Luft are an improvisational duo made up of Swedish saxophone player Mats Gustafsson and Breton piper Erwan Keravec who, on this first volume of their two-part project, come together by entwining the sounds of their chosen instruments into a variety of wild shapes, forms and sonic textures. The titles for the six pieces here have been randomly plucked from Ted Hughes’ epic poem ‘Crow’, and this is reflected in the almost feral way that Gustafsson and Keravec's improvisations blur together, conjuring up wheezing drones, staccato sax squalling and fractured flute peeping that occasionally sounds like a snared animal. The basic instrumentation being played here teasingly suggests a salute to the spirit of free jazz saxophonist Albert Ayler (who also adorned his recordings with the sound of bagpipes), but as the record progresses the realisation that Luft are beyond nostalgic tribute urgently kicks in. Instead, what stutters out are a series of totally unique, somewhat anguished sounding, sonic explorations that undulate with a sense of nobility and chaos.