There’s a point, somewhere around the twelfth minute of s-/Kinfolks—a thirty-minute suite that feels, at times, like a cross between a Miles Davis outtake and a séance—where Ambrose Akinmusire’s trumpet seems to hesitate. It’s not a mistake, not even a rest in the usual sense, but a deliberate inhalation. The listener inhales with him. Then, almost imperceptibly, the strings resume, and a voice—Kokayi’s, cracked with exhaustion—cuts through the air like a moral interruption. “You give me rocks so I can sink when I swim.” It’s one of those moments that jazz still allows: something raw, uncomfortable, and unsummarizable happens, and you realize that beauty alone isn’t what the artist is after.
Akinmusire has always struck me as an artist uneasy with beauty, or at least with its easy consumption. His earlier Owl Song was a delicate and deeply contemplative record—so beautiful, in fact, that critics ran out of adjectives and began to quote each other. honey from a winter stone, his second release for Nonesuch, seems determined to escape that corner. It’s the kind of record that, if you leave it on while doing the dishes, you’ll find yourself stopping mid-plate, a little annoyed that it demands your full attention.
He has built it around a principle borrowed from the late Julius Eastman, the brilliant, self-destructive composer whose music was as much about social defiance as it was about sonic innovation. Eastman called his method “organic music”—the gradual layering and transformation of material until form itself became an act of resistance. Akinmusire, in taking Eastman’s cue, seems to be asking what it means for a Black jazz musician to make “organic music” in 2025, when even outrage risks being commodified.
The opening track, Muffled Screams, unfolds in a series of “episodes,” like a dream that keeps rewriting itself. Akinmusire’s trumpet begins almost alone, rising out of Sam Harris’s rippling piano and Justin Brown’s anxious drumming, before handing off to the Mivos String Quartet and, eventually, to Kokayi’s voice—a voice that doesn’t so much rap as think aloud in rhythm. The seams between sections are seamless; what’s remarkable is not the range of styles (hip-hop, chamber music, ambient minimalism) but how calmly they coexist. This, perhaps, is Akinmusire’s answer to the chaos of contemporary culture: not fusion, but empathy.
He calls the album a self-portrait, and you believe him. Across its five tracks, he stages a kind of internal conversation—between disciplines, between identities, between the seductions of form and the urgencies of lived experience. Owled sounds, at first, like the soundtrack to a postmodern nature documentary, all shifting textures and slow pulses, but by its final minutes it’s become a miniature requiem, the strings sighing behind the trumpet as if for the idea of coherence itself.
And yet, for all its cerebral scaffolding, the record is deeply, sometimes disarmingly, emotional. Akinmusire’s tone—alternately fragile and ferocious—feels like a confession more than a performance. The long final track, s-/Kinfolks, drifts through grief and defiance, ending not with resolution but with exhaustion. The silence afterward feels earned, as if both musician and listener have survived something.
Listening to honey from a winter stone is like reading a difficult novel: the reward isn’t pleasure but recognition. You come away reminded that complexity itself can be a moral stance—that coherence, in a fractured world, is a kind of courage.
Akinmusire may be the closest thing jazz has to a novelist: patient, self-interrogating, wary of virtuosity for its own sake. His music keeps circling the same themes—memory, identity, the impossibility of speaking for a community without also implicating oneself—but it never resolves them. It can’t.
And maybe that’s the point. In a culture that prizes immediacy and affirmation, honey from a winter stone insists on difficulty, on listening as a form of work. It’s an album that withholds as much as it gives, that reminds us, as Eastman did, that the truest kind of beauty comes from resistance.
It’s not music for everyone. It’s music for the part of you that still believes art should change you, even—especially—when it hurts.
What does it mean to be “tippin’”? In simple terms, it’s when a band locks into the groove so naturally that everything just falls into place, without forcing the issue or trying too hard. It’s that sweet spot where the rhythm section is locked, the soloists are flowing, and the energy in the room is just right. And if anyone embodies that feeling, it’s Carl Allen. A seasoned drummer whose history includes stints with the likes of Freddie Hubbard and the Christian McBride Big Band, Allen’s Tippin’ delivers this essence with every beat.
This album marks Allen’s return to the spotlight as a bandleader after a two-decade hiatus, and it’s well worth the wait. The trio format here is stark—no piano or guitar—just bass, drums, and the always fiery Chris Potter on tenor and soprano saxophones and bass clarinet. The setting, bare-bones as it is, recalls the heyday of Sonny Rollins’ iconic trio recordings, with a slight nod to the more contemporary flavor of Potter’s work in Jonathan Blake’s Trion and the ECM sessions of Steve Swallow’s Damaged in Transit. For those who dig that sound, Joel Frahm’s recent The Bright Side and Lumination should be next on your playlist.
The music on Tippin’ is all about urgency and freedom, captured in a spontaneous, live-in-the-studio vibe. According to Allen, the trio didn’t rehearse much—everything was laid down in a single five-hour session, and it shows. The tunes themselves are drawn from the modern jazz canon, but with a fresh approach that breathes new life into them. Among the highlights are Freddie Hubbard’s “Happy Times,” a tune that moves at breakneck speed, and Lenny White’s “L’s Bop,” which Hubbard also recorded. There’s also James Williams’ haunting “Alter Ego,” a tribute to the late pianist, and Kenny Barron’s “Song for Abdullah,” a beautiful moment where McBride bows while Barron himself guests on piano. The trio even takes on Pat Metheny’s “James,” a piece that’s as lush as it is cerebral, and the classic “Parker’s Mood,” where Allen guides the group through the original “grown-up” tempo—a masterclass in groove and restraint.
But this isn’t just about the song selection—it’s about the collective chemistry. Allen, McBride, and Potter create an atmosphere that’s palpable throughout the recording, one where the musicians trust each other to navigate both the written material and the unspoken spaces in between. No one is showing off here, no one is pushing for a moment in the spotlight. Instead, it’s the sound of seasoned musicians who have found their collective groove and are content to live in that zone, tippin’ to the rhythm of the moment.
Tippin’ is a deep, breathing record that allows the pulse of jazz to unfold naturally—both timeless and immediate. A triumph of subtlety, mastery, and swing, it reminds us of what makes live jazz so thrilling. This is a trio that knows how to get in the pocket, and when they do, they truly tip.
