Dine Doneff: Suite Yedi (neRED/4)

| Tyran Grillo

James Wylie alto saxophone
Maria Dafka bayan
Dine Doneff electric guitar, stomp box, double bass, drums
Recorded live September 3, 2023
Festival of Jazz, World & Contemporary Music
Teatar Jordan H.K. Dzinot – Veles, North Macedonia
Recording engineer: Ivica Jankulovski
Remix: Dine Doneff – Domagk Cell 27, Munich
Mastering: Christoph Stickel
Cover artwork & design: Fotimi Potamia
Produced by neRED music

Just as death is eternal
So the struggle goes forever.
–Kocho Racin

Composer and multi-instrumentalist Dine Doneff calls Suite Yedi, the fourth installment of his ECM-distributed label neRED, a “sound sketch of narratives about resistance.” And so, before a single musical utterance, we are implicitly asked to consider what resistance entails. Most, I imagine, would view it as a method of opposition, whether at the individual or collective level, to some malevolent force wreaking havoc on the world on any scale. But when the bayan of Maria Dafka—one of three musicians who make up the band recorded live here under the auspices of the 2023 Festival of Jazz, World & Contemporary Music in Macedonia—unfolds in the darkness of its own regard, a deeper meaning is revealed. For while the accordion-like instrument is solitary, it comprises the voices of its ancestors and the many who share them. It is a chorus in one body sustained by multiple vectors of identity. The effect is such that when alto saxophonist James Wylie and Doneff himself on electric guitar render for us the y and z axes of this opening tune (appropriately called “Of the Memory”), we realize that resistance is ultimately not about opposition to but unity with. Just as one can be silenced by many, so can many be given hope by one.
 
Doneff’s guitar is an extension of his writing, which is the program’s backbone. Between the flowing traffic of “Yaros” and the offroading spirit of “Howl,” he merges onto and off our lane as if time were a highway to be traveled along at will. The latter’s country twang offers freer energy as Wylie stretches out his arms toward the horizon with a running start—and yet, beneath it all, the need to scream—paring down to Doneff on bass in a prayerful mode. This anchor carries over into “Naked Life,” where chords and melodies change places in stenciled light.
 
Between these milestones, we encounter the birthing pains of “Risserete,” wherein the bayan and alto meld as one while the guitar emerges aboveground, holding a scripture of its past in the hopes that a future might be possible. Dafka’s solo is a constellation shining through a smoke-tinged sky before resolving into Wylie’s monologue. Thus, each soul speaks for itself—another model for finding purpose. Doneff adds drums to make good on the promise of proximity and holds that pattern in “Minoria Grande,” allowing the theme to coalesce in a reunion that not even violence may hinder.
 
The performance closes with a contrasting diptych. Whereas “Another Chance” takes a forlorn look at things, the alto a picture of frustration resolving into fate but pulling away just before the grip of shadow becomes too ironclad to shake off, “Boombar” shines a light with its groovier bass line, a nod to how things used to be and how they might one day be again. Thus, we are reminded that, sometimes, catharsis does not happen all at once but gradually over time. In such an age as ours, where uncertainty has become the new normal (or has it always been this way?), the promise of comforts one can rely on becomes a treasure to be unearthed one footprint at a time.

András Schiff: J. S. Bach – Clavichord (ECM New Series 2635/36)

| Tyran Grillo

András Schiff
J. S. Bach: Clavichord

András Schiff clavichord
Recorded July 2018
Kammermusikssaal H. J. Abs,
Beethoven-Haus, Bonn
Engineer: Stephan Schellmann
Cover photo: Jan Jedlička
Produced by Manfred Eicher
Release date: January 27, 2023

“When I’m at home, my day always begins with Bach. It used to be on the piano, now it’s on the clavichord, even before breakfast. After a few of the Inventions I feel reborn. My ears, my mind, soul and spirit are cleansed.”

Few keyboardic constructions feel as tangible as the clavichord. If only for that reason, it takes getting used to. Yet if you are willing to meet it on its own terms, its internal resonances and breadth of character soon become apparent. As the go-to of Johann Sebastian Bach, it deserves a spotlight in this music—not only for its sound but also for its spirit. For while its intimacy is a given (allowing as it did the luxury of private interpretation for both composers and enthusiasts), and its history and Bach’s relationship to it are well documented, there’s something about letting it sing for itself, and I can think of few hands more capable of doing just that than those of pianist András Schiff, whose humble admission crowns this review.
 
