The Wilfreds’ singing seems all the more urgent when it is riding atop a band that is in this state of what we might call restrained agitation. And it is this interplay that breeds that sense of mystery, where both parties are enriching the other’s tradition; when the Dreaming of the Yolngu people intermingles with Western flights of imagination; where any demarcation line between ritual and creativity is blown away in a sand-storm of sound.
This is a disc you should perhaps listen to casually at first, (perhaps while ironing your sheets or perhaps just your shirts) then return and take your place in this remarkably silent audience.
Over the 10 day duration of the festival I’d encountered orthodox jazz rhythms, experimental jazz and music that you could argue was not jazz at all. Had I selected a different schedule of artists, I may have had a totally different festival experience altogether, such was the variety of shows on offer.
‘…his trio has played together intermittently without homicidal incident since 2011.’