Benjamin Lackner – Spindrift (ECM)
Benjamin Lackner’s Spindrift is an album that feels like it’s been sculpted in the quiet spaces between notes, a masterclass in understated sophistication and restrained lyricism. The album features a remarkable cast of players: Lackner on piano, Mathias Eick on trumpet, Mark Turner on tenor saxophone, Linda May Han Oh on bass, and Matthieu Chazarenc on drums. Recorded in March 2024, it’s a record that emphasizes nuance and interplay, making every moment feel essential.
Lackner’s compositional approach offers an elegant setting for the band to explore and stretch, each member given the space to shape their own narrative within the broader ensemble context. And speaking of Turner, though American, his approach has long distanced itself from the post-Coltrane or Brecker schools, favoring a direction more akin to Warne Marsh’s cool, cerebral lines. His tone here is characteristically calm yet full of intent, always aware of the larger picture but unafraid to inject subtle flashes of tension when necessary. This is where Lackner’s vision is most pronounced—by framing Turner’s often airy, introspective voice within rich harmonic landscapes, he allows the saxophonist’s voice to float freely, free from the constraints of aggressive post-bop expectations.
Mathias Eick, for his part, brings a similarly reflective and lyrical touch to the ensemble, albeit with a more expansive color palette. While known for his more forceful work with Jaga Jazzist and Motorpsycho, Eick’s trumpet playing on Spindrift aligns closely with the kind of airiness and introspection we often associate with Kenny Wheeler. His lines glide with the grace of a bird in flight, while still carrying a certain depth—evoking emotion without sentimentality. The tension between Eick’s airiness and Turner’s restraint creates an almost conversation-like dynamic, one that allows the interplay to shimmer throughout the record.
At the heart of this collective, however, is Linda May Han Oh’s bass. It’s hard to overstate the impact of her presence—her vibrant, energetic touch provides the album with both rhythmic foundation and melodic richness. Whether she’s providing the pulse or weaving between the lines of the horn players, her contributions are integral, adding a sense of dynamism that is often subtle yet deeply felt. Han Oh’s ability to provide both a steady anchor and a source of energy is a defining characteristic of the album’s tone.
Drummer Matthieu Chazarenc is a steady force behind the kit, never intrusive but always precise, grounding the ensemble with a sense of restraint. The drums support but never overwhelm, creating a subtle but essential framework for the music to breathe. His sense of time feels elastic, allowing the melodies to float just above the rhythm in a way that enhances, rather than stifles, the group’s collective expression.
What’s most striking about Spindrift is how Lackner has crafted an ensemble with such palpable chemistry, allowing each voice to shine individually while maintaining the integrity of the collective sound. The music is dense but never crowded, allowing each player to explore their space without feeling hurried or rushed. Each tune is a carefully constructed conversation, where every phrase feels like a reflection of the one before it, and the one yet to come.
In all, Spindrift suggests that Benjamin Lackner has created an ensemble of great potential—an aggregation of exceptional voices and talents, all drawn together by a shared vision of musical expression that’s both intimate and expansive. It’s the kind of album that grows with every listen, its nuances revealing themselves slowly, like the ebb and flow of the sea the title evokes. The possibilities for this group seem boundless, and it’s exciting to think where Lackner might take them next.
Dave Holland & Lionel Loueke – United Vol 1 (Edition)
The pairing of bassist Dave Holland and guitarist Lionel Loueke is an inspired one. With United Vol 1, their first collaborative release, the duo presents an album that balances deep musicality with a sense of spontaneous exploration. From the opening note, it’s clear that this is a partnership that thrives on contrast and complementarity, with Holland’s grounding, powerful basslines setting a rich foundation for Loueke’s intricate guitar work and ethereal vocals. The album, though not revealing its recording date, feels fresh, vibrant, and alive with possibility.
The standout track Tranxit effortlessly captures the duo’s chemistry. The Afro-funk and Latin influences are palpable as Holland’s bass unspools a fast, weaving improvisational passage, while Loueke’s rhythm guitar dances with rapid, almost breathless strumming. The syncopation and rhythmic drive never lets up, as if both players are in a race to the finish line, their energy constantly shifting but never losing its pulse. The result is an infectious, high-octane groove that draws the listener in, full of momentum and playfulness.
On Celebration, Loueke moves into familiar terrain, his guitar lines recalling the jagged yet joyful phrasing of John Scofield. In this piece, the tension between Loueke’s sharp, jazzy guitar fragments and Holland’s resonant, deeper bass figures creates an engaging push-pull dynamic. There’s a sense of joyous struggle between the two players, as Loueke’s bright, angular melodies spar with Holland’s deep, undulating tones, only to find their way into a mutually satisfying groove by the track’s conclusion. It’s the type of musical conversation that highlights both artists’ immense skill in both solo and ensemble settings.
Life Goes On takes an unexpected turn, with echoes of Bill Frisell’s country-tinged compositions filling the space. Loueke’s guitar tones take on a more twangy, earthy quality, while Holland’s bassline adopts a steady, understated rhythm, providing a perfect contrast to the more expansive and open-ended phrasing of the guitar. The piece exudes a warmth and reflection, offering a kind of serenity before the more complex interactions of the rest of the album.
Perhaps the most striking track is Humanism, where Loueke’s vocals—sung in French—add another dimension to the duo’s sound. The combination of Loueke’s edgy guitar figures, his exultant vocalizations, and Holland’s graceful basslines forms a vivid, emotionally charged landscape. It’s a blend of joy and complexity, the exultant mood tempered by the song’s intricacies, revealing the delicate balance between humanity and abstraction. The song’s shifting textures and rhythmic ideas provide a vivid sketch of the intentions of the set, aptly titled United. It’s a celebration of collaboration, where the individual voices of both musicians emerge, collide, and ultimately coalesce into something transcendent.
What makes United Vol 1 particularly engaging is the way these two masters of their craft draw upon a wide range of influences—from Afro-funk to contemporary jazz to more introspective, folk-inspired moments. Holland’s bass is ever the anchor, sturdy and expansive, while Loueke’s guitar and voice provide an agile, flowing counterpoint. The music is full of light and dark, its moods shifting fluidly between exuberance and introspection. Each track offers a glimpse into the artists’ broad musical vocabularies, while the overarching theme of unity—both in sound and spirit—remains steadfast throughout.
In the end, United Vol 1 is more than just a collaboration; it’s a harmonious meeting of two musical minds that’s full of rich textures and complex emotions. Holland and Loueke have created something deeply musical, yet always accessible—a dialogue that feels both intimate and universal. With the promise of a second volume on the horizon, it’s clear that this partnership has a great deal of untapped potential, and it will be exciting to hear where these two take it next.
