A visage of joyousness fills this album cover. Cellist Akua Dixon, with back arched and eyes closed, can't contain herself. A knowing smile washes over her face as she bathes in the light with cello in hand. It's a picture that perfectly illustrates the artist's place in the moment: Dixon has reached a point of supreme confidence, where percipience permeates her every move and guides her every turn. She doesn't miss a step on Akua's Dance.

This third album from Dixon is a step above and away from its predecessor—Akua Dixon (Self Produced, 2015), her string-centric sophomore date. That outing had its bright moments, but it seemed rudderless at times. This one doesn't have that problem. Dixon's directional sense is practically flawless here. She knows just where she wants to go and she plots out the most pleasing routes for travel. It would seem the third time really is the charm.

The instrumentation here has a lot to do with the heightened jazz sensibility of the project. Rather than return to strings-heavy territory, Dixon places herself within or atop two different rhythm sections, each of which is grounded by drummer