There’s always been something ultra-sensual about Lovano‘s little big band. With the leader’s lusty horn(s) out front, his reed brigade weaves together, often coming up with a wall of rich textures that compliment his ideas and fortify his élan. I’m thinking of an early-aughts spin through “After The Rain” that advanced the anguish of Trane’s lament and unearthed the mastery that Lovano‘s tenor reveals so frequently these days. The iconic West Village cellar sounds terrific when nine individuals hit the stage to make a refined ruckus. Plan on visiting two nights.