Seeing is a serene and soul-stirring album by pianist Tord Gustavsen, marking his tenth release for ECM. Joined by longtime collaborator drummer Jarle Vespestad and bassist Steinar Raknes, the trio creates an atmosphere of deep stillness and introspection. The album opens with the blue gospel-inspired “Jesus, Make Me Still,” setting the tone for its meditative qualities. Tracks like “Seattle Song” encapsulate the journey of life, blending folk, gospel, and classical elements with a profound sense of peace. Gustavsen’s arrangements of traditional hymns, such as “The Old Church” and “Nearer My God, To Thee,” alongside his original compositions, convey a soulful, grounded simplicity. The trio avoids flashy solos or virtuosic display, instead focusing on creating emotional depth through restraint. The album’s blend of Norwegian and American folk influences, along with Bach’s introspective works, forms a timeless, unified whole. At just forty-four minutes, Seeing is an album that invites listeners into a quiet, reflective space, making it one of Gustavsen’s most compelling and transcendent works to date. In this challenging time, the album’s calm presence offers a welcome retreat, with its understated beauty and emotional resonance leaving a lasting impression.
9: Joe Robson – Home
Joe Robson’s debut album Home is a stunning release that introduces the Scottish guitarist as a distinctive voice in contemporary jazz. Blending jazz, Celtic traditions, and Nordic post-rock influences, Robson delivers a deeply personal and evocative meditation on themes of belonging and memory. The album features contributions from saxophonist Seamus Blake, whose soulful solos, particularly on “Emergence,” bring emotional depth to the record, though the core band’s chemistry and sound remain the album’s standout.
Robson’s compositions are marked by their clarity, emotional resonance, and seamless transitions between structured arrangements and free improvisation. The album never overstays its welcome, with concise solos and organic, spontaneous exchanges between musicians. Highlights include Robson’s breathtaking guitar work on “Becoming,” which recalls the fluidity of Pat Metheny and Brad Mehldau, and Matt Carmichael’s commanding, Celtic-tinged saxophone solos on tracks like “Searching for Home.”
The band, which also includes saxophonist Adam Jackson and fiddler Charlie Stewart, crafts a distinctive timbral blend, often weaving intricate melodies and harmonies with earthy, organic sounds. Tracks like “Venchen” and “Searching for Home” take unexpected turns, adding an element of surprise that keeps the listener engaged.
Home firmly establishes Robson as a rising star in contemporary jazz, a record that honours his roots while pushing musical boundaries. It is a profound, poetic work that lingers long after it ends, making it a standout of the year.
8: Mary Halvorson – Cloudward
Mary Halvorson’s Cloudward is a stunning album that showcases her mastery in blending composed music with improvisation. The New York-based guitarist, known for her adventurous work in both solo and collaborative settings, delivers a powerful eight-piece set, reflecting a sense of liberation as the pandemic’s grip waned. Halvorson’s sextet features trumpet, trombone, vibraphone, bass, drums, and Laurie Anderson on effects-violin for one track, creating a rich, multilayered sound.
The album is filled with delightful surprises, from the slowly building brass and vibes fanfare of “The Gate” to the intricate brass harmonies of “Collapsing Mouth” and “Unscrolling,” where the interplay between trumpet and trombone is masterful. Halvorson’s guitar work stands out, whether in the distorted, avant-garde funk of “Desiderata” or the ambient violin textures crafted by Anderson on “Incarnadine.” Tracks like “Tailhead” introduce Latin jazz-like rhythms, further highlighting the sextet’s diverse influences. The album’s seamless fusion of written and improvised elements creates an entrancing, seductive warmth that marks a new peak in Halvorson’s already remarkable career. Cloudward is a mesmerizing testament to her vision, showcasing a rare ability to balance structure with spontaneity in jazz.
7: Kit Downes – Reflex; Dr. Snap
Reflex; Dr. Snap is a dynamic live album by Kit Downes, recorded at the Bimhuis in Amsterdam on November 3, 2022, as part of the “Reflex” series. This ambitious project features Downes leading a ten-piece international ensemble, including three drummers, creating a vibrant, experimental soundscape that blends jazz with avant-garde and rock influences. The group, which Downes calls his “family band,” includes familiar collaborators like bassist Petter Eldh and guitarist Reinier Baas, and is complemented by live visuals from Juliane Schutz, adding a sensory depth to the performance.
The album begins with Eldh’s intricate composition “Children with Pitchforks,” where the three drummers create rhythmic complexity, accompanied by quirky horn arrangements. Other tracks like “Full Dress” and “Mirror” showcase inventive horn and rhythm sections, with Downes’ piano at the center, and feature exceptional solos from members such as guitarist Baas and saxophonist van Gelder. As the suite progresses, the music shifts from structured compositions to freer, more improvisational moments, including the evocative “Pantheon 4” and the intense “Dimitrios In 64.”
A blend of energy, texture, and dynamic contrasts, Dr. Snap is a thrilling, expansive work that keeps evolving throughout its length. The album’s vibrant and complex music highlights Downes’ distinctive compositional voice and the ensemble’s remarkable interplay. With its multifaceted textures and rhythms, this release is a bold statement in contemporary jazz and avant-garde music.
6: Jake Blount and Mali Obomsawin – Symbiont
Symbiont, the collaborative album by Jake Blount and Mali Obomsawin, is a powerful exploration of Black and Indigenous music, blending historical references with modern electronic production. The album, which bridges the personal and the political, combines synthesizers, percussion, and vocals to craft a vision of resistance, community, and continuity. Blount and Obomsawin co-created the album by drawing from archival texts, including Slave Songs of the United States and works by Indigenous author Thomas Commuck. The music spans genres and traditions, blending hymns, spoken word, and innovative electroacoustic sounds. It questions the silences of official archives and reclaims marginalized voices erased by colonial violence.
Songs like “Mother” and “Stars Begin to Fall” blend traditional hymns with glitchy synths, interrupted feedback, and reimagined structures, creating an ongoing dialogue between past and future. The album reflects a nuanced take on the history of colonization, acknowledging both its pain and the strength of communities that have persevered. The involvement of musicians like jazz performer Taylor Ho Bynum adds further depth to the work, blending the sounds of percussion and gourd banjo with vibrant harmonies.
Symbiont is not just an album, but a radical act of preservation and transformation, using the past as a tool for collective action and a hopeful vision for the future. It’s an essential, genre-defying work that speaks to the political and spiritual dimensions of music-making.
