Going by the track titles, most of which are named after jazz artists Gerald Cleaver features herein and/or simply wants to honor, Griots would appear to be a return to the drummer's roots after the all-electronic Signs. Instead, it's a sequel to that remarkable left turn, the second product of a longstanding fascination with electronic music and a developing interest in digital audio workstations and modular software plug-ins. Cleaver was into Detroit techno from its early-'80s origin in his hometown. The form's innovative first wave of producers -- Juan Atkins, Kevin Saunderson, and Derrick May -- are roughly his age. It's somehow both astonishing and appropriate that, in the 2020s, a veteran jazz drummer from Motown is making intensely creative techno that is not bound to get the attention it deserves. Like Signs, Griots is highly frictional electronic music that isn't geared for dancefloors, and is more likely to stimulate imaginations and make heads swivel and bob than impel foot-stomping action and perspiration. One moment, it generates ripple-pulses like a hyperactive remix of Herbie Hancock's "Nobu" (all across "Galaxy Faruq [For Faruq Z. Bey]," named after the Griot Galaxy leader). In another, clustered bass drums, twitching secondary percussion, and dark atmospheres create a sense of a transfixing threat ("Buena Vista"). Elsewhere, in even more evocative style, it offers psychedelic machine soul for a dream sequence in which a character is shuttled down a corridor projecting flashbacks (in "Rememberances [For Mom]"). The two tracks named after the guest musicians feature David Virelles, whose presence might go undetected by those expecting to hear acoustic piano, and the more prominent trumpet of Ambrose Akinmusire, which twists and pivots through a web of stamping drums, loping bass, and ghostly flickers. Indeed, Griots is oddly out of time. One could mistake it for a lost gem cited in the back of Kodwo Eshun's 1998 book More Brilliant Than the Sun, listed above works by Cybotron and Drexciya, or as a less banging alternative to the like-minded contemporary output of Terrence Dixon. It isn't without its own "What?"/"How?" moments, either.