Duet implies a meeting of two musicians, but one should see the term here in widescreen, given the fact that this is a multi-instrument affair. As has been the case with his work in the Art Ensemble Of Chicago over some five decades, Mitchell plays sundry tuned percussion, gongs and bells, as well as reeds, and Sorey, one of the foremost of the new wave of American drummers, plays piano with lateral ideas to match deft execution. This wide range of sounds at the disposal of the two musicians means that the character of the music greatly shifts from one piece to the next, and the artful probing of what could be gamelan bowls and wind chimes in the early stages of the set reminds us that Mitchell has always been interested in the detail of tone and timbre, western and non-western, as well as the electric charge of polyrhythm. However, the album explodes into deliriously gripping life when that delicacy is shattered by the onslaught of ‘Scrunch’ which finds Mitchell creating a kind of sub-sonic maelstrom on a bass sax while Sorey and guest Hugh Ragin whip up a storm of lighter but no less arresting flurries around him. These artful, focussed eruptions of sound are one of the most appealing traits of the session, and the trio's constant shuttling between dark, prophet of doom drone and brighter lyrical motif, as on ‘Chants’, with its jaunty implication of ‘Frère Jacques’, definitely bears repeat listening.