5: Colin Stetson – The Love It Took to Leave You
The Love It Took to Leave You by Canadian saxophonist Colin Stetson is a bold, experimental album that delves deep into his unique minimalist style. Known for his continuous breathing techniques and innovative microphone placements, Stetson creates intricate, hypnotic compositions that blend the sounds of his saxophone with the mechanics of the instrument itself. The album is largely a solo project, with Stetson crafting expansive, atmospheric pieces that range from intense, rhythmic sequences to ethereal, mournful tones, capturing the essence of separation and loss.
Opening with the track “The Love It Took to Leave You,” Stetson sets the tone with repetitive arpeggios and slow, soaring melodies. The album reaches a high point with the 21-minute “Strike Your Forge and Grin,” a stunning sonic journey that combines drone metal elements with complex rhythmic patterns and howling lead melodies. This track is considered by many as his greatest achievement in terms of pacing, structure, and sound.
Known for his work on film scores like Hereditary and The Menu, Stetson has also built a distinguished solo career, pushing the boundaries of what a single instrument can achieve. This album furthers his reputation as one of the most exciting talents in contemporary music today.
4: Miguel Zenón – Golden City
Golden City is a powerful suite by Miguel Zenón that explores the history of San Francisco, focusing on the experiences and contributions of its diverse ethnic communities, including Japanese, Chinese, Mexican, and African-American. Premiered in 2022 at the SFJAZZ Center, the work is now available in its recorded form with nearly the same trombone-centric nonet ensemble. Collaborating with pianist Matt Mitchell, bassist Chris Tordini, and drummer Dan Weiss, Zenón’s music highlights the resilience and beauty of the city’s soul amidst its often painful history.
Tracks like “Sacred Land” mourn the Ohlone people’s tragic history, while “Rush” evokes the chaos of the Gold Rush era. “Acts of Exclusion” powerfully addresses the Chinese Exclusion Act, with Zenón’s saxophone leading a blend of anguish and defiance, highlighted by Miles Okazaki’s brilliant guitar solo. The album also includes the graceful “Sanctuary City,” inspired by Wayne Shorter’s “Sanctuary.” The nonet’s stellar horn section—featuring Alan Ferber, Diego Urcola, and Jacob Garchik—adds depth to Zenón’s intricate compositions, reflecting his early Latin influences. Golden City is a stunning exploration of San Francisco’s cultural and historical tapestry, blending jazz, Latin, and contemporary sounds into a poignant, evocative narrative.
3: Out Of/Into – Motion I
Motion I by Out Of/Into, a supergroup formed by Gerald Clayton, Immanuel Wilkins, Joel Ross, Kendrick Scott, and Matt Brewer, is a dynamic and electrifying album that defies expectations. The group, originally known as The Blue Note Quintet, kicks off with “Ofafrii,” a vibrant track that showcases their collective energy and musical prowess. Wilkins and Ross drive the rhythm, while Clayton, Scott, and Brewer add layers of complexity, creating a compelling and adventurous sound. The quintet’s road-tested chemistry shines throughout the album, which blends experimental jazz with moments of pure brilliance.
Tracks like “Synchrony” and “Radical” capture the raw intensity reminiscent of the classic Coltrane quartet, delivering a thrilling sonic experience. The album also features the standout “Aspiring to Normalcy,” an eleven-minute track that showcases Brewer’s punchy swing and the band’s ability to shift between blues, tension, and resolution. “Second Day” and “Gabaldon’s Glide” continue the album’s rich tapestry, offering a moody yet uplifting atmosphere that harks back to Blue Note’s storied history.
Motion I is a masterful showcase of individual talent and group cohesion, balancing technical prowess with emotional depth. With each member contributing their unique style, the album captures the essence of Blue Note’s legacy while pushing the boundaries of modern jazz. A remarkable debut, Motion I is an essential listen for fans of innovative and expansive jazz.
2: Charles Lloyd – The Sky Will Still Be There Tomorrow
The Sky Will Still Be There Tomorrow is a deeply moving album by Charles Lloyd, who remains the last standing member of the influential 1950s saxophone generation, alongside figures like John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman. At 86, Lloyd’s voice-like sound and soulful expression shine through in this remarkable new release, featuring pianist Jason Moran, bassist Larry Grenadier, and drummer Brian Blade. The album opens with the entrancing “Defiant, Tender Warrior,” where soft piano and subtle percussion set the stage for Lloyd’s emotive tenor sax. The tribute to Thelonious Monk, “Monk’s Dance,” displays playful, whimsical sax phrasing, while “The Lonely One” and “The Ghost of Lady Day” showcase Lloyd’s refined sax tone and ability to express deep emotion. The album also includes a moving rendition of the spiritual “There is a Balm in Gilead,” recalling his previous work with drummer Billy Higgins. As Lloyd reflects on his legacy, the music here radiates light, joy, and a profound connection to the heart of jazz. The Sky Will Still Be There Tomorrow is a testament to Lloyd’s enduring musical vision and his ability to create with simplicity and grace, even in the later stages of his illustrious career.
1: Aaron Parks – Little Big III
Aaron Parks returns to Blue Note with Little Big III, a compelling album that marks his first release for the label since 2008’s Invisible Cinema. The 40-year-old pianist-composer continues his lyrical exploration of contemporary song forms, drawing from Americana-inflected alt-rock rather than traditional jazz influences. The album is atmospheric and melancholic, evoking the work of artists like Keith Jarrett, Brad Mehldau, and Bill Frisell, but Parks creates a distinct, hauntingly original signature sound. The album features a range of styles, from the Americana-tinged “Locked Down,” which would suit a Tom Waits vocal, to the Weather Report-esque “Sports,” with its funky African rhythms and jazz-rock guitar. Tracks like the Steely Dan-influenced “Little Beginnings” and the psychedelic rock of “Willamania” showcase Parks’ versatility, while “Ashé” is a touching, Jarrett-inspired ballad. Little Big III is a stunning return to Blue Note, demonstrating Parks’ impressive ability to blend jazz with alt-rock and Americana influences into a unique and emotionally resonant musical vision.
Aaron Parks is undeniably one of the most inventive and virtuosic musicians shaping the landscape of jazz in the 2020s, blending technical mastery with an unparalleled ability to reimagine the genre. His compositions and performances transcend traditional boundaries, showcasing a visionary approach to harmony, melody, and rhythm. Little Big III, provides compelling evidence of his genius, offering a lush and intricate sonic world that balances emotional depth with striking originality, and solidifies Parks as a trailblazer whose artistry continually redefines what modern jazz can achieve.
