Miroslav Vitous: Mountain Call (ECM 2673)

| Tyran Grillo

Miroslav Vitous
Mountain Call

Michel Portal clarinet, bass clarinet
Miroslav Vitous double bass
Jack DeJohnette drums
Esperanza Spalding voice
Bob Mintzer bass clarinet
Gary Campbell soprano and tenor saxophones
Gerald Cleaver drums
Members of Czech National Symphony Orchestra
Recorded 2003-2010 at Universal Syncopation Studios, Prague
by Miroslav Vitous
Cover photo: Thomas Wunsch
Produced by Miroslav Vitous and Manfred Eicher
Release date: March 27, 2026

Mountain Call marks the end of a decade-long wait since the last ECM leader date from Miroslav Vitous, who presents us with a program of duets and small ensembles. Recorded between 2003 and 2010, the result is a broad portrait in detailed brushstrokes, showcasing his talents as composer, improviser, and arranger. 

The opening tracks with reed virtuoso Michel Portal, who was last heard alongside the Czech bassist on 2009’s Remembering Weather Report, unfold somewhere between what is remembered and what has yet to be. “New Energy” emerges already in motion, clarinet and bass entwining in lines that bend across uneven terrain. It carries a strange familiarity, the sensation of hearing something long forgotten yet intimately known.

“Second Touch” introduces movement of a different kind, a dance grounded in continuation. Modal currents ripple beneath the surface, tinged with distant geographies, suggesting lands both real and imagined. The two instruments circle each other with a quiet understanding, travelers who have never met yet share the same destination etched somewhere on their hearts. Lines coil and uncoil, never colliding, always converging.

By the time “Unexpected Solutions” arrives, rhythm begins to pulse more insistently, Vitous drawing percussive language from the body of his instrument while Portal deepens his tone into something almost primal. The feeling is grounded and tactile. Confidence emerges here through direction, a sense that the journey requires no explanation.

That latent need for propulsion finds its answer in “Tribal Dance,” a brief yet luminous duet with Jack DeJohnette. Knowing this performance lands among DeJohnette’s final released statements lends the piece an unspoken gravity. Each cymbal touch lingers as a fading footprint, implying both immediacy and permanence. The brevity sharpens its impact, a final glance exchanged between companions before diverging paths.

The subsequent duets with Portal on bass clarinet drift inward, their abstraction guiding a descent. These pieces fill quiet spaces between landmarks, where reflection takes precedence over motion. From this interiority emerges “Epilog,” a work that expands outward while retaining its core. The orchestral sampling transforms Vitous’s voice into a chorus of selves layered across time.

With “Evolution,” the landscape widens dramatically. Joined by Bob Mintzer and the Czech National Symphony Orchestra, Vitous constructs a triptych of transformations. Strings tremble with distant force, while timpani resonate with deep structural weight beneath the surface. The music unfolds with cinematic inevitability, guided by forces that seem larger than the individuals involved. Within this expanse, the dialogue between Vitous and DeJohnette remains the axis around which everything turns (so much so that everything else feels peripheral).

“Rhapsody” introduces the voice of Esperanza Spalding, whose presence alters the album’s emotional temperature. Her singing carries intimacy and radiance, inhabiting the music from within. Vitous’s compositional touch becomes painterly here, each gesture placed with care yet open to reinterpretation. “Africa” pulses with a soulful urgency, a call that feels both personal and collective, while the closing “Lullaby” compresses an entire day’s passage into a fleeting moment, light folding into shadow with quiet inevitability.

These two larger-scale pieces are framed by duets with Portal on bass clarinet. “Delusion” pushes the mechanics of improvisation. Here, melody becomes a question, one that both musicians address in fleeting alignments that dissolve as quickly as they form. The title track concludes the journey with a return to the elemental. Vitous’s bow draws out tones that are forthright and resonant, the instrument revealing its own hidden history. There is no ornament here, no excess, only the raw exchange of sound and intent. Each phrase feels necessary, each silence earned.

These are musicians who understand that sound is produced and received in equal measure, shaped by what lies between intention and perception. Thus, the true subject of Mountain Call concerns the strange continuity that binds time together. Old paths travel with us, reconfigured with each step. Beginnings carry traces of what came before, endings open toward what cannot yet be named. Somewhere between stasis and motion, identity loosens its grip, and in that loosening, something wider than self begins to listen back.

Marilyn Crispell/Anders Jormin: Memento (ECM 2867)

| Tyran Grillo

Marilyn Crispell
Anders Jormin
Memento

Marilyn Crispell piano
Anders Jormin double bass
Recorded July 2025
Auditorio Stelio Molo RSI, Lugano
Engineer: Stefano Amerio
Cover photo: Thomas Wunsch
Produced by Manfred Eicher
Release date: March 20, 2026

Memento arrives with quiet poetry, the kind that settles into the human heart of its own volition. In this first duo encounter between Marilyn Crispell and Anders Jormin, collaboration feels secondary to recognition, as if two long-circling orbits have finally aligned. Both artists carry histories that run through the ECM tapestry, yet what unfolds here feels more essential than lineage or style.

