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.
Introduction: The Elastic Boundaries of the Jazz Canon
Jazz, more than any other art form, thrives on reinterpretation. The very act of making a “standard” in jazz has never depended solely on composition, but rather on recomposition: the process by which musicians reimagine existing songs through improvisation, reharmonization, and rhythmic transformation. Historically, the so-called “jazz standards” were not born within jazz at all—they emerged from the popular music of their day. What we now regard as canonical repertoire—“All the Things You Are,” “Body and Soul,” “My Funny Valentine”—were, in their own time, the pop hits of Broadway and Hollywood.
As jazz continues to evolve alongside contemporary culture, the question arises: which of today’s pop songs might, in decades to come, undergo the same metamorphosis from radio hit to bandstand staple?
I. The Great American Songbook: Popular Music Reimagined
When we examine the early to mid-20th century, the relationship between jazz and popular song is symbiotic. The composers of the Great American Songbook—Jerome Kern, Cole Porter, George Gershwin, Richard Rodgers—provided the raw materials for improvisation. These songs, often written for musical theatre or film, possessed a harmonic and melodic sophistication that lent itself to jazz reinterpretation.
Take Kern’s “All the Things You Are” (1939): a tune from a Broadway musical (Very Warm for May) that became a harmonic playground for jazz musicians from Charlie Parker to Keith Jarrett. Or consider “My Favorite Things” (Rodgers and Hammerstein, 1959), whose transformation by John Coltrane in 1960 redefined not only the song but the modal jazz landscape itself.
In these cases, the “popular” origins of the tunes were essential. Jazz musicians sought common cultural reference points—melodies that audiences recognized, yet which could be deconstructed and reborn through improvisation.
II. The Second Wave: Pop Standards of the Late 20th Century
By the 1960s and 1970s, the mainstream of popular music had shifted from Broadway to the recording studio. Jazz artists began turning to The Beatles, Stevie Wonder, Joni Mitchell, and later, Sting and Björk, for inspiration. Herbie Hancock’s “The New Standard” (1996) formalized this practice, featuring jazz renditions of pop songs by Don Henley, Nirvana, and The Beatles.
Songs such as “Yesterday” and “Norwegian Wood” became as frequently reinterpreted in jazz as “Autumn Leaves” or “Misty.” The harmonic language of pop was evolving, but so too was jazz’s appetite for hybridization.
This era revealed a critical truth: the “standard” is not a fixed category but a dynamic process of cultural negotiation. What makes a song a standard is not when it was written, but how well it can bear the weight of improvisation.
III. Pop Songs of Today: The Future Jazz Standards?
If we fast-forward to the 2020s, we find ourselves in a new musical ecology—one shaped by streaming algorithms and viral trends. Yet, even in this fragmented landscape, certain pop compositions display the structural and emotional depth that could invite future jazz reinterpretation.
A few plausible candidates include:
Billie Eilish – “Happier Than Ever” (2021): Its gradual crescendo and harmonic shift from intimacy to catharsis echo the narrative arcs of classic standards. A jazz trio could easily explore its contrasting sections with dynamic improvisation.
Adele – “Someone Like You” (2011): With its timeless melody and clear harmonic motion, this song could function as the “Body and Soul” of the streaming era.
Bruno Mars – “Leave the Door Open” (2021): Already a nod to 1970s soul-jazz aesthetics, it could fit seamlessly into a future Real Book volume.
Taylor Swift – “Anti-Hero” (2022): Its introspective lyricism and chordal subtleties lend themselves to re-harmonization; imagine a slow swing or bossa nova rendition.
Jacob Collier – “All I Need” (2020): Though harmonically dense already, its rich textures and modulations invite jazz musicians to extend and reinterpret its layered complexity.
In each of these examples, the potential for jazzification lies not only in harmonic sophistication but in emotional universality—an essential trait shared by both the Great American Songbook and contemporary pop.
IV. Conclusion: The Continuing Conversation
The jazz standard is not a relic of the past but a living tradition—an ongoing conversation between popular culture and improvisational artistry. As the sources of “popular” music shift—from Tin Pan Alley to Top 40 to TikTok—the jazz community continues to reinterpret the sonic vocabulary of the moment.