Normally when bandleaders announce themselves with a debut album of such mastery, we already know their name, have seen them at Ronnie Scott’s, have heard them as a sideman or some Edition or Whirlwind records, and have been eagerly awaiting their “Introducing…” release. That was not the case with this relatively unknown Scottish guitarist who appears to have been doing his work in the dark before bursting into the light with an album of the year contender.
Joe Robson’s debut album Home is a work of lyrical intimacy and understated virtuosity that feels nostalgic and familiar, yet startlingly fresh without ever being predictable. With this project, the guitarist-composer offers an evocative meditation on belonging, memory, and the places we carry within us, drawing on a deep well of both Jazz and Celtic traditions while imprinting them with his uniquely personal voice.
Seamus Blake, ever the alchemist, brings his inimitable sound to “Seven Sisters,” and the opening – and most powerful – track, “Emergence.” Instantly recognisable from his first note, his solos resonate with the kind of emotional authenticity that defines this record, delivering rapid-fire runs, intricate harmonic ideas, and seamless shifts between registers with an ease that borders on the supernatural. However, Seamus’s contribution seems to me more the icing on the cake than a core ingredient. Whilst I understand why, “feat. Seamus Blake,” was used so prominently in the title and artwork, I feel it maybe distracts from quite how special this core band is, with a sound that sits somewhere in the realms of melodic modern jazz, contemporary Scottish folk, Nordic post-rock and neoclassical.
Throughout, Robson’s compositions are striking in their clarity and emotional resonance, with intricate arrangement evolving into free improvisation, never losing the emotive thread which runs through the record like a narrative. There’s no wasted movement or overplaying and many of the solos are concise, often with different soloists trading ideas, inspiring one another. There are a few expansive improvisations like Carmichael’s commanding solos on Searching for Home and Brotherhood, and Robson’s breathtaking guitar solo on Becoming, which has hints of Metheny and Mehldau. These rare moments show Robson’s command of rhythm and harmony, and his depth of jazz vocabulary, in a record where the improvisations serve the music as a whole, rather than merely providing a stage for the soloist to shine.
In this sense, it is hardly a surprise that there is such unity and chemistry with saxophonist Matt Carmichael’s, whose philosophy of serving the music with his distinctive and creative voice has already established him as a star of British Jazz, with an impressive discography, including the phenomenal Marram (Edition Records). His improvisations are perfectly constructed real-time compositions steeped in the warm inflections of Celtic folk, transforming it into a meditative incantation that soars over the band’s sparkling accompaniment. Altoist, Adam Jackson, is also a creative force with a more cutting, fiery sound, reminding me at times of Tim Berne or Chris Speed. His playing is as emotive as it is inventive, and he pushes boundaries with the content of his phrases and the tone and shape of his sound, creating an almost visceral effect in the listener.
There are unexpected turns, when Venchen or Emergence build to a set of original reels, or when Searching for Home descends into a dark, dissonant vortex before emerging with a delicate beauty and sense of hope. Overall, there is a narrative continuity and a distinctive sound which is produced, at least in part, by the timbral blend of the twin saxes weaving in and out of the warm electric guitar and the organic, earthy sound of Charlie Stewart’s fiddle.
With Home, Joe Robson establishes himself as a rising star in contemporary jazz, one with a voice as poetic as it is quietly powerful. A work that honours its roots while carving out new territory, it is as much a landmark for Scottish jazz as it is a deeply personal statement, one that lingers in the mind and heart long after the final note has sounded. This is music for finding your own sense of home – wherever that might be.
Album Review: Silver Shadow by Slowly Rolling Camera By Max Millar
Slowly Rolling Camera has always been an intriguing proposition—a group that blurs the lines between jazz, cinematic soundscapes, and electronica with a singular focus on mood and texture. With their fourth studio album, Silver Shadow, they’ve crafted a rich tapestry of sound that feels like the culmination of their decade-long sonic exploration. The result is a deeply immersive work, striking a balance between their cinematic tendencies and their love of jazz improvisation.
From their self-titled debut in 2014, Slowly Rolling Camera established themselves as musical alchemists, blending the warm intimacy of soulful vocals with layered electronics and expansive orchestration. As their journey unfolded, albums like All Things and Juniper saw them shedding some of the vocal elements to lean into their instrumental voice, each project reflecting a new evolution of their sound. Silver Shadow feels like a further refinement, as they push their boundaries while embracing collaborations that bring fresh perspectives.
The album opens with “Rebirth,” a pulsating piece that showcases the group’s knack for combining textural electronics with intricate jazz rhythms. It’s an immediate demonstration of the album’s collaborative strength, featuring saxophonist Josh Arcoleo, whose melodic lines thread seamlessly through the dense layers of sound. This interplay exemplifies the band’s ability to balance structure with freedom—a theme carried throughout the album.
Saxophonists have played a pivotal role in Slowly Rolling Camera’s development; the presence of Chris Potter on the standout track “The Afternoon of Human night” (2021)is both grounding and transcendent. His unmistakable tone and virtuosic phrasing elevate the track’s atmospheric core, injecting it with moments of raw, unguarded emotion. Similarly, Mark Lockheart’s contributions on “In the Shadows” provide a haunting quality, his lyrical playing effortlessly navigating the tune’s shifting moods.
What sets Silver Shadow apart from its predecessors is the way Slowly Rolling Camera integrates their collaborative spirit into the album’s DNA. Rather than featuring guest musicians as ornaments to their compositions, the group allows their collaborators to shape the music in profound ways. The dialogues between saxophone, piano, and electronics feel like conversations rather than monologues, creating an album that breathes and evolves organically.
Sonically, Silver Shadow continues Slowly Rolling Camera’s tradition of high production values, with every note and texture meticulously placed. Dave Stapleton’s lush piano lines and delicate arrangements anchor the album, while Deri Roberts’ production imbues the music with a sense of vastness. The electronic elements remain a core feature, lending a modern edge to the timeless jazz influences.
The title track, “Silver Shadow,” encapsulates the album’s essence. Built around a hypnotic groove, it gradually expands into a sweeping, cinematic piece, with layers of strings and brass folding into a powerful crescendo. The piece is emblematic of Slowly Rolling Camera’s ability to create music that is both intimate and grand in scale.