The opening sequence of improvisations awakens the album with a fragile sense of recall. Each gesture conveys the hesitancy of memory surfacing, not fully formed, yet insistent. A tender gravity settles over these exchanges, one that avoids declaration and favors suggestion. Crispell’s piano hovers at the edge of articulation, tracing lines that seem both discovered and surrendered, while Jormin’s bass responds with near-instinctive sensitivity. Their interplay unfolds like a language stripped to its essence, where every note feels earned, released only when it can no longer remain unspoken. Even moments of lightness retain a delicate restraint, a shared understanding that silence is an equal partner in the unfolding.

As the album deepens, this sensitivity becomes its guiding principle, especially in its treatment of memory. The pieces shift and refract, less like fixed compositions than terrains revisited under changing skies. Jormin’s “Three Shades of a House” embodies this quiet transformation. Its dual incarnations feel like glimpses through different windows of the same interior. The “Morning” version carries a tentative warmth, while the “Evening” rendering withdraws into solitude, its contours softened by introspection. Time alters not only the surface of the music but its inner weight, revealing how experience reshapes even the most familiar forms.

The album also gestures outward, though always through an inward gaze. “The Beach at Newquay” evokes place through atmosphere rather than description, a coastline suggested in fragments of tone and texture. Jormin’s bass releases distant calls that dissolve before they can settle, while Crispell’s piano glides like shifting light across water. The scene feels steeped in night yet illuminated from within.

What binds Memento together is its understanding of relationships as living presences, shaped as much by absence as by proximity. Crispell’s compositions, especially “Song” and the title piece, carry a clarity that resists sentimentality while remaining deeply felt. Affection moves through these works with a measured grace, tempered by the knowledge that connection always harbors the answer to its own vanishing. Jormin responds with a tone that approaches the human voice. Together, they form a grammar of care that finds strength in vulnerability, itself a source of resonance.

By the time “Dragonfly” emerges, the album has settled into something less like a sequence and more like a state of being. Crispell’s elegy for Gary Peacock allows the past to move freely within the present. The closing moments feel like a gentle release, a soft shift in the air. What remains is something akin to a shadow that no longer belongs to an object. It suggests a world where presence is always in the process of becoming something else, where even disappearance holds authorship.

Alicia Hall Moran: Coldblooded

| Tyran Grillo

Alicia Hall Moran is one of the most uncompromising artists I know. Her albums may be few and far between, but they twist the very center of our emotional response into a flower of contrasting textures, wordplay, and urban hymnody. The world is a better place for her voice (on all levels thereof). Click on the cover of her latest below to read my extensive review for All About Jazz.

Mark Turner: Patternmaster (ECM 2835)

| Tyran Grillo

Mark Turner
Patternmaster

Mark Turner tenor saxophone
Jason Palmer trumpet
Joe Martin double bass
Jonathan Pinson drums
Recorded April 2024 at Studios La Buissonne
Engineer: Gérard de Haro
Mastering: Nicolas Baillard and Christoph Stickel
Cover photo: Max Franosch
Produced by Manfred Eicher
Release date: March 13, 2026

Following in the footsteps of 2022’s Return from the Stars, which found saxophonist Mark Turner gazing past the horizon of earthly jazz into a more cosmic register, his quartet with trumpeter Jason Palmer, bassist Joe Martin, and drummer Jonathan Pinson returns with the aptly titled Patternmaster. If its predecessor charted a voyage outward, this record feels like the mapping of constellations discovered along the way. Lines weave and bob with adroit precision while maintaining a pliant freedom that lets the occasional jab of surprise land with force. Turner and Palmer operate as simpatico melodic leads, their phrases joining and separating like a quasar whose pulse cannot be predicted but somehow feels inevitable. Turner has long been a paragon of control in tone, technical craft, and compositional balance. Yet something in these performances carries the gravity of accumulated time. The music speaks with an elder’s clarity without surrendering its curiosity. One hears not only mastery but also a widening orbit of possibility.

The album’s title reaches outward into literature through the first book of science fiction writer Octavia E. Butler’s Patternist series, a saga in which telepaths form intricate networks of shared consciousness. Butler imagined communities linked by invisible threads of perception, individuals whose thoughts reverberate through an unseen lattice of awareness. Her fiction often asked difficult questions about power, responsibility, and the fragile architectures that bind societies together. Turner’s quartet mirrors that speculative vision through sound. Each musician senses the others before the note fully arrives, improvisation functioning as a kind of musical telepathy. Melodies propagate through the ensemble like signals traveling through Butler’s imagined psychic web. Turner also gestures toward Wayne Shorter, whose own compositions often seemed to arise from dimensions beyond surface-level perception. In that lineage, Patternmasterproposes jazz as a field of relational intelligence. Ideas migrate from instrument to instrument, forming configurations that only exist because several minds are listening at once.

The title track makes that premise audible from its opening measures. A buoyant groove sets the stage while the horns present their theme with geometric clarity, every interval placed like a star plotted on a navigational chart. The rhythm section hums beneath them with gravitational assurance. The piece casts the listener’s gaze skyward toward something outer-spatial, yet its deeper pull leads inward. The connection it suggests cannot be quantified in apparent magnitude or spectral analysis. It registers in a quieter register of experience, the realm where recognition occurs before language intervenes.

