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Where communists and anarchists meet for lunch over the negotiating table, with a set of cards fresh out the woodwork and a social set fresh out the aristocracies and hierarchies of the moment. Where cappers and hippies meet at neutral grounds and agree to a similar thread in the dampened shawl of a tapestry fresh out of a Mexican/Ecuadorial mentality. What is essentially a jazz-flamenco fusion that channels its way to something akin to a troubadourian travesty, as long as the guitar sings and the bass bellows the piano should fit in well without catching the matador hustling at the door.