making, Dis Is da Drum brings Hancock's keyboard-as-orchestra concept to a point somewhere between acid jazz and the more cross-over-minded side of world music.

Hancock's current music never gathers momentum, however; it echoes the vaguely urbane sonic wallpaper that accompanies the pictorials on the Playboy Channel. This is puzzling because Hancock, more than any jazz-funk-fusion forefather, has been able to join simple backbeats and singsong themes into high art – remember 1974's "Chameleon"? Here, Hancock establishes a groove, then locks into autopilot; his improvisations, often on acoustic piano, constitute the only serious attempt at variation. Where Hancock was once a master of the danceable pulse, his latest rhythms feel bloodless.

These shortcomings are magnified by the few selections that do ignite. "Juju," which is built around the chanted discourse of the drum circle, shifts effortlessly from lazy shuffle to stately processional to galloping triple-meter jaunt. Each change of inflection provides another jolt and suggests fresh melodic possibilities, and as the voices interact with the percussion, it becomes clear that this comparatively low-fi track gets closest to the culture clash that eludes Hancock elsewhere. The watery synthesis that drowns most of these songs is replaced by agitated improvisations and African polyrhythms. Finally, Drum's emphasis is where it belongs – on the primal, spirit-giving power of the drum. (RS 710)

TOM MOON