Fred Hersch piano Drew Gress double bass Joey Baron drums Recorded May 2024 Auditorio Stelio Molo RSI, Lugano Engineer: Stefano Amerio Cover: Andreas Kocks Produced by Manfred Eicher Release date: June 27, 2025
Pianist Fred Hersch’s ECM journey, brief as it has been so far, already feels like a lifetime in its emotional scope. Beginning in duet with legendary trumpeter Enrico Rava, followed by a solo album, he now returns to Lugano’s Auditorio Stelio Molo RSI for a trio session with bassist Drew Gress and drummer Joey Baron. Despite having played with either musician in various contexts for decades, this is their first studio album as a trio, and the result has all the makings of a classic—not by mere virtue of its talented assembly (which is reason enough to rejoice) but also for the easy confidence of its touch.
Hersch contributes three tunes to the proceedings, of which “Plainsong” is our port of entry. Its introductory lines are so nostalgic, you’d be forgiven for thinking you grew up with them. As the variegated spectrum of autumn gives way to winter, Hersch rides a slow-motion wave in search of warmer shelter, which he finds in the title track. The breadth of Hersch’s melodic sensibilities is breathtaking here, hinting at faraway places while remaining intimate. And in the Latin-tinged beauty of “Anticipation,” the piano dances in midair without a worry to weigh it down.
That Hersch’s writing holds its own alongside “Law Years” is a wonder in and of itself. Ornette Coleman’s untanglings contrast with the measured melancholy of the bandleader with an even freer charge. In addition to the geometrically astute interplay from Gress and Baron, what impresses is the amount of space Hersch folds into his soloing, which, despite being a mighty stream of consciousness, allows for plenty of pauses, breaths, and exploratory surprises.
“First Song” by Charlie Haden feels like an inevitable choice. It opens with a solo from Gress, melting into Hersch’s lines like butter before Baron’s brushes baste that flavor in one stroke at a time. Egberto Gismonti’s “Palhaço” is another, and one that ECM aficionados will recognize from the Magico trio sessions and a smattering of Carmo recordings. Its childlike whimsy speaks through rainlike washes of chords from the keys. But it is in the Gershwin brothers’ “Embraceable You” that the band finds the biggest depths to plumb. With a light touch but deep roots, Hersch unlocks a powerful energy that one must fight to escape.
One thing that distinguishes Hersch in the world of jazz piano is his way with endings. Having the destination written in his heart, he is that rare magician who, even after telling us how the trick is done, still leaves us astonished.
Jon Balke piano, Spektrafon Recorded November 2023 The Village Recording, Copenhagen Engineer: Thomas Vang Mixed by Sven Andréen and Job Balke at Klokkereint Studios in Gjøvik Cover: Jan Groth, Sign I (1973-74) Produced by Manfred Eicher and Jon Balke Release date: February 28, 2025
Although billed as the latest solo recording from pianist Jon Balke, the instrument here doubles as its own accompanist by virtue of the “Spektrafon.” Created by Balke in collaboration with music technology professor Anders Tveit at the Norwegian Academy of Music, this new tool captures ambient sounds in real time as the performer draws out chords of harmonic material via a tablet interface. “In a way,” Balke notes, “the player enters into a dialogue with a live active reverberation to the piano sound – a dialogue with oneself.” The result is his most meditative offering to date.
On Skrifum (“handwriting” in Icelandic), what we encounter is a series of mostly monophonic miniatures that frees his other hand to manipulate the effect of his keystrokes accordingly. Thus, Balke writes the music into being with that most ancient of gestural impulses to leave a record of one’s existence, only instead of cave walls and pyramids, he chooses the multiverse as his canvas. Pulling on the thread of Warp (2016) and Discourses (2020), both electro-acoustic explorations of the keyboard, he continues to unravel new metaphysical possibilities from wood, felt, and string.
