This is an intriguing album. Beautifully packaged and hugely professional, it arrived bearing all the hallmarks of a major new work. Yet there is no website, no hint of a record label, and no press release. A close examination of the sleeve notes reveals some pretty impressive session names. Percussionist Julian Diggle has worked with Joan Armatrading, Marianne Faithful and Pete Townshend, while producer John Cornfield is responsible for some of the most important albums of the past few decades, including work by The Stone Roses, Oasis and Supergrass. All the more curious, then, that so little is being made of this recording.

Further investigation reveals that this is a self-financed, not (necessarily) for profit venture by Diggle and Cornfield, a pure labour of love and a personal musical statement that could never be accused of cynicism or commercialism, which in this day and age is about as refreshing as it gets. Even more impressive is Diggle’s willingness to distribute the recording to a (not strictly) limited number of people (roughly 500 in the first instance). For details of how to obtain a copy, see the end of the review.

The album itself is an interesting blend of African tribal rhythms, urban jazz and electronica which owes a (frequently acknowledged) debt to the work of John Coltrane. Where Coltrane’s work tended to push forward, however, this is more inclined to lay back, fitting more comfortably into the smooth-jazz, post-midnight mood set alongside artists like Rick Braun and Dave Koz. The result is more a life soundtrack than a focused listening experience, and as such works well, blending light and shade to impressive effect.

Largely instrumental, when vocals are introduced (most notably on the stand-out track ‘Man or Machine’), the whole mood is raised a notch, lifting temporarily the sense of wistful anonymity which tends to pervade the rest of the album. The effect is slightly incongruous, as though the mask has been fleetingly allowed to slip, exposing, as the title implies, the reluctant artist at the heart of the machine before the cover is quickly restored. That this only really happens once is a shame; a more balanced blend of exposure and introversion could have produced very interesting results.The musicianship is faultless throughout, as would be expected. In particular, Richard Penrose’s keyboard contributions are outstanding, adding a real sense of drive to the proceedings, and complementing Diggle’s sharp percussion lines perfectly.

If there is one criticism to be levelled here, it is that the project does succumb, on a couple of occasions, to self-indulgence, becoming so absorbed in its technical innovation and theoretical precision that all traces of genuine soul become excluded. That said, there is a loyal market for this kind of material, and fans of the genre should find plenty to keep themselves intellectually amused.If you would like to get hold of a copy while there are some left, email Julian Diggle [email protected]