Imagine a brass band that doesn’t just walk the parade route, but slips behind the veils of time, drags funk through sun-blasted alleys of memory, and lets the horns bleed into Balkan detours and political anthems. That’s what the Revolutionary Snake Ensemble achieve with "Serpentine", their fifth album, recorded live in 2024 to mark their 35th anniversary.

Led by alto saxophonist, flutist, and composer Ken Field, this Boston-based unit has always flirted with the mythology of New Orleans brass bands, Mardi-Gras pageantry, and free-improvisation. But here, they stretch the tradition outward: no piano or guitar cords tie them down - the horn section’s freedom is a feature, not a flaw.

The album kicks off with “The Skunk Is D’Funk’d”, which sounds like a high-speed recon in the New Orleans underground - tight horns, buzzing tuba, drums clenched like a fist ready to dance. Then we sidestep into the Balkan-inflected “Buck”, pleasantly jolting the listener out of the familiar groove into something slanted and joyous. The folk sigh of “The Water Is Wide” offers a moment of calm introspection, showing the group doesn’t just throw horns - they hear. “Strange Cults” taps into a darker zone; the melodies descend, twist, as though the band is chasing something ominous and vital. “Nezalezhnist”, named in Ukrainian for ‘independence’, pulses with resistance - not just musical, but moral. A cover of Frank Zappa’s “Son of Mr. Green Genes” flips into fearless fun, proving that RSE can salve a protest march and crash a heady cosmic jam in the same hour.

What’s refreshing here is the dual nature: yes, you can stomp your feet - because the grooves land hard - but you should think too, because the arrangements and improvisations carry weight. Field’s decision not to include a chordal instrument (no piano, no guitar) gives the horns autonomy; harmony becomes a communal act of negotiation, not a backdrop.

Listening to "Serpentine" is like watching a snake coil around time - old traditions, new politics, dance-floor abandon, street-corner grit - until everything slides into one seamless coil. If you’re expecting restful jazz, this isn’t it. If you welcome brass bands that can rumble like storms and whisper like ghosts, this is delightful.