Silver Shadow isn’t just an album; it’s a journey through sound. By bringing in collaborators like Potter, Lockheart, and Arcoleo, Slowly Rolling Camera has enriched their already distinctive sound palette, achieving a rare balance of innovation and cohesion. This is music for those who crave emotional depth and artistic boldness—a testament to a band that refuses to stand still.
In an era where genres often define boundaries, Slowly Rolling Camera continues to chart their own course, and Silver Shadow is their most compelling voyage yet.
The remote Shetland Islands, far to the north of Scotland and almost as close to Norway as Edinburgh, have long been a place where musical traditions are passed down through generations, steeped in the rich folk music of the Scottish Highlands. But when it comes to jazz, the Shetlands aren’t exactly a hotspot—at least not until saxophonist Norman Willmore arrived to shake things up. A native of Muckle Roe, a particularly remote part of the islands, Willmore has quietly built a distinctive career that fuses his homeland’s folk heritage with the improvisational freedom of jazz. His sound, with its infusion of Nordic folk melodies, traditional Scots rhythms, and the wildness of Shetland’s natural landscape, has turned heads in the jazz world.
Willmore’s work with his band, including recent live performances and recordings, has established him as one of the most innovative voices on the UK jazz scene. Notable albums like Alive & Well at the Muckle Roe Hall (2019) have captured the unique energy of live performances in remote locations, where the sense of place and atmosphere permeates every note. There, his alto saxophone dances between fiery jazz-jigs, introspective ballads, and folk-inspired themes, all wrapped up in his distinctively Scottish jazz voice.
What stands out in Willmore’s music is his ability to draw from a wealth of diverse influences while maintaining a sound that is unmistakably his own. He is a master of mixing traditional Shetland folk tunes with modern jazz harmonies, but it’s the integration of jazz’s improvisatory spirit that makes his work stand apart. This fusion—fluid and ever-evolving—has seen him collaborate with a range of exceptional musicians, but perhaps none more intriguing than drummer Corrie Dick. Together, they form Norman&Corrie, a duo project that has taken their collaborative exploration to new heights. Their latest album, Twa Double Doubles, is a striking testament to their creative chemistry and shared vision.
With Twa Double Doubles, Norman Willmore and Corrie Dick take their musical exploration to a new, audacious level. For this duo project, the pair have dug deep into Willmore’s Shetland roots, unearthing traditional folk tunes that they then deconstruct, reimagine, and make wholly their own. The results are at once fresh and timeless, as the duo breathes new life into Shetland’s rich musical heritage, blending it seamlessly with their own inventive, genre-defying sound.
In this album, Willmore’s alto saxophone takes on a range of voices—sometimes meditative, sometimes bold and raucous, but always deeply expressive. It’s a sound that defies easy categorization, with moments that evoke the haunting drones of traditional folk music, while other passages explode into vigorous, jazz-infused dance grooves. Willmore’s use of electronic effects and organ pedals, along with his sax, adds unexpected depth to the duo’s sound, filling spaces where one might expect full-band arrangements. Dick, for his part, is a revelation. The inventive percussionist weaves complex rhythms, intricate textures, and thunderous grooves into a rich and ever-evolving sonic landscape, with the addition of drum triggers and unusual percussive elements giving the music an exciting, unpredictable quality.
The track Haltadans, inspired by a fragment of a dance supposedly transcribed from a troll band before being turned to stone on the Shetland island of Fetlar, sets the tone for the album’s otherworldly atmosphere. The music is eerily hypnotic, with Willmore’s saxophone invoking the sense of something ancient and magical, while Dick’s drumming carries the dance-like energy of the folk tune. The way the duo balances whimsy and mystery in this piece is indicative of the broader sound of Twa Double Doubles—a collection of tracks that veer from meditative, spiritual-blues moments to explosive, jubilant folk-jazz fusions.
On tracks like John O’ Voe / Da Oyster, the duo showcases their ability to blend the introspective with the upbeat. The tune begins with a beautifully sad melody, Willmore’s saxophone languishing in the melancholy of the piece, before growing into something more urgent and joyful, with soaring sax and dynamic drumming propelling the tune forward. The transition from sorrow to joy here feels both natural and powerful, capturing the essence of Shetland folk, while embracing the improvisational freedom of jazz.
But it’s not just the tunes themselves that shine; it’s the incredible interplay between Willmore and Dick that truly makes this album special. Willmore’s saxophone is a force of nature, shifting from delicate, introspective passages to fiery, guttural screams with ease. Dick’s drumming, on the other hand, provides both the foundation and the spark—whether supporting the sax with textural layers or driving the music forward with complex, rhythmic patterns. The two musicians complement each other perfectly, each pushing the other to new heights, and their chemistry is palpable throughout the album.
In sum, Twa Double Doubles is a triumph of innovation and tradition, a record that celebrates the beauty and mystery of Shetland’s folk music while pushing its boundaries into bold, new territory. Willmore’s saxophone and Dick’s percussion come together to create a sound that is rich, layered, and endlessly engaging, proving once again that the far reaches of the British Isles can produce music that is as adventurous and vital as anything being made elsewhere in the jazz world. If this is the future of jazz in Shetland, then we should all take note.
When Oded Tzur first emerged on the international jazz scene, it was clear that this Israeli saxophonist was playing by his own rules. Tzur’s work had always been distinguished by his deeply spiritual approach to music, drawing from the ancient traditions of Indian classical music and seamlessly blending them with jazz’s improvisatory language. With each release, his sound evolved into something even more distinct, with his innovative technique—a microtonal approach to the saxophone—allowing him to stretch the instrument’s expressive capabilities in ways that few musicians have attempted before. His latest album, My Prophet, marks another striking chapter in this journey, demonstrating not just a refined musical technique but a profound deepening of his voice as an artist.
Tzur’s distinctive sound is rooted in a technique he calls Middle Path, which extends the saxophone’s microtonal capacity. Inspired by the playing of Indian maestro Hariprasad Chaurasia, whose bansuri (bamboo flute) mastery includes the ability to move between microtones with fluidity, Tzur began to reimagine the saxophone’s potential. While the Western music tradition has historically dealt in fixed pitches and semitone intervals, Tzur’s technique allows for far more subtle variations—sliding between pitches, bending notes in a way that evokes the tonal flexibility of Indian instruments like the bansuri, sitar, and veena. These microtonal shifts breathe new life into the saxophone, turning it into a vessel capable of moving between emotional states with a new depth of resonance.