“Calligraphic” and “Tegaki” (another word for handwriting, this from the Japanese) reiterate the theme as much in name as in execution, tapping the shadows cast by the primitive utterances we make. But it is in “Traces” where we are welcomed into the inner sanctum of the Spektrafon, which speaks as if it were only being spoken to. It is not an echo chamber but echo incarnate, self-sustaining and sentient. As the ink moves into “Lines” and “Streaks,” origins reveal themselves more clearly, emerging as afterglows of implied chords. If the piano is the soil, these are the crops it yields in digital harvest. All of which reminds us that contemplative gestures always leave their remnants, each with a life of its own. Such are the often-unrendered impulses of performance.
“Sparks” and “Strand” communicate in sporadic bursts, breaching realms out of which we are normally locked. From the finger-dampened strings of “Rifts” and the unsettled foundations of the title track to the almost-forbidden secrets of “Stripes,” there are more than enough articulations to spin a narrative that feels like our own. When Balke plays with two hands (as in “Ductus” and “Kitabat”), memories we never experienced start to become normal.
We often talk about improvisation coming from the ether. Skrifum makes that notion duly real. The pianism itself is of the past, as if played by the most conscientious children in an attic with no audience but themselves. Their explorations give way to unbridled dreams that manifest in the waking world, extending their tendrils to whoever will grab them.
Yuval Cohen soprano saxophone, melodica Tom Oren piano Alon Near double bass Alon Benjamini drums Recorded September 2023 Studios La Buissonne Engineer: Gérard de Haro Mixed April 2024 by Manfred Eicher and Gérard de Haro Cover: Fidel Sclavo Produced by Manfred Eicher Release date: February 14, 2025
Yuval Cohen, brother of ECM veteran Avishai Cohen, makes his debut for the label with Winter Poems. Over the course of eight originals, he elicits a flowing and unsettled realm with pianist Tom Oren, bassist Alon Near, and drummer Alon Benjamini. As the opening “First Meditation” indicates, the quartet’s interplay is one of loosely sewn borders, of bonds just strong enough to offer a sense of cohesion while allowing for expressive individuality in the afterglow of stated themes.
The soprano saxophonist attributes his clean tone and sense of attunement to his classical training. In tracks like “The Dance of the Nightingale” and “Avia,” each the emotional opposite of the other, he showcases the breadth of his technical precision in creating blossoming narratives with minimal means. But where the former tune’s smoky balladry and the latter’s childlike exuberance seem worlds apart on paper, in execution, they share that special form of veracity that only freedom within constraints allows.
The title track is anchored by a river’s current of an arpeggio in the piano. At the same time, the bass and cymbals provide an all-encompassing mesh through which the air of Cohen’s reed can pass without obstruction to fuel a gorgeous collectivity that tugs at the heart. Speaking of heart, “Song for Lo Am” takes its influence from the playing of Charles Lloyd, whose unadulterated songcraft comes through. At Cohen’s fingertips, the saxophone communicates without fear, letting its bluesy shades speak for themselves across the night. “For Charlie” references Chaplin. It examines the film icon’s inner charm, the tender way about him that viewers can’t help but connect with on an empathetic level. Oren’s pianism is golden, and Near’s bassing lumbers in that same endearing way, all enhanced by Cohen’s nostalgic turns on the melodica.
“The Unfolding Nature of Iris” is another affectionate scene, this one perhaps more rooted in the present, as if being written in real time. Near’s solo is pure poetry and a highlight of the session, while the delicacy of Benjamini’s brushed drums adds detail only where needed. Lastly, “Helech Ruach” draws inspiration from Sasha Argov’s “Hu Lo Yada Et Shma,” adopting an open approach as the band sways telepathically into a joyful rest.