The six-part Capriccio sopra la lontananza del fratello dilettissimo (Capriccio on the departure of a beloved brother) is a delightful inauguration to the instrument’s flavor. Though lesser known than the Inventions and Sinfonias (a.k.a., the Two- and Three-Part Inventions, split between this album’s two discs), they speak nakedly and with the programmatic lucidity required of them. The bigger, canonical collection after them dons new garments (if not sheds old ones) in the present recording. Knowing that Bach likely intended them for the clavichord gives us a renewed understanding of their provenance. The faster movements (cf. Invention No. 4 in d minor, Sinfonia No. 15 in b minor) sparkle, while the slower ones (cf. Invention No. 2 in c minor, Sinfonia No. 4 in d minor) feel more robust than ever. The middle realm (cf. Invention No. 15 in b minor, Sinfonia No. 11 in g minor) gives us the best of both worlds. Such is the magic of the clavichord: Despite its slimmer character and build, it holds its own and then some in a basket woven of lower pitch (a’ = 404 Hz). One highlight in this regard is the lutelike Sinfonia No. 9 in f minor, which walks up a flight of stairs, making the pull of gravity palpable.
 
Between these are the Four Duets (of which No. 3 in G major is especially wholesome) and the Ricercar à 3 from Das Musikalische Opfere, which, along with the concluding Chromatic Fantasia and Fugue, is the biggest revelation herein. Whereas the orchestral sensibilities in one are still very much alive, albeit refracted and distilled, the other shows the subtlety of the “Bebung” technique, whereby the performer adds vibrato with vertical pressure of the fingertip. Thus, these pieces’ complexities become more apparent because they cannot hide within the piano’s cavernous architecture. The fugue is a wonder. Feet to ground, it knows where it stands and how to take joy in the life it has been freely given.

Ruth Killius/Thomas Zehetmair: Bartók/Casken/Beethoven (ECM New Series 2595)

| Tyran Grillo

Ruth Killius/Thomas Zehetmair
Bartók/Casken/Beethoven

Thomas Zehetmair violin, conductor
Ruth Killius viola
Royal Northern Sinfonia
Recorded live June 2014
at The Sage Gateshead
Engineer: Hannelore Guittet
Cover photo: Max Franosch
Executive producer: Manfred Eicher
Release date: February 17, 2023

The triptych on offer here is proof positive of violinist Thomas Zehetmair’s boldness as a conductor. With his wife, violist Ruth Killius, he brings together an intriguing assortment at the helm of the Royal Northern Sinfonia. Most surprising is British composer John Casken’s That Subtle Knot, which receives its premiere recording. This double concerto for violin, viola, and orchestra was written in 2012-13 and is dedicated to the present performers. Taking its inspiration from the poetry of John Donne, whose characteristic attention to physiological detail is beautifully mirrored throughout, it charts a course of passionate complexity through two movements. The lone viola of “Calm” unfolds in an unnamed wilderness, searching its past but finding traces of the future. As the violin steps foot onto the same landscape a divider’s distance away, the orchestra hints at natural obstacles between them: a mountain face, a ravine, a river too wide to cross. And yet, none of this bars one from knowing and empathizing with the other. Moments of dance-like energy are necessarily brief so that even when they reach a state of agreement, it is always mediated through the environment. Despite its title, “Floating” is rife with dramatic highs and lows. If anything, it floats in the sense of something being tossed about in the wind and never being allowed to land until it has been battered and bruised. Like a human relationship, it weathers the storm, finding its bearings the emotional lessons it has learned. The high note on which it ends is a testament to the power of perseverance.

What a fascinating companion this work has in the form of Béla Bartók’s Concerto for Violin and Orchestra. Although largely considered his final work, despite some controversy to the contrary, it is a shot in the dark of the year in which it was written (1945). Regardless of provenance and subsequent revisions, it proves itself more than ever to be a beacon of the viola repertoire at the touch of Killius’s bow. She arrives on the scene in a burst of light, courting the orchestra into a dance of knotted proportions. The more the Moderato develops, the tighter that knot becomes, unraveling itself only in dreams. There is nothing inviting or conciliatory about the viola’s restlessness. It is always unsettled, and therein lies the spell. Speaking of spells, one cannot help but be enchanted by the central movement, which speaks to the heart of this piece and its composer. Its brevity after the gargantuan first makes it all the more poignant. In the last, marked Allegro vivace, a superb articulation abounds. Every thought—both on paper and in the minds of those interpreting it—is lucid to the core, working into a concise and spirited finish.

