ABD rides the line between mystic and putterer -- the haunting titular weeps of "What Shall I Tell My Children Who Are Black?" eventually stumblin' into a static mumblin' of the same crucial query, space-airy noodle jazz that can near transcendence yet is content with abruptly ending when "it's good enough" or supplying sadistic improv for a quarter-hour. So take joy in the little things -- bass throbs, a free spirit, the pretty vs. raw, the crackle, the anxiety, that air, memories of playing the recorder in 4th grade. Answer to aforementioned crucial query comes two trackzz later: "We Are Starzz".
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