This album grabs you exactly where you were least expecting it. A charming young woman, a muslin dress slipped over her, who can adjust her bow while at the same time singing West African hymns. At first you think it’s virtuoso prettiness that characterises Ochumare. And then, in two searing seconds, this diva from Havana now living in Switzerland shows her sharp teeth. In a single leap she traverses memories of Chopin, of Chucho Valdés, of New York jazz, of the imperious audacity of Santería ceremonies. Nothing is pretty in this music; everything is urgent.