Like her splendid debut Incantation, there's something of the concept album about Rawicz's Chroma as befits a blossoming artist who takes some inspiration from 1970s heroes like Chick Corea and Frank Zappa. The music here is shaped by Rawicz’ lived experience as a synesthete. Hearing music simultaneously stimulates her to see colours. So, each song here is named after a tone. Not any old colours of course: who else hears/sees in ‘Rangwali’ (an adventurous pink) or ‘Falu’ (a Scandi red)!

Of course, what really matters is the colours and hues of the music, which is as vibrant and varied as any colour wheel. On her next album Rawicz intends to place her fierily melodic sax front and centre.

But the splendour of Chroma is that it's an ensemble work. Neame, Law and Sirkis have been powerful mentors in Rawicz’ meteoric development, and Chroma was very much written with their fearless voices in mind. And the three takes on the brief tune ‘Xanadu’ (a grey green, not the Olivia Newton-John single!) illustrate the band's to-and-fro self-reflexivity.

Version one has Neame in boundless free flight, where version two, all thoughtful tenor over yanking electronics and Sirkis’ serious clout, pushes to sanity's edge; version three however has a grunt bass, a mystical Coltraney sax while Law lends processed guitar. Bass clarinet likewise thickens the mix on the pacey ‘Phlox’, while Immy Churchill's wordless vox, either improvising or twinning Rawicz's themes as on ‘Viridian’ (a pigment loved by Turner) also adds subtle shades to the palette.

Chroma's coherence owes much to Rawicz the composer and arranger, skills that may yet transcend her evident sax ability. Savour those tones!