Just as swing-era musicians once transformed show tunes into art music, the next generation of jazz artists will no doubt find inspiration in today’s pop anthems. The standards of tomorrow may well come from Spotify playlists rather than sheet music publishers, but the underlying process—the creative alchemy of jazz reinterpretation—remains timeless.
In the end, the question is not whether pop songs can become jazz standards, but rather which songs will endure long enough, and resonate deeply enough, to invite the endless reinvention that defines jazz itself.
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.
The recent closure of the 55 Bar marks the end of an era for New York’s vibrant jazz community and its underground live music scene. Known for its intimate setting and the free-flowing creativity it fostered, the 55 Bar had become an iconic landmark in the West Village. Despite its unassuming appearance as a subterranean dive bar next to the historic Stonewall Inn, the venue provided an indispensable space for musicians and fans alike, hosting a treasure trove of memorable performances over nearly four decades.
Opened in 1919 as a neighborhood watering hole, the 55 Bar underwent several transformations before its ultimate reinvention as a home for live music in the 1980s. It was bassist Jeff Andrews who first pioneered the jazz scene there in the mid-’80s, and it wasn’t long before a host of iconic musicians made it their regular hang. The venue became synonymous with cutting-edge performances, particularly in the realms of jazz and fusion.
The intimate nature of the space, coupled with a distinct bohemian charm, made it a haven for aspiring artists to take risks, experiment, and connect with fans and fellow musicians. It wasn’t unusual to see guitarists like Mike Stern, Leni Stern, Wayne Krantz, and Adam Rogers, along with saxophonists like Donny McCaslin and Chris Potter, gracing the stage on a given night. It was the kind of venue where the music spoke louder than any flashy presentation, and the patrons often shared an unspoken understanding that this was a place to experience something truly special.
The 55 Bar was particularly revered by guitarists, who found the venue to be a perfect setting for showcasing their virtuosity and unique voices. As one writer pointed out, “Long before I ever visited the 55, I read about it, no doubt in Guitar Player and Guitar World, in connection with Mike Stern.” The club’s dedication to hosting a wide range of jazz and blues guitarists made it a special spot on the map for both musicians and fans who revered the craft. The performances were often marked by raw, emotional interaction between players, as well as a palpable sense of camaraderie, creating a deep connection between those onstage and the audience. It was a breeding ground for new ideas and an incubator for young talent.
One of the most famous legacies of the 55 Bar was its role in cultivating the careers of musicians who would go on to achieve international acclaim. Perhaps the most notable example is when David Bowie recruited the members of his Blackstar band from the 55 Bar, recognizing the unique talents of saxophonist Donny McCaslin and guitarist Ben Monder. Such stories were common, as the 55 Bar became a place where both established musicians and newcomers could meet, collaborate, and push the boundaries of jazz music.
Sadly, the 55 Bar’s final closure came in the aftermath of the COVID-19 pandemic, which forced the venue to shut down for 14 months. Despite a valiant fundraising effort involving prominent musicians like Chris Potter and Mike Stern, the financial strain was too great for the club to survive. The pandemic’s devastating effects on live venues across the world were especially felt here, where the venue had once been a bustling hub for musicians and listeners alike.
For many, the loss of the 55 Bar represents more than just the closing of a club; it is the end of an important era in the jazz world. The venue had a reputation for being a true “musicians’ hang,” where musicians could experiment freely, learn from each other, and develop their craft in a supportive environment. Many a jazz legend passed through the club’s doors, and the space itself had become a character in the ongoing evolution of the genre.
While the 55 Bar’s physical space is now gone, its legacy lives on in the countless musicians who performed there and the loyal fans who cherished the experience. The venue’s closure serves as a reminder of how fragile the world of live music can be, especially in the face of unforeseen crises. It also prompts reflection on the importance of maintaining intimate venues where musicians can take risks and audiences can experience the pure joy of spontaneous music-making.
