On the Prestige Records' thermometer, tenor saxophonist Jimmy Forrest sat roughly halfway between Gene Ammons and Sonny Stitt. Forrest had Ammons' bulldog gospel attack but he also had Stitt's glossy slipperiness. Forrest, of course, had his own distinct swinging style that sounded like the blues mounted on roller skates. He could be both intimate and bossy—improvising long, serpentine lines and resolving them neatly. Forrest could add a fresh quality to virtually any song, even the most frayed standard.