And where to end this three-legged race? Why, in the well-worn yet crucial binding of Ludwig van Beethoven’s Fifth, of course. The urgency of its familiar opening statement is given special urgency while still giving those pastoral asides room to breathe. What is remarkable is that, despite this energy, which carries over even into the flowing violins of the slower second movement, the winds are never drowned. Rather, they speak like a Greek chorus, carrying omniscience in their hands. Also notable is the sheer delicacy of the pizzicato in the third movement, so crisply captured in this recording, and the breadth of the concluding Allegro, in which a not-so-subtle knot of grace and affirmation ties itself before our very ears.

Danish String Quartet: PRISM V (ECM New Series 2565)

| Tyran Grillo

Danish String Quartet
PRISM V

Rune Tonsgaard Sørensen violin
Frederik Øland violin
Asbjørn Nørgaard viola
Fredrik Schøyen Sjölin violoncello
Recorded June 2021
Festsal, KFUM/KFUK, Copenhagen
Engineer: Markus Heiland
Cover: Eberhard Ross
Produced by Manfred Eicher
Release date: April 14, 2023

The Danish String Quartet concludes its nearly eight-year journey pairing Ludwig van Beethoven’s five late string quartets with works by Johann Sebastian Bach and later composers. Looking back, I can’t help but smile at how deeply and patiently the DSQ has fertilized the soil of this project to yield the richness of spring harvest.

As the musicians humbly observe, “Micromanagement is rarely a successful strategy when it comes to late Beethoven.” Therefore, if the music feels almost fiercely detailed, it’s because the relationships between the notes speak up for themselves at every turn. Indeed, it’s impossible to encounter the initial stirrings of the String Quartet No. 16 in F major, op. 135, wherein the composer returns not only to the quadripartite form but also to his astonishment of the past, without blushing. And what, you might wonder, is immediately apparent this time around? Nothing less than the undeniable realization that the late Beethoven deviates from other “standard” quartets of the repertoire (including his earlier own) in how inevitable it feels. Whether in the lucidity of the second movement or the dark pastoralism of the third, every sound takes on a physical appearance. The sheer grit the Danes bring to these contrasts is wonderous. Whereas the faster rites of passage would give little room for personal interpretation in less capable hands, in the present context, they are vessels in which the pudding of proof is artfully mixed. In the final stretch, which begins in gentler territory while also expressing great urgency, the call and response between cello and violins opens the door into a run across an open field where life itself becomes the map leading the way to the other side.

Anton Webern’s String Quartet of 1905 (the second of two he wrote that year) brought about a sea change in the genre. Although played in one continuous 18-minute stretch, it takes on a nominal structure in three sections (“Becoming,” “Being,” “Passing Away”) based on the work of painter Giovanni Segantini. Its shifts between darker and lighter keys, between exhalations and holdings of breath, would seem to mirror Beethoven, while its central fugue casts a shadow further back to Bach. The more one immerses oneself in it, the more fragmentary it becomes. As with the canvases that inspired it, one is tempted to isolate a mountain from land and sky, all the while missing out on the benefit of zooming in further on individual plants, puffs of cloud, and rocky imperfections that can only be described as “hymnal” in shape.

The setting for these diamonds consists of Baroque prongs. Whereas Bach’s chorale prelude, Vor deinen Thron tret ich hiermit, opens the program as one would wake up from a coma only to realize how much the world has not changed, the Contrapunctus XIV from The Art of Fuguereleases its pollen by the light of the moon, windswept in evening breezes to places we cannot touch until our bodies wither. Being unfinished, it ends mid-statement, leaving the remainder to toss about in the waves of our unworthy fancy. Sometimes, the best way to answer a question is by posing another.