Dino Saluzzi bandoneón Jacob Young acoustic steel-string guitar, electric guitar José Maria Saluzzi classical guitar Recorded April 2023 at Saluzzi Music Studio, Buenos Aires Recording engineers: Néstor Diaz and Lobo Zepol Mixed February 2025 by Néstor Diaz at La Montaña Studio, Madrid Cover photo: Woong Chul An Executive producer: Manfred Eicher Release date: July 11, 2025
I can think of few souls who exude such innate musicality as Dino Saluzzi. At his fingertips, the bandoneón turns photographs into cinema, working its way into corners of the heart one never knew existed—or, more accurately, those we’ve long forgotten but only now recall. That he still has so much to say at age 90 is a testament not only to his endurance but also to the infinite power of music to link the lives of performers and listeners in an unbroken chain. The appropriately titled El Viejo Caminante (The Old Wanderer) finds him in the company of his son, José Maria Saluzzi (on classical guitar), and Jacob Young (on acoustic steel-string and electric guitars).
The project was seeded in 2022 when Young came to Argentina to perform a series of concerts with José. After hearing them on stage in Buenos Aires, Dino invited the Norwegian guitarist to come back the following year, resulting in the present record. But if the opening strains of “La Ciudad De Los Aires Buenos” are any indication, their sound is far deeper in the making than a chance encounter would have us believe. Father Saluzzi primes this canvas with a yielding gesso before the guitarists render their scenery in real time, never missing a single stroke in their duetting. The color contrasts between steel and nylon are a sunflower and its shadow swaying in unison with the wind. As the bellows return, the clouds cast their veil against the sun so that we can till the land just a little longer.
From this inward reflection, we expand into outward travels in “Northern Sun.” Without a hint of coercion, the guitars glide and tumble as if they were made for the terrain of this Karin Krog classic. At the whim of a creative gravity, they move in concert with every change. Like the standard “My One And Only Love” that closes out the set, the tune lays down its cards with a twinkle of the eye.
Dino contributes a broad selection of pieces, including the nostalgia-laden “Buenos Aires 1950” and the title track. The fullness of the latter’s inner dialogue is made possible only by the space its composer allows. Even more heartfelt moments are to be found in “Mi Hijo Y Yo,” a duet with José that speaks in a language born of shared triumphs and tribulations. The son’s muted touch lends an air of reverence for the father. Their tenderness continues in “Someday My Prince Will Come,” turning this standard into a mellifluous anthem. Between them is “Tiempos De Ausencias,” which adopts a slightly abstract form of hindsight. As Young joins in, what began as a private conversation turns into the delicate banter of old friends. More of the same flows into “Y Amo A Su Hermano,” in which every line plays an equal role. With the utmost empathy, it ebbs and flows with the tide.
Young adds his own touch to the proceedings with three originals. In “Quiet March,” his electric adds nocturnal depth. “Dino Is Here” was written for the occasion and provides ample room for the musicians to coalesce into a dynamic tango. Meanwhile, “Old House” epitomizes the art of listening, each player given time to say exactly what they need to say.
As freely flowing as this music is, it is by no means carefree. Indeed, great attention to detail has gone into every turn of phrase, and not a single note feels wasted. Such economy of expression is what elevates the session as a wonder. Through the lens of personal experience, it brings forth truth, knowing that when we look back on things, certain details inevitably cut into frame. Though painful at the time, they become a necessary part of the landscape of our lives, songs waiting to be sung when we are old enough to handle them without fear.
Louis Sclavis clarinet, bass clarinet Benjamin Moussay piano Recorded March 2024 at Studios La Buissonne, Pernes-les-Fontaines Engineer: Gérard de Haro Mastering: Nicolas Baillard Cover photo: Péter Nádas Produced by Manfred Eicher Release date: September 13, 2024
The pairing of clarinetist Louis Sclavis and pianist Benjamin Moussay, born of larger group collaborations on past work for ECM (including 2019’s Characters on a Wall), yields a program of fresh material penned by both musicians. Moussay’s writing, which comprises the lion’s share, comes into its own with smooth confidence from the start in the title track. Its invocational sound lends an air of providence to all that follows, which is indeed an unfolding of creative impulses into a grander narrative that takes shape one track at a time.
