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You better strap in for this one: it's a relentlessly post-modern excursion into the possibilities of noise, of static, of crossed expectations. Tenor saxophonist Bertrand Denzler is on hand, and he is a fine musician with a raw intensity and a fiery attack. He is surrounded here by wild and unusual sounds, courtesy Bertrand Perrin (sampler), Frédérick Galiay (electric bass and electronic thingies) and Jean-Sébastien Mariage (more electronics, plus guitar).
Denzler himself contributes some of the effects, which the sound of a howling, chuffing animal to a keening and chaos that could serve as the soundtrack to an earthquake movie, complete with rumbles and groans from the deep, static as if from a poor radio signal, far away vacant random noises, howls from hell, thrashing chaos, and simple hiss.
In and out of this stalk the instrumentalists. Galiay has a fine bowed string solo on "miniature I." Denzler burns through the middle portion of "Sermo Generalis." Mariage has a good moment on "Les Lèvres." And they shine here and there all through.
This is a formidable chunk of sound from the outer edges.
I love jazz because anything is possible; it has few rules and the best jazz breaks those ones. I prefer free improv because it doesn't really have any rules at all.
I was first exposed to jazz in my teens (in the late sixties).
The first jazz record I bought was Filles de Kilimanjaro by Miles Davis, shortly followed by Extrapolation by John McLaughlin.
My advice to new listeners is to listen as widely as possible and not to make snap judgments--stick with it.