The second volume in a series of four four-CD box sets, this installment of Leo Feigin's mammoth tribute to avant-garde jazz in the former Soviet Union pushes the listener into darker, stranger corners of new music. Once again, each disc is devoted to one particular artist or group, and all but the last 37 minutes of music on disc four was previously unreleased. Disc one features Vladimir Rezitsky and his Jazz Group Arkhangelsk, to whom the whole collection is dedicated. The two 38-minute pieces included were recorded in 1992 at the group's 20th anniversary concert. The first piece consists of a loose suite of short tunes representing all facets of the quintet, from traditional jazz to African music and "La Cucaracha." The second piece, featuring over 20 musicians on-stage (including friends Sainkho Namchylak and Vladimir Tarasov), is more interesting. This unrehearsed, one-time meeting took place under festive circumstances, a feeling fully transmitted to the listener. The mood changes considerably for disc two, devoted to Orkestrion. The group from Volgograd contributes two works (over a half-hour each), suites of dark urban reality performed and recorded with limited means. Poetry, found instruments, and pre-recorded tapes are collaged into a depressive but fascinating musical vision that recalls some of the music from Czechoslovakia during the communist regime (Plastic People of the Universe, Manzel‚, N rodn Tr da). The most surprising inclusion in this set is Mikhail Chekalin's "Probability Symphony" (disc three). A synthesizer artist the likes of Peter Frohmader and Artemiy Artemiev, Chekalin recorded this hour-long work in 1994 with Sergey Trofimov's jazz trio. Synthesizers also provide the backbone of disc four, featuring saxophonist Petras Vysniauskas. More disconcerting than volume one, this second offering stretches the boundaries of jazz without losing interest or quality. ~ Fran‡ois Couture

Hans Kennel is a different sort of trumpet player, one who hardly fits any mold. His style looks back, perhaps to the 1950s, yet the Swiss improviser also has performed with moderns such as Steve Lacy and Albert Mangelsdorff. His tone has a distinctly lyrical quality, a full sweetness that is accentuated by the tunes, which appear mostly improvised. On two pieces, he blows Alphorn, which sounds like a French horn. John Wolf Brennan is Kennel's partner on the 18 tracks, where he plays organ instead of his customary piano, and Marc Untern„hrer joins on a lovely tuba for four selections. At times, the going is a bit slow, to be sure, and with repetitive patterns, isolated notes, extended tones, and minimalist structures, this is far from the kind of innovative avant-garde offerings often appearing on the Leo label. Still, it is a different take, with Charles Ives, Erik Satie, and even a traditional 17th century "melody form Picardie," each contributing to the eclectic diversity of song. The remainder of the "compositions" are by Kennel and Brennan, with the mood distinctly backward looking through the lens of the present. ~ Steven Loewy