Best known as part of Ezra Collective, Joe Armon-Jones’ debut calls in the cream of London's new jazz scene, but it's the exotic, sometimes chitteringly insectile texture of his Wurlitzer which proves crucial. With its hints of church and fairground, it's a striking lead instrument for a record otherwise indebted to spiritual jazz, soul and hip hop. That borrowed sense of spirituality, whether its proponents are religious or not, is one of the most notable aspects of the new scene. As with Kamasi Washington in the US, it suggests music as radical balm for reactionary, racist times: “Spread love in the community… I'm going to wipe your blood off these streets,” as Asheber promises on ‘Starting Today’.

That song's thick rhythmic pulse and slow, sidewinding trumpet is outdone by longer, unhurried soundscapes. Mutale Chashi's endless bass figure is the fuel for ‘Morrison Dub’, a steadily resourceful heartbeat as the echoing space around it is filled in by stuttering Wurlitzer slivers, a sultry shrug of sax and reality-shivering dub. On the similarly cinematic ‘London's Face’, splashy brass fanfares share Miles Mosley's idea of Nubian epicness, when not basking in the capital's own ska warmth. ‘Almost Went Too Far’ acknowledges an occasional tendency for these somewhat stoner-friendly tunes to outstay their welcome. Mostly, though, time and space expand with detailed conviction.