Avishai Cohen: Ashes to Gold (ECM 2822)

| Tyran Grillo

Avishai Cohen
Ashes to Gold

Avishai Cohen trumpet, flugelhorn, flute
Yonathan Avishai piano
Barak Mori double bass
Ziv Ravitz drums
Recorded November 2022 at Studios La Buissonne, Pernes-les-Fontaines
Engineer: Gérard de Haro
Mastering: Nicolas Baillard
Production coordination: Thomas Herr
Cover: Avishai Cohen
Executive producer: Manfred Eicher
Release date: October 11, 2024

Since sewing his ECM leader debut with 2016’s Into The Silence, Avishai Cohen has reaped a unique voice as a trumpeter and composer. But in “Ashes to Gold,” the five-part suite from which his latest gets its name, we are introduced to the sound of his flute, which speaks of more harmonious times than these. Like the opening credits to a war film, it offers the dramatis personae—including pianist Yonathan Avishai, bassist Barak Mori, and drummer Ziv Ratiz—before throwing us into a battle scene from the start. In that vein, the trumpeting jolts us with its raw emotional reportage straight from the trenches.

By no stretch of metaphor, the music’s genesis took place in the aftermath of October 7, 2023, during which the chaos of war at once starved and fed Cohen’s inspiration. One week of intense writing later, the suite was born. While adding to and refining it on tour, he crafted the theme that would become the introspective Part III. Part II before it is its meditative ancestor, featuring a droning arco bass, keening brass, chanting pianism, and a heartbeat giving hope of survival beneath the debris. In the wake of Part IV, an interlude for flute and piano that turns light into shadow, the flowing conclusion finds Cohen soaring as a messenger bird with the sole remaining fragment of truth in its talons. 

Following this is the Adagio assai from Maurice Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G major, a staple in the band’s live repertoire. In this context, it serves as a lost hymn, fusing fragments of the past with the utmost attention to form. “The Seventh” (by Cohen’s daughter Amalia) provides the epilogue. Every flower that sprouts from its dying soil releases spores in the hopes that, at the very least, it might find richer land even as cities and their inhabitants fall.

It’s worth noting that the title Ashes to Gold refers to the kintsugi, the Japanese aesthetic practice of filling cracks in pottery with gold. Thus, he seals the traumatic ruptures of our humanity with music. And is that not what music does in times of unrest? It is a salve of retribution, physically applied to wounded fists closing around life itself.

Jordina Millà/Barry Guy: Live in Munich (ECM 2827)

| Tyran Grillo

Jordina Millà
Barry Guy
Live in Munich

Jordina Millà piano
Barry Guy double bass
Recorded live February 2022, Schwere Reiter, Munich
Engineer: Zoro Babel
Mixing: Ferran Conangla at FCM Studio, Barcelona
Mastering: Christoph Stickel
Cover photo: Thomas Wunsch
An ECM Production
Release date: July 5, 2024

Catalan pianist Jordina Millà and British bassist Barry Guy merge creative lanes for this live 2022 performance at the Schwere Reiter hall in Munich. The two first met as participants in Barcelona’s Mixtur Festival in 2017, where Guy was tasked as composer-in-residence to put together an ensemble piece, in which Millà’s participation stood out. Although a new partnership was born, one would never think of it as such from the telepathy they so intuitively inhabit.

This successor to String Fables, their first duo album (released on the Polish label Fundacja Słuchaj in 2021), offers an even deeper sense of lucidity and nursing of detail, enhanced but never overshadowed by the engineering of their sonic kaleidoscope. Their relationship is broken into—if not unified by—six freely improvised parts. Even without familiar melodies and rhythms, the sounds are holistically accessible for their spiritedness and emotional honesty.

One thing that becomes immediate is how each musician unearths elements hidden in the other. Whereas Millà fish-hooks the percussiveness of the double bass into the foreground, Guy inspires a pizzicato sensibility in the piano. The latter’s harp-like articulations in Part I are no mere decorations but a necessarily physical language. Even in the gentlest moments, there is a feeling of total revelation. Extended techniques lend comfort to an otherwise fitful dream. The effect is such that when Millà’s fingers land on keys, they cry out with the urgency of newborns.

