Mackenzie pens some intricate themes; his opening "Cypriot Skies" arrests its funky-strutting progress with halting break-ups. Phil Bancroft is in bullish mood, beating up against the band's persistently hard riffing. He becomes sleazy on the title track, licking against a burred edge. Then, Bancroft's emotional charge is soon cooled by stringed salve, the fiery mood receding.

The vigour of Vital Signs is immediately apparent. The dogged strings create a swirling sense of urgency, lending a soundtracking atmosphere. "Lost Again" turns towards the free and formless, imparting an agitated aspect. Fiddles squeal and grate, groaning as they bustle onwards. "I Saw U" reverts to the funk feel that ends up being the dominant rhythmic attack of this set. "By Myself" is a restful exception, full of extended drum rumbles, singing fiddles and tenderly-picked guitar. Sometimes, Mackenzie can be surprisingly conventional in terms of his chosen amplifier sound: warm and mellow, with a liquid tone. The leader saves his biggest shot until the end, though, "Winkel's Rose Garden" cranking up to reveal his edgier rock influences.

Reviewer: Martin Longley

As with Rae's Celtic Feet, Mackenzie gives folk accordionist Simon Thoumire a significant place, and has intentionally set up an unusual front line in which two jazz saxes (the agile Sanborn-like altoist Martin Kershaw with the evocative pipe-lament Coltraneist Phil Bancroft on tenor) balance two high-profile violinists, Chris Stout and Aidan O'Rourke.

Considering the vivacious lyricism and sometimes dark reflectiveness the instrumentation and Mackenzie's imagination spark, there are perhaps too many retreats into funk, but the passages in which riffy jazz-horn writing mingles with fiddle-dancing are beautifully resolved.

The writing for strings suggests classical chamber-music rather than folk at first, before excellent pianist Chick Lyall's flying runs and emphatic trills burst into it. Mackenzie takes a back seat for a long time, surfacing first as a rhythm player behind Bancroft's snorty, Brecker-like tenor.

A delectable quiet violin reverie swells into a roar from Bancroft's horn again; a kind of free-Mahavishnu episode turns into another exquisite ballad, and a skewed semi-blues betrays the closest thing to formulaic jazz-funk playing the session gets into. It tails off a little in the later stages, but Another New Horizon achieves exactly what it says on the tin.

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