From there, the bass monologue that opens “Trece Ocho” arrives like a lone satellite sending its first transmissions home. Joe Martin traces thoughtful arcs through silence, as though recording data that must still be interpreted. The tune unfolds in stages of perception, moving gradually from solitary voice to collective emergence. Each solo alters the musical environment that follows. Turner’s improvisation resembles an elegant algorithm, cascading through possibilities with luminous logic. Palmer answers with lines that tighten the weave, bringing a sharper contour to the harmonic field. Just when the music appears to settle into contemplative quiet, it erupts in a radiant final flare. Martin’s arco passages slice across the ensemble grain with exquisite articulation, a supernova of sound that briefly illuminates every corner of the quartet’s shared cosmos.

“It Very Well May Be” ventures furthest into the unknown. The groove leans toward the future with persuasive momentum, as though propelled by engines still being invented. Pinson and Martin ignite the rhythmic atmosphere with an intensity that feels both grounded and volatile. Palmer’s trumpet thrives in that oxygen, stretching its phrases with expressive daring while Turner threads agile countercurrents through the harmonic stream. Martin’s solo cools the embers and tends the kindling anew. His dialogue with Pinson’s cymbals suggests two lungs breathing through a single body of rhythm. In the wake of such combustion, “Lehman’s Lair,” named for saxophonist Steve Lehman, relaxes the tempo slightly while preserving its inner electricity. The musicians exchange impulses with the ease of charged particles colliding inside an invisible chamber. Stardust seems to enter the room, settling gently across the architecture of the tune.

“The Happiest Man On Earth” reveals another dimension of the quartet’s sensitivity. Its slow burn unfolds with patient grace, motifs drifting into alignment like planets discovering a shared orbit. Turner and Palmer circle one another with remarkable courtesy. Each phrase opens space for the other to extend its wingspan. Nothing intrudes upon the song’s unfolding. What emerges instead is a profound sense of trust, a musical atmosphere where melody can breathe without hurry.

This mood prepares the way for “Supersister,” a composition that longtime listeners may recall from Turner’s 2009 Fly Trio recording Sky & Country. Here, the piece expands into a sprawling landscape exceeding 12 minutes, with ample terrain to explore. Martin and Pinson construct intricate tessellations that support the horns’ luminous harmonies. Pinson’s extended solo deserves special mention, proliferating as it does with a kind of microbial brilliance, rhythms multiplying and mutating before being gathered back into the bloodstream. The effect resembles a cellular organism discovering new forms of life within itself. Each section of the tune carries its own perspective, its own microcosm of meaning. By the end, those fragments cohere into something larger than the sum of their parts. Martin’s bass returns to cradle the central rhythmic flame, leaving traces of abstraction that gradually resolve into a calm and congruent landing.

The result of all this suggests that patterns govern more than melody or rhythm. They shape the ways minds encounter one another, the ways attention moves through time, the ways imagination stitches together distant points of experience. Perhaps that is the quiet lesson at play. The universe may be vast beyond comprehension, yet meaning arises wherever perception forms a network. A few listeners in a room. Four musicians in conversation. Vibrations in air that momentarily align. From such fleeting constellations, whole worlds become thinkable.

Soaring into a Cloudy Sky: The Köln Concert at 50

| Tyran Grillo

On December 12, 2025, ECM released a 50th anniversary edition of pianist Keith Jarrett’s The Köln Concert, returning one of the most unlikely landmarks in recorded music to the present age. Half a century after its first appearance in 1975, the recording remains the best-selling solo piano album in history and a resilient beacon within the ECM catalogue, an improvisation captured under circumstances so fragile that its survival feels almost miraculous. But the deeper significance of the reissue lies elsewhere. It invites listeners back to the site of a transformation. What once seemed like a fleeting document of a single evening now feels closer to a permanent warm front in the cultural atmosphere. The music continues to circulate through time, condensing into private revelations whenever someone lowers the needle or presses play.

The legend surrounding the performance is familiar. Jarrett arrived in Cologne exhausted from touring. The piano provided for the concert was smaller than expected and in poor condition, with weak bass notes and uneven action. The hour was late. But the constraints became an engine. Jarrett reshaped his approach in response to these limitations, leaning toward the middle register, carving rhythmic patterns that could carry the music forward without relying on the instrument’s wounded depths. What followed, then, was a sustained act of adaptation, a musician turning difficulty into propulsion. The result has since become one of the most widely heard recordings in jazz, classical crossover, and improvised music, though it belongs comfortably to none of those categories.

In a new essay for the edition, German journalist Thomas Steinfeld recalls how there was little to distinguish the concerts surrounding the famed Köln performance and that all of them were “an expression of a will toward aesthetic emancipation.” United under that humble, if not humbling, banner was Jarrett’s commitment to improvised-only concerts, which allowed for the fullness of nothingness to make itself heard in real time. Each evening began with an empty field and ended with a configuration that had not existed before the first note. And yet, what emerged in the confines of the Cologne Opera House on that fateful date of January 24, 1975 seemed to cut out a new eyehole in the mask of history through which a new perspective on what was achievable at the piano was revealed in a way that perhaps no musician has before or since.

Steinfeld is quick to caution us against the gravitational pull of myth. This concert was one night within a longer tour and within a longer life of music. To isolate it too completely risks freezing Jarrett in a single pose, as though the artist were merely the vessel for this one improbable event. In truth, the Köln performance was a turning point along a broader arc that led to the monumental Sun Bear Concerts, whose vast landscapes of improvisation would extend Jarrett’s language even further. What we hear in Cologne is therefore not a conclusion but a threshold, the moment when one door swings open and the wind of possibility pours through.

