Taylor's music wasn't for the squeamish or those who desire nicely ordered, predictable material.
The opening track hits you like a saxophone storm. Peter Brötzmann and Frank Wright wail in the high register while Cecil Taylor's hands tear across the piano in response, his lines sprawling and undulating beneath and around the horns. There's no neat melody, no comfortable groove. Thurman Barker's marimba shimmers underneath, adding texture without resolution. This is the sound of musicians arguing and agreeing at the same time, each statement building on or against the last. The piece runs forty-eight minutes. You feel every second of it.
Recorded live in Berlin in April 1986, Olu Iwa captures Taylor in his seventies, still uncompromising, still refusing to smooth the edges for anyone. The rhythm section of William Parker on bass and Steve McCall on drums moves with him through shifting moods and tempos that seem to follow no plan but their own. The second track is shorter but equally restless, ambition intact. This isn't comfortable listening. It demands something from you. Ron Wynn's review in AllMusic recognized this immediately, calling out the sheer refusal to offer "nicely ordered, predictable material." The Penguin Guide gave it a full four stars.
If you've heard Taylor before, you know what you're getting—and this live recording shows a musician still hungry and still dangerous. If you haven't, start with something gentler first. This is Taylor at full intensity, no apologies, no concessions.