On My Prophet, Tzur’s use of Middle Path reaches new heights. The album presents an entirely new level of sonic intimacy, as the saxophone weaves intricate melodic lines, with Tzur bending and shaping every note, creating a dynamic range of tones that shifts with remarkable fluidity. In his previous ECM releases, like Like a Great River (2016), this approach was already evident, but My Prophet showcases it with greater clarity and precision. The album is less a collection of individual compositions and more a thematic journey, one in which Tzur meditates on both the physical and spiritual worlds—perhaps most notably, a reflection of his experiences living in New York, a city teeming with contrasts, contradictions, and possibilities.
The title My Prophet evokes a sense of personal revelation, and the music that unfolds throughout the album resonates with an almost sacred aura. Tzur’s mastery of microtones is complemented by the rich textures of his ensemble—veteran bassist Matt Penman, drummer Nasheet Waits, and pianist Nitai Hershkovits (who also worked with Tzur on his earlier projects) form a cohesive, almost meditative unit. The rhythm section’s interplay with Tzur’s saxophone is subtle yet deeply engaging, creating a musical space where silence and sound coexist with equal power. Tzur’s sound is less about complexity and more about nuance—each note feels deliberate, yet open to the infinite possibilities of jazz improvisation.
The album opens with the title track, “My Prophet,” which encapsulates Tzur’s technique at its most evocative. The piece begins with a long, sustained note on the saxophone that seems to bend and twist in space. The rhythmic pulse slowly enters, with Waits’ delicate brushwork setting the pace for the saxophone’s melodic line. The influence of Indian classical music is palpable here, as Tzur allows the note to slide in and out of focus, creating a mood of mystical searching. His saxophone no longer feels like a Western instrument but a voice steeped in a spiritual tradition, rich with the colors of ancient Indian ragas.
Tracks like “The River,” with its shimmering, elongated phrases, feel like meditations on time itself—slowing down and stretching, yet never becoming stagnant. Meanwhile, “Nirvana,” a standout track, shows Tzur’s intricate relationship with improvisation. The saxophone alternates between delicate melodic lines and intense bursts of sound, underscoring Tzur’s ability to bring together the disparate worlds of jazz and Indian music without losing either’s essence. His technique of sliding between microtones creates an emotional depth that’s as resonant as any harmonic structure.
When comparing My Prophet to Tzur’s previous ECM releases, particularly Like a Great River and Dharma (2019), one notices a continued evolution of his sound. Dharma was already a clear statement of his fusion of jazz and Indian tonalities, but My Prophet feels more intimate, more reflective. Tzur’s saxophone has become even more expressive, as though he’s now speaking from a deeper place of understanding, one that transcends genre. His ability to integrate microtonal inflections into jazz improvisation has reached its most mature stage here, suggesting that Tzur’s musical voice has solidified into something that feels both timeless and of the moment.
While his earlier ECM work often embraced the vastness of sound, My Prophet feels more inward, a search for clarity through simplicity. The compositions, though intricate, don’t draw attention to themselves; rather, they allow the interplay between melody, rhythm, and space to become the focus. Tzur’s saxophone technique is more than just a vehicle for sound—it’s a means of spiritual expression. The result is an album that feels deeply meditative, an exploration of both the outer world of jazz and the inner realm of the soul.
In essence, My Prophet is a culmination of Tzur’s singular vision. It brings together his profound understanding of Indian music with his jazz sensibility to create something wholly unique. The saxophone, under his fingers, becomes a tool for transcendence—a bridge between two worlds of music that, when combined, offer a sound more compelling than either could produce alone. Tzur has truly found a Middle Path, and on My Prophet, he invites us to walk it with him.
Review of Clavichord – András Schiff By Max Millar
András Schiff’s Clavichord album is a masterful and deeply personal exploration of an instrument often relegated to the shadows of the piano family, yet one that carries an intimacy and sensitivity that few others can match. In a career that has already encompassed some of the most treasured performances of Bach, Beethoven, and Schubert on the modern piano, Schiff’s venture into the realm of the clavichord is a profound expression of his artistic curiosity and understanding of historical keyboard instruments. This recording is not merely an exercise in nostalgia for a bygone sound but rather a careful investigation into the emotional and tonal potential of the clavichord, which in Schiff’s hands feels startlingly fresh and intimate.
The clavichord, with its soft, percussive tone, is an instrument that demands an extraordinary degree of control and precision from its performer. Schiff’s technical mastery is beyond dispute, but what stands out most here is his ability to coax a wide range of nuances from the instrument—something that could easily be lost in less capable hands. In works such as Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier, Schiff not only offers a historically informed performance but also brings a warmth and directness to the music that resonates on a more personal level. His approach is subtle, eschewing the more overt dramatic flourishes that modern pianos often encourage, instead opting for a quieter, more introspective interpretation that highlights the delicate, almost tactile nature of the clavichord.
From the opening bars of the Well-Tempered Clavier, Schiff’s touch is a revelation. Where many pianists would seek to project the grandeur and complexity of Bach’s counterpoint, Schiff distills these elements down to their essential, almost conversational qualities. The clavichord, with its intimate sound—so much softer than the piano, yet capable of exquisite detail—is perfectly suited to his nuanced phrasing. The connection between performer and instrument here feels almost tactile: every slight variation in pressure and touch has a profound effect on the tone, allowing Schiff to extract a level of emotional depth that feels both private and profound.
Schiff also takes a deeply personal approach to the instrument itself. The clavichord has long been admired for its ability to convey subtle dynamic shifts, but few have explored its capacity for emotional expression with as much care as Schiff does here. His interpretations never feel dry or academic but rather imbued with a sense of quiet reflection, as though he is uncovering something new in these well-known works with every note.
In a sense, Clavichord is a conversation between two worlds—one ancient, one contemporary—where Schiff brings the past into dialogue with his own deep understanding of music’s emotional potential. The limited dynamic range of the clavichord is not a hindrance to Schiff, but an opportunity to delve deeper into the music’s emotional undercurrent. The softer attacks and gentle dynamics create a sense of intimacy, drawing the listener into a space that feels both historical and timeless.
The program itself, while relatively brief, is impeccably chosen. Alongside Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier, Schiff includes works by Scarlatti, Beethoven, and Mozart—composers who, though far removed from the clavichord’s heyday, still wrote music that can speak to its unique qualities. The Sonatas by Scarlatti, especially, are played with a delicate yet lively sense of phrasing that sounds completely at home on the clavichord. In the Beethoven, Schiff’s interpretation feels personal, touching on the composer’s more introspective moments, while the Mozart is rendered with the clarity and elegance one expects from this great interpreter of the classical repertoire.