There is something timeless about this music precisely because it is so firmly entrenched in time, documented on tape but composed in air. The opening of Part I arrives already in motion, like a river glimpsed from a bridge rather than a spring discovered at its source. Phrases rise and fall with the tentative confidence of a bird learning the currents of the sky. The melody circles overhead, close enough that its shadow passes over us. Jarrett’s left hand begins with the quiet determination of a traveler testing unfamiliar ground. A rhythm forms beneath the surface, hesitant at first, then increasingly sure of its own footsteps.

Before long, the music finds a pulse that seems older than the instrument itself. The piano becomes a breathing creature. Harmonic light flickers across the surface while deeper currents move beneath. When the famous vamp emerges just after the seven-minute mark, it feels like a clearing in the forest where everything suddenly gathers.

Yet any sense of grandeur refuses to settle into monumentality. Jarrett dismantles the structure almost as soon as it rises, examining it from within, turning it gently in the light like an object whose inner workings remain mysterious. The music behaves as a living cell. We witness its movement, its expansion, its ability to replicate feeling from one listener to another. Its mechanisms remain hidden. The effect spreads nonetheless.

The expansive final passage of Part I, with its thick block chords and surging textures, greets the listener not as a goodbye but as a hello.

Part IIa begins with a different temperament. What began as an aerial survey of the imagination now feels grounded in the body. A rhythmic pattern settles in with irresistible buoyancy. One hears the echo of gospel, the sway of folk dance, the bright elasticity of American vernacular music filtering through Jarrett’s internal vocabulary. The audience’s energy becomes part of the current. The music dances, stumbles briefly into contemplation, then rises again with renewed vitality.

This trajectory feels inevitable, as though following a path that had always existed beneath the floorboards of the hall. The music quiets into reflection before lifting itself once more with a blues-tinged warmth. Jarrett’s playing here carries the sensation of a traveler pausing beside a river before continuing onward.

Part IIb deepens the inward pull. The left hand coils into a spiraling figure that suggests a single direction of travel. Not outward but inward. Each repetition tightens the circle until the music finds an opening at its center. From there it rises into a fierce, sunlit expanse. The harmony burns with an almost desert brightness. One senses the pianist squinting into that light, moving forward despite the glare.

Such bravery animates the entire performance. Improvisation always contains the possibility of failure. Here that risk becomes the music’s secret fuel, as each phrase steps onto uncertain ground and finds footing just in time.

Part IIc arrives like a quiet epilogue whispered after the main story has ended. Its intimacy carries a gentle radiance. The closing gestures resemble a warm hand on the shoulder, a kiss on the cheek of a wanderer about to continue down the road. What remains is a small bundle of warmth carried forward into whatever lies ahead.

It’s easy to forget that Jarrett’s performance began just before midnight, after the opera audience had already departed and the city had slipped into a quieter rhythm. Jarrett stepped onto the stage at precisely that hour when the imagination becomes receptive to rarer signals. Perhaps this is why the music radiates with such unusual clarity. Under those conditions, suspended between today and tomorrow, even the smallest musical gesture appeared luminous.

All of which leads back to the peculiar solitude at the center of the recording. A lone pianist sits before a flawed instrument and invents an entire landscape from nothing. No bandmates share the burden. No written score provides direction. The artist listens to the room, to the objects at his disposal, to the faint murmurs of possibility that hover just beyond hearing. Music emerges like mist from a valley floor.

As is evident from my first attempt to describe this music in mere human language, the recording eludes definitive characterization. Words are the cloudy sky into which it has soared over the years. However, what language fails to capture finds perfect expression in sound. The piano speaks with a fluency that criticism can only admire from a distance.

Jean-Marie Machado: Como as Flores (RJAL 397052)

| Tyran Grillo

Jean-Marie Machado piano
Claude Tchamitchian double bass
Zé Luis Nascimento drums, percussion
Recording, mixing, mastering at Studios la Buissonne, Pernes-les-Fontaines, France
Recorded April 2024 and mixed May 2024 by Gérard de Haro, assisted by Matteo Fontaine
Mastered by Nicolas Baillard at La Buissonne Mastering Studio
Steinway grand piano prepared and tuned by Sylvain Charles
Produced by Cantabile and Gérard de Haro with RJAL for La Buissonne 
Release date: January 23, 2026

After a series of ambitious, large-scale projects that stretched outward in many directions, pianist and composer Jean-Marie Machado turns inward and returns to the elemental with this luminous trio recording. The gesture feels less like a reduction than a distillation, as if years of orchestral color and structural ambition have been pressed slowly into a sweet-smelling essence. The album’s title, Como as Flores, translated from Portuguese as “Like Flowers,” names the guiding metaphor with quiet elegance. A flower does not argue for its beauty. It opens. Fragrance spreads through the air without instruction, invisible yet unmistakable. In much the same way, Machado’s music unfolds here with an unforced grace, each note blooming from the last, each phrase releasing a delicate aroma of feeling. With Brazilian percussionist Zé Luis Nascimento and bassist Claude Tchamitchian beside him, Machado enters a kind of musical relativity where gravity and flight continually exchange roles.

