Taylor proactive, Oxley reactive—for an hour they try to sync those roles into one conversation.
You hear two people attacking their instruments at the same moment, palms down, forcing sound out through their fingertips. Cecil Taylor at the piano is relentless, his hands covering the keyboard like he's trying to prove something to it. Tony Oxley on drums is equally aggressive but moving differently—he's not just hitting the kit, he's trying to make the drums sing, reaching for tones and textures that come from somewhere other than simple percussion. For an hour straight they're in conversation, except Taylor tends to lead and Oxley tends to follow, and here, recorded live in Berlin in 1988, they're both aware of that dynamic and working against it.
This isn't bebop or swing or any recognizable jazz language. It's free improvisation at its most physical and uncompromising. Taylor was already a soloist used to having the entire stage to himself, so sharing space with Oxley means constantly negotiating—when to push forward, when to give ground. Oxley rises to meet him, employing more than just drums, looking for ways to match Taylor's energy without disappearing into accompaniment. The result is tense and alive.
AllMusic reviewer Thom Jurek called it a study in contrasts, and both All About Jazz and The Penguin Guide to Jazz Recordings gave it their highest ratings. This is Taylor deep into his powers, still hungry, still willing to fight for every inch of musical ground. If you've heard Taylor's solo work and want to know what happens when he meets an equal, this is the place to listen.