All the ingredients are right, and they’re mixed with panache and sensitivity. Mark Lotz and Shango’s Dance bring together Dutch and Cuban diaspora musicians in a sound-world reminiscent of Angá Díaz’ recent, spellbinding Echu Mingua. There’s a veritable world orchestra of congas, bongos, iyá, okonkoló, quinto, clavé, djembé, itotelé, chekeré, Indian bamboo flute, flute, alto flute, clarinet, sax, trombone, piano, bass, drumkit plus a small army of vocalists.

Both the playing and production are second-to-none — the improvisation of Maarten Ornstein on tenor sax and clarinet, and Marc van Roon on piano easily bears comparison with more conventional jazz, and the blend with the batá ensemble is persuasive and unforced.

The first music track (I’m not couting a spoken whimsy at the start), ‘Bembé para Eleguá’, sets the tone of call-and-response with Afro-Latin drumming. When, a minute and a half into the second, ‘Praise Kind Nimunze and Ochún’, the first tentative chords from piano and bass are spotted over the horizon, their jazz flavour comes as no more of a surprise than a distant hill on a hazy summer’s day. A little after the rhythm section, an alto flute joins in, shortly followed by full drum kit, and by the end of the track the religious atmosphere of chant has given way to a full-blown jam.

The disc continues in pretty much the same vein, veering between the campfires of enslaved Cuban worshippers and the smoke-filled clubs of New York. If you think about it hard enough, this marriage of African diaspora traditions makes a whole lot of sense, which is maybe why it’s so very easy on the ear.

The sleeve notes are a joy in themselves - explaining the history and practice of the Santería religion so central to the message of the album, covering the attributes of the Orishas which form the Santería pantheon and then tracing the rhythmic, lyrical and melodic provenance of each number. It goes without saying that there’s a comprehensive track-by-track listing of the composers and musicians. A researcher could spend happy hours following the leads.

And maybe that’s the problem. Somehow Cuban Fishes doesn’t make it past the sum of its parts, and not for want of effort or talent. It could be because there’s an almost academic feel, a lack of the spark and exhiliration which animated Echu Mingua. Still, it’s intriguing and completely listenable - and if two Yoruba-Cuban-jazz discs add up to a trend, it’s a welcome one.