Zlatko Kaui has spent decades proving that percussion is far more than a keeper of rhythm. The Slovenian drummer and educator has become one of the defining figures of European free improvisation, collaborating with artists across jazz, contemporary composition and experimental music while mentoring generations of younger musicians through workshops and creative education. His playing has always balanced explosive spontaneity with an almost childlike curiosity about sound itself. On "Kako Klicati Zmaja" ("How to Call the Dragon"), recorded live in Padua alongside Italian percussionist Francesco Cigana, that curiosity becomes the album's true protagonist.

The title draws from a nineteenth-century account of the "Pozoj", a dragon-like creature from Slavic folklore hidden beneath marshes, churches and castles, awakened only through repeated rituals until it finally emerges from the earth. It is an inspired metaphor for improvised music. Nothing is summoned by force. The performers circle an invisible presence, listening, waiting, nudging it toward the surface until the music decides it is ready to reveal itself.

The instrumentation appears deceptively limited: drums, percussion, found objects and assorted sonic debris. In practice, the palette is astonishingly broad. Kaui and Cigana treat every surface as a possible storyteller. Skins rumble, metals shimmer, wooden objects crackle, and unidentified noises wander through the stereo image like curious animals investigating unfamiliar territory. At times it becomes difficult to distinguish intentional gesture from happy accident, which is precisely where the album finds much of its charm.

Each track pairs a Slovenian and an Italian word, suggesting dialogues rather than translations: "sentiero+uho", "fiamma+oko", "scrivere+govoriti". Paths meet ears, flames encounter eyes, writing converses with speech. These titles quietly reflect the music itself, where two musicians communicate through parallel languages without ever seeking perfect symmetry. Rather than mirroring one another, they construct an ecosystem in which every gesture alters the landscape for the next.

There is remarkable discipline beneath the apparent freedom. European free improvisation is sometimes unfairly caricatured as a competition to discover who can frighten a cymbal most effectively. Here, restraint proves just as important as eruption. Short silences become structural beams, delicate textures interrupt dense percussive clusters, and rhythmic fragments emerge only to dissolve before they become predictable. Listening feels less like following compositions than observing weather systems that continuously reorganize themselves.

Cigana proves an ideal partner. His sensitivity prevents the performance from becoming a master-and-student narrative despite Kaui's legendary stature. Instead, their interaction resembles two seasoned explorers comparing maps that neither entirely trusts. One proposes a direction, the other quietly redraws the terrain.

The live recording contributes enormously to the experience. Audience presence remains discreet, yet the room itself becomes another resonating body. Every metallic vibration and wooden resonance acquires physical depth, reminding us that improvised music exists first as an event before becoming an object. You are not simply hearing percussion; you are hearing air being disturbed inside a shared space.

The dragon of the title never arrives in cinematic fashion. There is no climactic roar waiting at the album's conclusion. Instead, it appears in fleeting glimpses, hidden within unexpected resonances and sudden moments of collective intuition. Like the old legend, the ritual matters more than the capture.

"Kako Klicati Zmaja" ultimately celebrates listening as an act of creation. Kaui and Cigana demonstrate that improvisation is not about filling silence but negotiating with it, patiently uncovering forms already sleeping beneath the surface. By the time the final vibrations fade, the dragon has indeed emerged, though not as a beast to be conquered. It appears as something far rarer: a conversation so attentive that even ordinary objects begin speaking in forgotten languages.