Everybody's going in the same direction, toward a fine, joyous and memorable take. Our mystery clarinetist could easily be balanced on an upturned mossy log, blowing at the bayou. He paints an image that does him credit, even if Horvitz's synths and bassist William Parker's squealing arco playing do everything in their power to wrench us away from this lush world. So with the tinny snap of the bassist's string, the Peter Kuhn story comes to an end. I have no idea.
Someone hire a private eye.
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