The march has started, the beat resonate as the colours are hoisted. The rhythm is cyclical, the form comes back and doesn’t shy to stare at its features in order to renew itself. The march has started and won’t stop. With humble and unworried easiness the prodigious sax tells us of other wonders, of the elementary, the structure that never changes but fluctuates at the same time, that goes up and down, grows and hides, gives and takes, as the march goes on, and on it goes.