“Romantic Spell” begins like the moment one falls into a lover’s arms and forgets where the body ends. The opening breath carries warmth and ease, a gentle suspension that seems to hover between waking and dream. Piano chords drift like petals across still water. Tchamitchian’s bass speaks in soft murmurs, grounding the trio in a tender gravity. Nascimento introduces colors that shimmer at the edges of perception. Curtains sway in moonlight somewhere within the music. A slow tide of emotion gathers its strength. Everything feels receptive, open, full of promise.

From this intimate beginning, “Valsa Ouriço” arrives with a sudden brightness that resembles the first flash of morning light through an open window. Energy crackles through the trio’s playing. Machado’s piano lines spiral and leap with the exhilaration of new affection. The piece carries the buoyancy of ocean waves, rising and falling with a natural elasticity. Nascimento’s percussion reveals astonishing sensitivity here. Each gesture lands with the precision of a brushstroke in a finely detailed painting. The rhythmic patterns do more than support the melody. They sing alongside it, adding hues that feel melodic in their own right. His hands seem to conjure entire landscapes with the lightest touch.

In “De Memorias e de Saudade,” time slows until each note lingers in warm air. Nostalgia inhabits the space without turning heavy. The music resembles the quiet contemplation of an old garden where memory and present sensation mingle freely. Machado allows silence to bloom between phrases. The ascent begins with “Le Voleur de Fleurs,” a piece that climbs with patient determination before releasing itself into radiant flight. One hears echoes of wandering through fields thick with color, the senses saturated by scent and sunlight. Nascimento becomes particularly vivid here, his playing lush and expansive. A few strokes across skin or wood seem capable of summoning vast distances. The percussion glows with a deep golden warmth. One could almost imagine pollen drifting through the air.

Shadows appear briefly in “Our Tears Never Cried,” where slight dissonances introduce a delicate ache. Even flowers contain a kind of fragility. Their beauty persists beside the knowledge of how easily they can wilt and detach from their stems. Machado leans into that ambiguity, shaping phrases that hover between sweetness and sorrow. The trio then turns toward Miles Davis with a supple and groove-laden interpretation of “Nardis.” Familiar territory becomes fertile soil for improvisation. Machado’s touch balances clarity and mystery, while Tchamitchian and Nascimento weave a rhythmic fabric that moves with graceful inevitability.

“Piuma,” performed as a piano solo, offers one of the album’s coziest moments. The title suggests a feather, something light enough to drift through the air. Machado plays with remarkable restraint, allowing tenderness to accumulate slowly. Beneath the softness lies a quiet melancholy, the subtle awareness that love carries its own permeability. Feelings pass through us like wind through branches, leaving movement long after the breeze itself has gone.

Tchamitchian then steps forward with his arco introduction to “Perdido em Clareza.” The bowed bass opens a clearing within the album’s poignant terrain. When the trio joins together, they settle into a mid-tempo dance marked by playful curiosity. There is a childlike wonder in the way the themes unfold, as though the musicians are discovering their shapes in real time.

“Transvida” turns the spotlight toward Nascimento in a percussion showcase that reveals the full breadth of his expressive vocabulary. His playing suggests rain striking leaves, wind traveling across dry earth, and footsteps crossing hidden paths through a forest.

The closing piece, “L’Endormi,” inhabits a more dreamlike register. Frame drum pulses softly beneath harmonic bowing from Tchamitchian. Machado’s piano carries a darker hue, as if twilight has settled over the garden that opened at the beginning of the album. The music drifts through strange and beautiful terrain where shadows possess their own quiet luminosity.

Yet the deeper resonance of Como as Flores extends beyond individual tracks. Flowers appear here not simply as decoration but as a philosophy of form. Each composition grows organically, rooted in attentive listening and mutual responsiveness. Nothing is forced open. Each musical gesture unfolds in its proper season. One hears the trio tending their sound the way a gardener tends living soil, trusting the invisible processes that allow life to emerge.

Perhaps that is the quiet wisdom contained in Machado’s return to the trio format. Creation often resembles cultivation rather than construction. One prepares the ground, listens carefully to the conditions of light and rain, then waits with patience for something unexpected to appear. A garden cannot be commanded into bloom. It answers only to care, curiosity, and time. In that sense, music and flowers share a secret. Both reveal how beauty enters the world without force, rising gently from hidden roots that continue their work long beneath the surface.

Vincent Courtois/Robin Fincker/Daniel Erdmann: Lines for Lions (RJAL 397051)

| Tyran Grillo

Vincent Courtois cello
Daniel Erdmann tenor saxophone
Robin Fincker clarinet and tenor saxophone
Recorded, mixed, and mastered at La Buissonne Studios, Pernes-les-Fontaines, France
Recorded November 25-26 and mixed December 2024 by Gérard de Haro
Mastering at La Buissonne Mastering Studio by Nicolas Baillard
Release date: November 7, 2025

Cellist Vincent Courtois returns in the company of tenor saxophonists Daniel Erdmann and Robin Fincker, forming a trio that feels at once improbable and inevitable. Three voices that might easily collide instead interweave, tracing bright arcs through open air. The instrumentation alone promises unusual geometry. Two reeds converse above the dark grain of cello, a chamber ensemble with the pulse of jazz and the curiosity of explorers who have misplaced their compass on purpose.

