The sum of talents in an esoteric supergroup often produces the suspension of reason, or even tonality. Here, erasing the standard record selection criterion is an unusual combination of fluids, of joys and talents, more and more frequent thank goodness, outside the currents of trade.

That a group like this, mature and developed, can go incognito is the subject of this meditation. Delicate rhythms and ethereal voices, as in a garden of Eden, sinuous and airy guitars intertwined with manly and penetrating cellos, there is something for every flavor and aroma. The identity of the result is equal to the variety of ingredients, mixed with grace.

Each of the components of this ephemeral angelic team has a secret life of production maze in Sound Recording. Gladly jumps to the ears the magnetic bow of Bill Nelson, the heavenly pad of Roger Eno, the cor anglais and the oboe of Kate St.John, a Blonde for which many would assault a train, Laraaji, the Mystical beggar, urban Manhattanite who was a protégé of the elder brother of Roger.

But the essential play here has the flavor of kindergarten, where the sheer joy of playing together is perpetuated without end, neither means. It’s the eternal beginning that is a condition, at best, which we all aspire. It’s the reason that makes us so deeply enjoy all human activity worthy of the name, as in the kitchen as when we play, and that allows us to repair the past.