Matthiew Bordenave
The Blue Land

Matthieu Bordenave tenor and soprano saxphones
Florian Weber piano
Patrice Moret double bass
James Maddren drums
Recorded October 2022 at Studios La Buissonne, Pernes-les-Fontaines
Engineer: Gérard de Haro
Cover: Fidel Sclavo
Produced by Manfred Eicher
Release date: January 26, 2024

In this follow-up to 2020’s La traversée, saxophonist Matthieu Bordenave again joins subtle forces with pianist Florian Weber and bassist Patrice Moret, now adding drummer James Maddren. The result is a new songbook written by the bandleader for the group at hand.

Weber paints with the broadest brush, taking account of every bristle in his articulations of time and space. His protracted intro to “La Porte Entrouverte” sets a vivid scene, only to dismantle and rebuild it over and over again, until Bordenave’s soprano populates it with his own shadow, along with those of Moret and Maddren in tow. This understated foundation allows brief yet virtuosic flights to grace the air with their murmurations. The title track is a more abstract wonder that dabs its brush into a palette of even finer details. Dampened pianism weaves through caressed drums and a distant tenor before the bass drops its harmonic stones into the water.

When speaking of a band’s cohesive sound, one often means to imply that the musicians fill in one another’s gaps. Here, however, they open one another’s gaps so intuition might have more leeway for self-development. Even when taking on John Coltrane’s “Compassion,” the set’s only apocryphal tune, their penchant for freer expression (note the spiritedness of Weber’s solo) takes precedence over any notions of faithfulness. “Cyrus” is likewise a masterclass in letting an atmosphere speak for itself. The title is descriptive, conjuring images of clouds and the peace one derives from watching them drift by. Its guiding arpeggios carry us without force into the darker caves of “Refraction” before light welcomes us at the other end with “Distance,” laying down a bespoke groove that keeps us on our toes.

“Three Four” does something one doesn’t often hear in jazz by sounding simultaneously nocturnal and diurnal, leaving us suspended somewhere in the middle. “Timbre” features needle-threading sopranism and is a highlight for its breathy transparency. The final word belongs to “Three Peaks,” affording an aerial view of a place we can only dream of—if only because it is so real. Thus, what seems to be a contradiction on the surface becomes an entity unto itself, ever traveling onward without a GPS.