In the wake of this loss, the question arises: where else in New York City will the next generation of jazz musicians find a space like the 55 Bar, where they can hone their craft and connect with a community of listeners who understand the value of live, intimate performances? The 55 Bar will be sorely missed, but its impact on the jazz community is undeniable, and its memory will continue to inspire future generations of musicians who seek to create in the same spirit of spontaneity and innovation. Rest in peace, 55 Bar. You’ll never be forgotten.
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.
Brahms, like the other great composers of the Romantic era, invites us to experience a profound and deeply human emotional complexity that resonates far beyond his time. His music, particularly the achingly beautiful passages like the Adagio of his Clarinet Quintet, embodies dualities—major and minor, desire and resignation, presence and absence—that offer a fertile ground for reinterpretation. For jazz musicians, who live and breathe through improvisation, Brahms’ work becomes not only a source of inspiration but a framework for their own explorations of tension, release, and emotional narrative.
In jazz, Brahms’ harmonic language finds a modern echo. The subtle interplay between E minor and B major in the Quintet’s Adagio—where the minor IV shifts to the major I—creates a bittersweet sensation, a “happysad” compound that is just as potent in a Bill Evans voicing as it is in a Brahms melody. This blend of tonalities speaks to the jazz musician’s instinct for mixing colors, for leaning into harmonic and emotional ambiguity. It’s a hallmark of Romantic irony, acknowledging dual truths simultaneously—joy and sorrow, yearning and contentment—which is equally a hallmark of great jazz improvisation.
Brahms’ “melting dualities” align with the spirit of jazz because both traditions thrive on contradiction. Jazz improvisation, like Brahmsian harmony, often toggles between worlds—mixing blues scales with major cadences, or blending modal freedom with strict time. This is the musician’s way of “riffing” on reality, of embodying the bittersweet truths that music articulates so much better than words. It’s no wonder that Brahms’ harmonic language, rich in contrast and yet deeply integrated, slips so seamlessly into the vocabulary of a jazz player.
The Romantic period’s emphasis on subjectivity and introspection also finds a home in modern jazz. Brahms’ work often suggests an unattainable beauty—a “wordless narrative” spinning from deep within his compositions. This yearning for what lies just out of reach parallels the improviser’s task: to transform personal impressions into a shared sonic experience. In jazz, the artist may “riff on Brahms,” but what emerges is not an imitation; it’s an individualized reflection of their emotional and artistic connection to the music. The harmonic warmth and contrapuntal complexity of Brahms’ works provide rich soil for jazz players to cultivate their own interpretations.
Further, Brahms’ sense of displacement—his ability to evoke the “so near yet so far” ache—mirrors the jazz musician’s approach to time and rhythm. In jazz, the swing feel itself embodies a kind of temporal duality, a micro-pulling and pushing against strict time. The player and listener alike hover between the beats, seduced by a rhythmic presence that, like Brahms’ melodies, shimmers with immediacy but remains elusive.
In both Romanticism and jazz, the act of listening becomes an act of co-creation. Brahms’ late works, steeped in introspection, leave space for the listener’s interpretations and emotions, much like the space-filled voicings of a jazz pianist or the open phrasing of a soloist. As the essay so beautifully suggests, Brahms’ music operates not just as an expression of emotion but as a subject that “befriends” the listener, offering a consolation as human as it is sublime. Jazz improvisers mirror this empathetic exchange, inviting listeners to inhabit their own interpretations within the shared moment of performance.
Ultimately, the Romantic ethos of duality—the interplay of opposites—unites Brahms with modern jazz. It’s the tension between major and minor, joy and sorrow, immediacy and distance, that gives both Brahms’ music and jazz their timeless humanity. In a jazz improvisation, Brahms’ harmonic motifs might appear transformed but recognizable, like a familiar face seen in a dream. This creative transmutation is not about loyalty to the original; it’s about continuing a conversation across time. Just as Brahms once looked to Schubert or Bach for inspiration, today’s jazz musicians find in Brahms’ music a wellspring of ideas to be reshaped, reimagined, and improvised upon.irit—a resonance that bridges the gap between centuries, styles, and sensibilities.
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.
Max Millar Music 