A mostly solo tenor saxophone display from Lao Dan, whose work is previously unknown to me. "ah Q", the opener and longest track here sports long-held note blasts alternating with short silences and twisty, squirrely quick runs about the tube. Perhaps akin to splatter-painting or chopped-up explosions in a faulty cartoon. His tone is abrasive, but not overly so, a marginal shriveling at the edges, let's say. "Klippe" has a continuous line sort of feel, injected with overtones and then nagging on a triplet or two-note klaxon sound. "Perpetual Motion Machine" is played on suona, a Chinese double-reed horn with a piercing raspy timbre. Dan lets loose with a nimble barrage of high-flying notes, squeaking and squalling in an exhaled tantrum bunched together and rushing past.
The title track is a sparse group of exclamations fitted with care amid the odd vocal cry. It flits between tender and cruel in short order. In the three-part "The Fate Of Lee Khan", a tiny bit of a theme gets spat out and dismantled as Dan duets with his shouts and cries. This modus is extended and smeared in circular motions, like a nag run rampant and allowed to ferment. The themes always return though, as if to reassure you that everything's normal, and by the third section gospel shouting has been inserted as things simmer down just a tad. I'm finding the sounds in between sax notes to be just as fascinating as the shapes traced out in high-pressure blasts. "Silver Needle" is a bit more sparse, and the vocal interjections strike me as comical, which is not to give them short-shrift or even a sideways glance. I'm just saying they make me smile.
For the final "Fire Swamp", effects are added to grand effect. Here Dan sounds like a whole orchestra of flutter and sway, and you'll be forgiven if you think you hear strings or percussion singing along. It's a mass of idiot glee in its mad joinery, roiling in grit and goo. A missionary trying to make his way amid the chaos of past pronouncements, slapping and batting with abandon. I'll take it, and more.