Overall, this album is as much about András Schiff’s artistic vision as it is about the clavichord itself. It is a love letter to the instrument, yes, but also a statement on the continued relevance of historical performance practices in the modern world. The album is a rare gem—one that will appeal not just to connoisseurs of period instruments but also to anyone interested in experiencing the deeper emotional currents of some of the greatest keyboard works in history.
Schiff’s Clavichord is a deeply contemplative and personal work. It rewards patience, inviting listeners into a space where small gestures hold great significance. This is no virtuosic display of technical prowess, but rather an invitation to explore the music’s subtleties in a setting that brings the performer and listener into an almost confessional proximity. In a world where grand gestures often dominate, Schiff’s approach is a welcome reminder of the power of quiet, restrained beauty.
Review of Quintet Music by Travis Reuter By Max Millar
Guitarist Travis Reuter’s Quintet Music offers a striking blend of intellectual rigor and emotive depth that speaks directly to the heart of contemporary jazz. With this debut album, Reuter steps into a realm where composition and improvisation coexist as one fluid, multifaceted entity. Drawing on a lineage of forward-thinking jazz guitarists—primarily the harmonic ingenuity of Pat Metheny and the angularity of modernists like Bill Frisell and Kurt Rosenwinkel—Reuter has carved out a sound that is undeniably his own, marked by its bold rhythmic exploration and dynamic arrangements.
From the opening track, “Elephant in the Room,” Reuter’s quintet establishes an immediately identifiable sound. His guitar tone is crisp, with a clean, direct presence, a clear voice amidst a sea of textures laid down by saxophonist Jon Irabagon, trumpeter Jonathan Finlayson, bassist Michael Formanek, and drummer Tyshawn Sorey. The group’s interplay is a masterclass in cohesion—rhythmic tension and release, harmonic unpredictability, and, above all, a palpable sense of urgency in every note.
The compositional depth of Quintet Music cannot be overstated. Reuter’s pieces—such as the sprawling, multi-sectioned “Scale of the Universe” and the quirky, dissonant “Insomnia Waltz”—both challenge and reward the listener. These are not just songs but explorations, journeys that unfold with dramatic pauses, sudden shifts, and long, winding builds. The harmonic landscape is vast but never overwhelming, thanks to Reuter’s meticulous structuring and the singular chemistry of his band. His charts, though intricate, leave plenty of room for the kind of spontaneous, real-time improvisation that marks the best of modern jazz.
The inclusion of Irabagon and Finlayson adds a dynamic layer of sonic complexity. Irabagon’s tenor saxophone, with its clear, piercing timbre, contrasts nicely with Reuter’s more restrained yet urgent guitar playing. Both musicians frequently engage in two-way dialogues, their voices interweaving like threads in an ever-evolving tapestry. Finlayson’s trumpet work, with its sharp articulation and commanding phrasing, serves as a perfect foil, particularly in the more driving sections of tracks like “Trio of Stars.” Sorey, an artist of immense capacity, proves himself to be the heartbeat of this ensemble, propelling the music forward with his ever-changing, elastic rhythms, while Formanek’s bass adds an additional layer of grounding complexity.
What stands out about Quintet Music is not just its structural ambition, but the emotional range it traverses. Reuter’s ability to balance intellect with heart is perhaps his most striking feature. This is not “heady” music in the sense that it distances itself from emotional resonance; on the contrary, it invites you to feel just as much as think. In tracks like “One Step Ahead,” the quintet delivers a perfect balance between complexity and groove, creating space for each voice to be heard while maintaining a cohesive narrative.
Sorey’s work as a drummer cannot go unmentioned. On “The Quiet Revolution,” his ability to subtly shift rhythms and use space as an active force in the composition creates an atmosphere of suspended tension, allowing the other musicians the room to breathe. Formanek’s bass, often acting as the music’s connective tissue, roots the ensemble in a pulse that feels ever-present but never overbearing. The collective mastery of these musicians is impressive, but it’s Reuter’s careful, considered leadership that holds it all together.
In sum, Quintet Music is a remarkable debut that will undoubtedly serve as a touchstone for Travis Reuter’s career. He’s a guitarist of great technical prowess and even greater imagination, forging a path forward for the guitar in contemporary jazz. This record suggests that Reuter is an artist who understands the importance of both tradition and innovation—merging the intellect of the modern jazz lexicon with the heart of a storyteller. It is cerebral but warm, challenging yet deeply rewarding. For anyone invested in where jazz is headed, this is a statement that shouldn’t be missed.
Max Richter’s concert at the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall on October 24, 2024, was an ethereal and emotionally resonant experience that showcased the best of his contemporary classical mastery. Performing in front of a full house, Richter brought his signature blend of minimalist symphonies and ambient electronic textures to life with a captivating intensity.
The program spanned a selection of Richter’s most beloved works, including pieces from Sleep and The Blue Notebooks, with the audience enveloped by his hauntingly beautiful orchestrations. As ever, Richter’s music wove a delicate balance between deep introspection and profound cinematic vastness, delivering an evocative journey. His rich, layered compositions, often sweeping across atmospheric soundscapes, seemed to transport the audience into a dreamlike state.
A standout moment was the live performance of “On the Nature of Daylight,” which resonated deeply with listeners, combining strings and electronic elements to create a soaring, melancholic atmosphere that had the audience visibly moved. The performance was underscored by Richter’s insightful commentary, which added a personal layer to his work, enriching the experience and creating a unique connection between the composer and the audience.
Richter’s collaboration with his ensemble—featuring exceptional string players and an array of electronic accompaniments—was as tight as ever, creating a seamless integration of traditional classical instrumentation and modern, ambient sounds. This combination allowed for moments of quiet introspection, followed by explosive, layered crescendos that left the room pulsing with emotion.
Despite the somewhat understated presentation—Richter is not one for grandiosity—the performance had an immense emotional weight, capturing the essence of his work: deeply personal, yet universally resonant. As the concert closed with the majestic strains of Vivaldi’s Recomposed, the audience responded with rapturous applause, a reflection of how thoroughly Richter’s music had transported them.
Overall, Max Richter’s October performance in Glasgow exemplified why he remains one of the most prominent figures in contemporary classical music. It was a night of both subtle beauty and overwhelming emotional power, reaffirming his ability to communicate profound narratives through sound. For those who seek a deeply moving and intellectually stimulating musical experience, Richter’s concerts continue to be an unmissable event.
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