"The Wailingest Cats live in the rising smoke from a cigarette parked under the rods of a Selmer Mark IV during a saxophone solo. They ride a fingersnap on the offbeat. They clap only in triplets. They have a great ear and a great eye and a greater instinct. They have an understated state of grace that doesn’t necessarily wish the world well. They’re here to gas the populace, Jack." From out of nowhere and everywhere comes a very cinematic shake down of rockin' ramshackle, doom-jazz hell-bebop. Hard, angular guitars, hip rhythms, crushing keys and sax are deployed with beautific decorum.
