tonal manipulation thrown in. Parker's strums, pedals, and arco construct a mooring pylon around which the raging currents of tenor shrieks and drum fusillade circumnavigate on the blistering "Mule Skinner," which concludes on an archetypal bowed solo that serves as the connective tissue into the free-dirge of "Loretto," where his resonant pizzicato holds down the fort.
Although it's possible to hear bits of Rollins, Coleman, Ayler and Dewey Redman
in Malaby's aestheticthey're only bitshe's found a voice of his own; surviving in the intensely swinging melee conjured by Parker and Waits wouldn't be an option otherwise, especially in the sonic onslaught of "Matik-Matik" which burns hot enough to melt steel.
Waits's dynamic finesse is quite amazing; he can churn the kinetic-energy up to triple-forte or dial it as quiet as a church mousesomething he does several times during the course of the wildly episodic "Can't find you..." which shifts from maelstrom shouts to pensive wails all with a groove strong enough to climb on.
The concept of groove, of course, is one he shares with the redoubtable Parker, whose inventions can gild even the most skeletal constructs into a dancing beingwhether he's plucking like a free Percy Heath