Consider the plight of the sidemen. Acclaimed for their skills and known for their tone, auxiliary players zoom from project to project, pausing just long enough to put their stamp on someone else's baby, and then skipping out before picking up their share of the credit. It's a noble occupation, of course-- one of self-effacement and devotion to craft for its own sake. But everybody's got to take a bow up front eventually.

In rock, the role of sideman is a lifelong calling. The history of the Muscle Shoals house band testifies to that. In jazz, it's more like being a young AAA-ball pitcher called up to the bigs when the closer's arm gives out for a few games. It's a supporting role, sure, but it's also a step in an apprenticeship-- eventually, that young upstart may find himself in the major leagues. Maybe that's why Fred Lonberg-Holm's coming-out as a bandleader (not in the Michael Stipe way) sounds so promising. After so many years spent sprucing up efforts by the cognoscenti of Chitown post-rockers and jazz musicians, Lonberg-Holm hasn't given himself over to the sideman role for life; as Terminal 4 indicates, he's finally ready for his time in the limelight.

If only for lack of competition, Lonberg-Holm has long distinguished himself as the avant-rock scene's finest cellist. Having graced almost everything with the Truckstop imprint-- along with some great improv collaborations-- his smooth, soft playing is a key part of the contemporary post-rock sound. When 33.3 go off into one of those glassy, cool runs of string action, that's FL-H's vibe they're going for. All composure and restraint, the man's sound has added texture, discipline, and meat to the future sound spewing from the Windy City scene.

Having finally assembled a band of kindred spirits, Lonberg-Holm sketched out a bunch of tunes and put then to tape. Considering his past outings' tendencies toward noisier dynamics, Terminal 4's vaguely traditional leanings come as a surprise. Jeb Bishop's trombone lines don't sound too far out of step with early-period Miles Davis, accentuating subtle, melodic transformation throughout a given song, and the arrangements allow plenty of room for spacious, melodic playing. Even "She Caught Herself," the record's sole vocal number, sounds like a crooked torch song spiked with hidden Marxist sentiments. Singer Terria Gartelos vamps it up just enough to keep it from sounding academic, and her scatting with the band evokes Etta James a hell of a lot more than Ornette Coleman.

But this isn't Freddie Lonberg and his Coctail All-Stars, either. The rigor and intensity of his playing sometimes evokes the brainy quality of his best collaborations, and Bishop's double duty on the guitar provides a great source of gritty tension. Clearly, Lonberg-Holm's paid attention throughout his time as a hired hand. Here, given the chance to put his own spin on things, he's been pulled into the big leagues and, even under the hot lights and thousands of stares, looks like he's ready to pitch a killer game.

-Sam Eccleston