Part II refashions much of that restlessness into conviction. Jazzy phrases bleed through postmodern lyricism and touches of prayer, their shadow growing to glorify the sun. Part III is even more melodic and communicates like a Janáček piece for children turned inside out to reveal its darkest fables. The prepared piano of Part IV is magical realism at its finest. With Guy’s skin tracings, it forms a complete organism that steps from thought into form with all the stop-motion haunting of a Brothers Quay film. Part V is the most tense yet also the most powerful in its release, working into a droning brilliance that calms the mind. Part VI is the final exposition, bowing and plucking its way into a humble sort of mastery.

What marks this recording is its sheer presence. Nothing feels hidden or obscured; rather, it is stripped of its protections for naked scrutiny. It speaks in the stirrings of souls, if not in the breathing room between them, until life becomes a mantra unto itself.

Jarrett/Peacock/Motian: The Old Country (ECM 2828)

| Tyran Grillo

Keith Jarrett/Gary Peacock/Paul Motian
The Old Country

Keith Jarrett piano
Gary Peacock double bass
Paul Motian drums
Recorded September 16, 1992
at the Deer Head Inn
Engineer: Kent Heckman
Design: Sascha Kleis
Produced by Bill Goodwin
An ECM Production
Release date: November 8, 2024

On September 16, 1992, pianist Keith Jarrett, bassist Gary Peacock, and drummer Paul Motian graced the humble setting of the Deer Head Inn, yielding an eponymous recording that stands as a beacon in the ECM catalog writ large. Nestled in the Pocono Mountains, the venue is one of the oldest for jazz in the US, having served as a stage for live music for over seven decades. As the story goes, Jarrett gave his first performance as trio leader there in 1961 at the age of 16 and returned for this performance to commemorate the ownership’s love for genuine music making. But this was another first, as it was the only time this group was ever billed as such (although Motian had, of course, played in the pianist’s “American Quartet”). Looking back on this landmark achievement, Jarrett and producer Manfred Eicher decided to release the rest of the recording, thus giving us The Old Country.

The title track by Nat Adderley is as good a place as any to begin our walkthrough, though one could start from anywhere and feel immersed in the inimitable vibe of that special evening a third of a century ago. The band never misses a lick, Jarrett treating every improvisatory message as the seed of a new tree. The “Autumn Leaves”-esque chord progressions only underscore that metaphor. “Someday My Prince Will Come” is another head nodder. As the doyenne of sorts in his American Songbook repertoire, one from which he recedes in the present treatment sooner rather than later to give Peacock the floor, it takes on a spirit of revival.

Engaging as such turns are, it’s in the slower numbers, like the Gershwin gem “How Long Has This Been Going On” and the Jule Styne standard “I Fall In Love Too Easily,” where we get glimpses of a particular beauty that might never grace a stage again. (They are also where Motian’s colorations are most vivid.) The latter tune is a heated blanket for the soul and feels custom-built for the musicians. Just as profound as Jarrett’s unfolding of every origami motif are the pauses between them. In each, where he may or may not cry ecstatically, it’s as if he were inhaling the Milky Way before exhaling starlight for all whose paths have gone dark. Peacock’s solo is a silhouette staring through a curtain for a lover who will never appear.

Further delicacies await in Thelonious Monk’s “Straight No Chaser,” the joy of which is so effortless that it might as well be a language with its own dictionary. Jarrett’s vocalizing cuts to the quick of the melody, giving us insight into his precognitive abilities at the keyboard. The dissonant touches are superb, and the rhythm section swings a full 360 degrees from start to spirited finish. Speaking of spirited, the piano intro to Cole Porter’s “All Of You” blossoms with metaphysical detail. The resulting groove is tempered by restraint—likewise in Victor Young’s “Golden Earrings,” which is as delicate as a bubble but strong as iron. Motian carries the bulk of this atmosphere with his brushes, while Jarrett manages to be ever one step ahead yet locked into place.

None of this would feel quite so complete with the album’s opening, “Everything I Love.” This little piece of magic from Cole Porter gives us that familiar blush of establishment such as only Jarrett can render, a chord progression that reminds us of where we belong. The sentiment is as much alive today as it was then. Your heart has already heard it. Now, it’s time for your ears to catch up.

