communal groove, are anything but mundane. It's also interesting that both collaborators play the bass clarinet, so there is an obvious chance to compare and contrast. The Mahall session is absorbing for the sheer bravado of the exchanges, where the guest's frankly stupendous tonal strength – I once stood at the back of the room when he played the Vortex and it felt as if he was right next to me blowing straight into my ear – provides real ballast to the music. In any case, a cogent line is drawn between the joyous, imitative quality of early jazz, with its duck-like laughing and squawking, and the urgent siren wails of Rahsaan Roland Kirk circa Rip, Rig & Panic. There is a single passage of the reeds sizzling in ghostly reverb that is acoustic-electronica of the highest order. The Stein session is mostly a touch on the more tranquil side, with several fine ballads on offer, though both players really come into their own when they take a subversive approach to their instruments, none more so than on ‘Piece. No.4’ where a steady stream of superlative onomatopoeic sound is created through the use of mouthpieces held apart from the horns. Incidentally, Perelman and Stein have a shared Jewish heritage that leads them to some moments of deep spirituality, but for the most part this session, like most of Perelman's to date, is defined by an absolute sense of no compromise. His desire to stay on the path of spontaneous composition is an object lesson in artistic integrity.