The album’s title gestures toward the tune Gerry Mulligan wrote in 1952 as a tribute to Jimmy Lyons, a figure closely tied to the legacy of the Monterey Jazz Festival. That piece eventually became a touchstone of West Coast jazz, known for its luminous melodic contour and breezy contrapuntal motion. Those qualities hover like a distant ancestor throughout this recording. The trio does not imitate that tradition. Instead, they treat it as a horizon, a place toward which melodic clarity travels even while the music wanders through stranger terrain.

The group thrives on the friction of difference. Erdmann’s tenor carries a weathered edge, a tone where breath scratches against metal and every note seems carved from bark. Fincker offers a contrasting ease, especially when he turns to clarinet and lets its rounded voice float through the ensemble like a ribbon of smoke. Courtois stands at the center of this triangulation. His cello provides gravity, yet it refuses to remain merely foundational. At one moment it functions as bass, grounding the harmony with muscular pizzicato. At another it becomes a singer, bow drawing long shadows across the musical landscape. Through this constant transformation the trio achieves a peculiar equilibrium. The music feels airborne while remaining tethered to a deep structural spine. We can see all of these qualities reflected in their writing, which is fairly well distributed throughout the set.

Vincent Courtois: Architectures of Motion

Courtois composes as someone who thinks orchestrally even within the tight confines of a trio. His pieces often hinge on physical movement. Lines stretch, recoil, then leap again as if guided by invisible pulleys.

“Alone in Fast Lane” opens the album with an immediate surge of energy. The two tenors ignite like twin flares, each tracing its own spiraling path while the cello pulses beneath them with restless purpose. Courtois’s pizzicato acts as both skeleton and engine. The sound possesses a remarkable clarity. One hears the music’s anatomy in real time. Nerves spark through the reeds while the cello functions as spinal cord, transmitting impulses that set the whole organism in motion. The result is a texture both taut and exuberant, a kind of high velocity counterpoint that never loses its center.

“Seven Lines for Old Mediums” inhabits a different climate. The music becomes pointillistic, almost painterly. Notes appear like small constellations rather than extended phrases. Courtois allows silence to speak with unusual authority. Each gesture hangs in the air for a moment before dissolving, inviting the listener to lean closer. The piece suggests a quiet meditation on the past, not through nostalgia but through delicate fragments that recall older languages without repeating them.

“Adios Body (Hello Soul)” carries a melody built on a gentle octave leap, a motif that first arrives with lullaby tenderness. Gradually the texture thickens. The tenors begin to growl and circle each other in animated debate while the cello intervenes with calm authority, a mediator guiding two spirited interlocutors toward uneasy harmony. What begins in repose evolves into something almost theatrical. The music sheds its skin and reveals a more restless spirit beneath.

Daniel Erdmann: Conversations with a Crooked Smile

Erdmann’s writing introduces a playful angularity. His pieces often feel conversational, as though the ensemble has stumbled into a lively discussion at a café where every participant insists on finishing the other’s sentences.

“Mulholland Coffee Break” evokes exactly that sort of moment. The tune unfolds with relaxed swagger, a melody that seems to lean back in its chair while still maintaining a sly sense of rhythm. Courtois takes full advantage of the mood. His improvisation dives into unexpected harmonic corners, bow and fingers shifting roles with effortless agility. When Fincker’s clarinet arrives, it pours a warm gloss over the scene, thick with ease. One can almost imagine sunlight slanting through a window onto a cluttered tabletop of cups and scribbled notes.

“Finally Giovanni” thrives on whimsy. The two tenors chatter above Courtois’s buoyant pizzicato, their lines hopping and sidestepping like dancers improvising steps across a wooden floor. The tune’s charm lies in its elasticity. Themes stretch then snap back into place with mischievous delight. What might have been merely jaunty becomes something richer through the trio’s shared instinct for balance. Humor and precision coexist without strain.

Robin Fincker: Blues Through a Kaleidoscope

Fincker’s contributions bring a blues sensibility filtered through an exploratory imagination. His pieces often begin in recognizable territory before opening unexpected doors.

“There and Then” highlights the clarinet’s expressive warmth. A call and response emerges between it, tenor, and cello, each voice stepping forward then retreating into the weave. The blues inflection runs deep but never feels conventional. Courtois again proves a formidable improviser, his cello singing with both grit and tenderness.

“Lion’s Den” returns the trio to a denser thicket of interaction. A hint of bop flickers through the rhythmic undergrowth, yet the structure refuses to settle into predictable grooves. At the center, Courtois delivers a remarkable solo passage, a monologue that seems to narrate its own unfolding. Each phrase arrives with quiet agency, like a thought discovering its own meaning while being spoken.

“Hobo Clown” closes the album with a buoyant sense of motion. Playfulness becomes the guiding principle. The ensemble glides through shifting textures fluidly, revealing the full breadth of its dynamic and technical range. The music smiles without losing its intelligence. Every gesture feels alive to possibility.

In this sense the trio suggests a quiet philosophical lesson. Music does not merely express individuality. It also reveals how individuality expands when placed in conversation. Perhaps creativity resembles a kind of listening. One waits for another presence to enter the room, uncertain what it will change, curious about the space that will appear between the sounds. In that small interval something unexpected begins to breathe.

