The keyboards player, whose music takes the essence of his former boss Art Blakey's jazz message into the electronic age, may have had his tongue in his cheek at the time.
Tell you what, though, if he does make some improvements, I hope he brings this band back to Scotland pronto. Not necessarily to Glasgow - there was too much of that shouting at each other all the way through the tune, then going nuts at the end Glasgow thing going on here - but somewhere hereabouts.
Liston is 72, which must make him at least twice the age of his guitar, bass and drums sidemen and superb, if sometimes slightly underpowered vocalist, Tabitha Pearson, and he favours feel over volume, the groove over showmanship.
Like the recently - and sadly - departed George Duke, Smith makes his keyboards sing the blues, whether the tone setting be a kind of choo-choo chuffing or flutey, and if lyrically, on paper, his songs read as if they come from a more naively principled era, with Pearson singing them they go straight to the gut and hit hard but sweetly. Soaring vocals is an overused term but Pearson's gospel-soaked glissandi absolutely flew.
Her brother, Lee, on drums is both a master of feel and - in the nicest possible way - a right show-off. His understanding with Smith is remarkable, though, and as Expansions' familiar exuberant bass line signalled a stepping up in urgency towards the finale, the groove that had heretofore been beautifully understated became very expansive indeed.