Taylor's hands unleash bursts of chord clusters and hammering runs across 65 minutes of solo exploration.
In June 1988, Cecil Taylor spent two nights in East Berlin documenting his sound at a turning point. The first concert, recorded June 20, captures Taylor solo—no accompaniment, just his hands and the piano's full range. He opens slowly, as was his habit, but within minutes the pace fractures into what he called "constructing pyramids" of notes, middle and lower registers colliding in dense, propulsive runs. The centerpiece, "Reinforced Concrete," stretches across 65 minutes of the first disc, allowing his entire approach to unfold without interruption: the hammering, the sudden silences, the orchestral thinking applied to a single instrument.
The second night, June 21, shifts the dynamic entirely. Günter Sommer joins on drums, and the conversation changes. Where the solo set displayed Taylor's architecture in its purest form, the duet introduces conversation, push and response, the friction of two musicians learning each other's logic in real time. Sommer's drumming isn't keeping time—it's dancing alongside Taylor's harmonic thinking, and that partnership opens different doors.
This is essential Taylor. Not his entry point—start with Unit Structures (1966) for that—but a complete statement near the end of his performing life. The AllMusic reviewer called it sharp and uncompromising, and that's exactly what you hear: a pianist still building, still excavating, still refusing to settle into comfort.