Jean-Marie Machado & Danzas Orchestra: Sinfonia (RJAL 397050)

| Tyran Grillo

Jean-Marie Machado piano
Jean-Charles Richard chief conductor
Cécile Grassi viola
Cécile Grenier viola
Gwenola Morin viola
Guillaume Martigné cello
Clara Zaoui cello
Marc Buronfosse double bass
Élodie Pasquier clarinets
Stéphane Guillaume flutes, tenor saxophone
Renan Richard soprano and baritone saxophones
Tom Caudelle saxhorn
François Thuillier tuba
Didier Ithursarry accordion
Joachim Machado guitar
Marion Frétigny percussion, marimba, glockenspiel
Aubérie Dimpre percussion, vibraphone, glockenspiel
Recording, mixing, mastering at Studios la Buissonne, Pernes-les-Fontaines, France
Recorded November and December 2023 and mixed April and June 2024 by Gérard de Haro, assisted by Matteo Fontaine
Mastered by Nicolas Baillard at La Buissonne Mastering Studio
Steinway grand piano prepared and tuned by Sylvain Charles
Produced by Cantabile and Gérard de Haro & RJAL for La Buissonne
All tracks composed and arranged by Jean-Marie Machado
Release date: January 24, 2025

Jean-Marie Machado has long composed as if mapping a living geography, each work another inlet along a coastline he continues to discover. Sinfonia, written for his Danzas Orchestra, arrives like a new tide upon that shore. Across more than three decades and thirty albums, from solitary piano meditations to the breadth of large ensembles, Machado has cultivated a language where jazz breathes with classical lungs. The celebrated Cantos Brujos revealed the power of this synthesis. Sinfonia deepens that current.

“Ria Largo” opens with gentle inevitability. Stepwise motifs shimmer like sunlight across tidal water while the glockenspiel scatters small sparks of brightness through the orchestral surface. The music glances backward through salt air toward older voyages and half-remembered ages, a harbor scene where departure feels imminent but the ropes have not yet been cast free.

From this threshold emerge three diptychs that move like successive swells. “Tanghoule” enters beneath a dimmer sky, its atmosphere shaped by the shadowed viola of Cécile Grenier. Didier Ithursarry’s accordion spreads a soft harmonic glow while Marc Buronfosse’s bass walks with deliberate tenderness. Renan Richard’s soprano saxophone floats through with poised lyricism, suspended between inward reflection and outward motion.

“Barcaronde” turns the vessel toward open water. Guitarist Joachim Machado begins amid flowing piano figures whose ripples widen across the ensemble. The cello of Guillaume Martigné gradually assumes the foreground, unfolding a patient monologue that draws surrounding voices into a finely woven tapestry. What begins as solitary expression becomes shared narrative. In “L’écume des rires,” vitality breaks through as accordion, clarinet, and tuba form a lively trio. Their quicksilver dialogue opens a chamber of inspired improvisation. The second half reveals a different character altogether, one that is brittle in appearance yet strangely resilient, like shells shaped by relentless tides.

“Barque magnétique” introduces a deeper nocturne through the baritone saxophone of Richard, whose dark buoyancy drifts across the ensemble like a lantern gliding over black water. Magic lingers here in quiet form, a subtle phosphorescence. “Dérive des cinq pas” centers on violist Cécile Grassi, whose line wanders through the ensemble with contemplative patience. Fragments of melody appear like objects discovered in tidal pools after the sea withdraws. The mood remains intimate, inviting the listener to lean closer.

Energy brightens with “Volte Flamme.” Stéphane Guillaume’s flute darts through the ensemble with birdlike agility while percussionists Marion Frétigny and Aubérie Dimpre construct an intricate terrain of rhythm. The electric guitar flashes through the texture with bright sparks, its voice cutting momentarily through the orchestral weave. Afterward, “Tréhourhant” offers a pause of quiet reflection. The piano speaks alone in restrained, mournful phrases that seem to measure the distance traveled.

The closing “Jig Raz” gathers the ensemble into a surge of unity. A geometric groove forms beneath wordless vocals that rise from the orchestral body like wind filling a sail. The music spirals upward with exuberant force, lifting itself like a waterspout climbing toward the clouds and carrying the listener into open air.

Yet the lasting resonance of Sinfonia lies deeper than imagery. Machado understands that the sea offers a way of thinking about sound itself. Music resembles water in its refusal of permanence. A phrase appears, glimmers briefly, then dissolves into the larger motion surrounding it. Improvisation becomes an act of listening to the present moment rather than attempting to capture it.

Standing before the ocean, one senses how small gestures participate in immense processes that began long before us and will continue long after. Machado and his orchestra seem content with that truth. They do not attempt to master the tide. They simply enter its rhythm and allow the music to move as it must. Perhaps that is the quiet lesson of Sinfonia. Meaning does not always arrive as a destination. Sometimes it reveals itself only while we drift.