Arild Andersen Group: Affirmation (ECM 2763)

| Tyran Grillo

Arild Andersen Group
Affirmation

Marius Neset tenor saxophone
Helge Lien piano
Arild Andersen double bass
Håkon Mjåset Johansen drums
Recorded November 2021 at Rainbow Studio, Oslo
Engineer: Martin Abrahamsen
Cover photo: Thomas Wunsch
Executive producer: Manfred Eicher
Release date: October 28, 2022

At the height of the pandemic, bassist and longtime ECM veteran Arild Andersen convened a new quartet at Rainbow Studio in Oslo. Although he arrived to lay down a predetermined set list alongside tenor saxophonist Marius Neset, pianist Helge Lien, and drummer Håkon Mjåset Johansen, during the second day of recording, he suggested the idea of a group improvisation. The result is Affirmation, presented in its real-time unfolding. Despite being new territory, the feeling is downright familiar from note one, the title indicative of a mutual trust and the need for life during a time of death.

Part I stakes its claim in delicate genesis. Light cymbals resolve into glittering pianism and tender reedwork, Andersen’s quiet strength bounding through it all. In a space enhanced by reverb, otherwise fleeting gestures become entire biographical statements, each the trail of an elder gone to rest. Johansen calls ancestrally, while Neset evokes the ancient ways of Jan Garbarek. Such influences speak of a metaphysical kinship—splashes of color spinning into freer territory before hints of groove can make good on their promises. At the center of their circle is a melodic heart that beats for all.

Part II rows darker waters at first, casts Andersen in more of a listening mode, cradled in a weed-woven basket. A lively middle section finds Lien working up a frenzy, but only briefly, as tenor and bass dialogue for a spell. Everything culminates in a smooth balladic energy, lit just enough to see our way through the night. What we’re left with, then, is a benediction, a prayer, a call to quiet action for the lost and found.

At times, Andersen eerily recalls David Darling’s cello playing and Eberhard Weber’s fluid arpeggiations, but for the most part, he sounds like only he can. And so, it makes sense to finish the album with his “Short Story,” an affirmation all its own. After two hefty doses of freedom, it resonates as a hymn to the future, riding its wave of appreciation straight into the sun.

Jacob Young: Eventually (ECM 2764)

| Tyran Grillo

Jacob Young guitar
Mats Eilertsen double bass
Audun Kleive drums
Recorded May 2021 at Klokkereint Studio, Gjøvik
Engineer: Sven Andréen
Mixed by Audun Kleive and Sven Andréen
Design: Sascha Kleis
An ECM Production
Release date: May 12, 2023

Eventually is the fourth leader date from Norwegian guitarist Jacob Young, but his first trio outing. Alongside bassist Mats Eilertsen and drummer Audun Kleive, he traverses a set of nine original tunes that are as varied in dynamic and scope as they are cohesive in temperament. 

The title track opens with arpeggios and impressions, broadening into a shoreline of shifting sands. Even with this precedent in place, one honed by the individual band members’ century of musical cross-examinations between them, there is room for incisive melodizing and fresh runs across familiar terrain. A case in point is “I Told You In October,” which goes down warmly while awaiting whatever surprises the next sunrise has in store. Eilertsen flirts with blues in his solo while keeping things forthright and pure.

Continuing in that spirit, “Moon Over Meno” manages to simultaneously feel like family but also a new acquaintance. Young takes brief yet surprising turns, thinking out loud in an unpretentious display of honesty and vulnerability. Despite his trepidations with the trio format going into this project, he proves himself well-attuned to its challenges, ever buoyed by musicians anticipating his every move. With the gentlest of frictions, he brings forth small flames of beauty in his chord voicings. In that light are rendered shadow plays of quiet intensity (“One For Louis”), urban sprawl (“Schönstedtstraße,” a head-nodding standout for its spacy overdubs), and somber travels (“Northbound”). 

“The Dog Ate My Homework” is a treat not only for its tongue-in-cheek title but also for the interlock of its development. Kleive keeps just enough fuel in the tank to get us where we need to go, while Eilertsen facilitates the combustion to let Young fly. After lovingly schooling us on “The Meaning Of Joy,” we end up “Inside,” where circling motifs knit scarves against the cold from the air so we might survive the winter without fear.

As the band hangs one masterful painting after another in this intimate gallery, the core strength of the proceedings lies in Young’s composing and the depth of expression giving them life. Like a lighthouse revolving in the night, his sound embodies a place to return to and a function to serve, bringing safety to those caught in the fog of dangerous waters.