The name A zooid refers to a single, semi-autonomous animal that belongs to a compound organism—a perfect metaphor for this busy, hyper-focused micro-music, inspired by the short recording limits of wax cylinders in the early jazz era. Henry Threadgill’s legacy both as bandleader and as sideman to modern giants like David Murray and Jack DeJohnette is too vast to summarize easily, but safe to say, his 2000s output tends toward a style that feels both cerebral and super playful—somewhere in the cracks between jazz and modern classical, old-timey Americana and the ever-evolving dissonance of free improvisation. Crisp, needle-sharp, and largely around two minutes long, the pieces here are like jolts of brilliance that flash and disappear just as quickly. The balladlike “Snow Bones,” the rousing “Lightnin’,” the abstract blues of “Bingo Part 2”—each an oblique reflection of a familiar yet ever-vanishing form. Not for everyone, but irreplaceable to those for whom it is.