The Magic Lantern: To Everything a Season (RJAL 397049)

| Tyran Grillo

Jamie Doe vocals
Fred Thomas bass
Matt Robinson piano
Dave Hamblett drums
Tobin Fincker tenor saxophone, clarinet
Matthieu Michel flugelhorn
Kieran McLeod trombone
Recorded August 1-4, 2023 at La Buissonne Studios by Gérard de Haro, assisted by Matteo Fontaine
Mixed October 25-27, 2023 by Gérard de Haro, Fred Thomas, and Jamie Doe, assisted by Matteo Fontaine
Mastering at La Buissonne Mastering Studio by Nicolas Baillard and Jamie Doe
Steinway grand piano prepared and tuned by Sylvain Charles
Coproduced by Hectic Ecletic Records and La Buissonne Label
Release date: October 25, 2024

Some albums announce themselves with grand gestures. Others unfold more quietly, revealing their character with patience. The Magic Lantern’s To Everything a Season belongs firmly in the latter category. Led by Australian-born and UK-based songwriter Jamie Doe, the project has long occupied a space where folk songwriting intersects with the exploratory instincts of jazz and chamber music. On this latest release, those elements feel especially well balanced. The result is a record that moves gently but deliberately, trusting the strength of its poetry and the sensitivity of the musicians bringing it to life.

Recorded over four focused days at La Buissonne Studios in the south of France, the album captures the kind of immediacy that can only emerge when musicians share a room and respond to one another in real time. Engineer Gérard de Haro, recognizing the quiet intensity of the sessions, helped shape an environment where the performances could breathe without unnecessary interference. Rather than striving for polish, the recording preserves the subtle dynamics of collaboration. What emerges is not the sheen of perfection but the presence of discovery, the sound of ideas forming collectively in the moment.

The ensemble itself draws largely from London’s vibrant jazz community. Bassist Fred Thomas, who also co-arranges the material, anchors the music with lines that are patient and grounded. Matt Robinson’s piano moves between structure and openness, providing harmonic spaces for the others to inhabit. Dave Hamblett’s drumming rarely asserts itself forcefully, instead shaping rhythm with a light, responsive touch. Keiran McLeod’s trombone adds warmth and depth to the arrangements, its tone bending gently around the vocal lines. Two additional voices arrive from continental Europe: Robin Fincker’s searching tenor saxophone and Matthieu Michel’s flugelhorn, whose soft lyricism brings a reflective glow to several of the album’s most delicate moments. Together the septet demonstrates a remarkable commitment to restraint, treating silence and space as carefully as melody.

At the center of this balanced environment stands Doe’s voice. Unadorned and intimate, it carries a quiet clarity that allows emotional weight to step naturally onto the scale. The arrangements orbit it with patience, rarely crowding the lyrics and often allowing instrumental phrases to linger in the air before resolving. Nothing here feels hurried. Each track unfolds at its own pace, inviting the listener into a reflective atmosphere that rewards careful attention.

Lyrically, To Everything a Season represents an important step forward in Doe’s songwriting. The session moves through grief, tenderness, confusion, and small flashes of joy with equal lucidity, rarely resorting to grand declarations. Instead, Doe focuses on the textures of everyday experience, recognizing that the ordinary details of life often carry the deepest resonance. Music has always drawn strength from this transformation of the quotidian into something shared. A passing memory, a moment of doubt, a fleeting instance of grace. In Doe’s hands, these fragments become songs that quietly illuminate the inner life.

From the opening track, “Trembling,” the listener encounters an artist who is attentive to life’s expressive fulcrums. The song acknowledges how closely vulnerability and resilience can coexist, setting the tone for an excursion that treats feeling not as spectacle but as terrain to be navigated thoughtfully. “Two in One” reflects on coincidence and the unexpected alignments that shape our lives, suggesting that certain encounters carry a meaning that extends beyond their immediate circumstances. Rather than dramatizing these moments, Doe observes them with gentle curiosity, finding significance in experiences many might overlook.

Several songs engage directly with themes that resonate across generations. “Loops” confronts the painful realities of dementia, reflecting on the fragile relationship between memory and identity. “Data Points” turns its gaze toward the alienation of the digital age, where the complexity of human experience can feel flattened by metrics and algorithms. In contrast, “Sweetheart” meditates on love grounded firmly in the present moment, focusing on the humility and devotion that sustain lasting connection.

Elsewhere, Doe explores the interplay between uncertainty and conviction. “Hear Me” imagines songwriting as part of a long lineage, suggesting a form of inheritance passed through time. Creation becomes less an act of solitary invention than participation in an ongoing human conversation. Even the album’s lighter passages carry this reflective spirit. “Home” approaches belonging with warmth and subtle humor, while “Joy is a Choice” affirms that happiness often requires deliberate attention and upkeep.

The album concludes with the instrumental “Epilogue,” a brief but poignant farewell that allows the ensemble to speak without words. After the lyrical reflections that precede it, it feels like a quiet exhale. The musicians move together with understated sensitivity, offering a final reminder of how central their collective presence has been to the album’s passionate depth. Throughout To Everything a Season, these players function not as background accompaniment but as attentive collaborators. Each listens closely, shaping the air through small responses and subtle shifts in texture.

What ultimately distinguishes the record is its faith in the communicative power of everyday life. Doe does not attempt to summarize the human condition or offer definitive answers. Instead, he opens a series of small windows onto the involvements that quietly shape us. When gathered into song, they reveal unexpected connections. In listening closely to them, we may find that what seemed private or fleeting is in fact part of a much larger conversation.