Extending the pianist’s signature is “Loma del Tanto.” A whispering keyboard introduces itself before the clarinet writes the names of faded others across a foggy window, breathing warm air to obscure them. This process repeats, each time a little bit differently, in a cycle of self-reflection. “None” has a more free-flowing quality. It seeks to spread anxieties until they are transparent enough to walk through. The slightly abstract and dissonant touches always return to harmonic resolutions, and the theme’s restatement assures us that all is well in the end. Other highlights from Moussay include the mysterious distortions of “L’heure du loup” and “Snow,” the latter an empathetic benediction that touches the past as if it were a physical substance.
If Sclavis’s voice, especially as spoken through the bass clarinet, is a multifaceted presence in these pieces, then so much more as a composer. Whether in the extradimensional fantasies of “L’étendue” or the phenomenally reactive improvising of “Somebody Leaves,” he is a master at delineating expressive space. In this and other respects, the album’s pinnacle is “A Garden in Ispahan.” Its piano arpeggios trace a wall of protection around the clarinet, whose lucid dreaming gives rise to an organic state flow. Like the set as a whole, it is a viewfinder into itself, ad infinitum.
Palle Mikkelborg trumpet, flugelhorn Jakob Bro guitar Marilyn Mazur percussion Recorded live at the Danish Radio Concert Hall Copenhagen, February 2023 Engineer: Thomas Vang Cover photo: Jan Kricke An ECM Production Release date: November 24, 2023
Recorded in February 2023 at the Danish Radio Concert Hall, this live performance convenes trumpeter Palle Mikkelborg, guitarist Jakob Bro, and percussionist Marilyn Mazur in what Bro has described as a “homecoming.” The trio’s free exploration of original material leaves the faintest of fingerprints on the air, so all we are left with are impressions, memories, and instincts to hold on to. And yet, for all their ephemerality, they are undeniably indelible.
Bro contributes most of the tunes, although to call them that risks undermining the quasi-physical stretching each undergoes before it coalesces into something recognizable. All the while, there is something familiar about even the most abstract passages of examination. The first proof of this theorem is Bro’s “Gefion,” an eponymous nod to his ECM leader debut. It opens with echoing horn, sparkling percussion (including bowed metals for added shimmer), and a web of dreams strung across the night to catch as many falling stars as possible in the afterglow. “Oktober” waters the same seeds, unfolding as a piece of paper, each rectangle a scene waiting to be sketched in by the writing instruments of memory. Mikkelborg is like a ghost in the background while Mazur’s hand drums flutter in search of a body to house it. The feeling of stasis is so profound as to hold the listener suspended between materiality and immateriality. By contrast, “Returnings” (co-written by Mikkelborg and Bro) brings a more wrought-iron sound to bear. Speaking in the language of guttural distortion, while electronics flash through the foreground, it brings plenty of fuel to keep it burning. Mazur’s ritualistic beatings imbue an ancient charge, finishing in gossamer stretches of wisdom.
The title track and the concluding “Lyskaster” find their composer weaving his guitar into a hammock. Its gentle sway gives life to the dreams of his bandmates, melting into a swath of desert where forces not only align but also pass through each other. Between them is Mikkelborg’s “Youth.” Mazur’s understated fervency gives color, while Bro expands the view beyond the stage to reveal a world without borders.
Fans of Jon Hassell will find much to admire in this album, which, of course, has its own feel for texture and storytelling. A special document for fans of any of these three musicians, if not all.
Dominique Pifarély violin François Couturier piano Recorded October 2023, Historischer Reistadel, Neumarkt Engineer: Markus Heiland Mixed April 2024 by Manfred Eicher and Michael Hinreiner (engineer) at Bavaria Musikstudios, Munich Cover photo: Woong Chul An Produced by Manfred Eicher Release date: January 24, 2025
What threw us together, shrieks apart, a worldstone, sun-distant, hums. –Paul Celan
The last duo session for ECM from pianist François Couturier and Dominique Pifarély was recorded in 1997 (Poros). Since then, these musicians have paved roads uniquely their own in span and material across the label’s catalog, but always with each other in sight. For this reunion, they explore an absorbing melange of originals and standards. Of the latter, we are treated to characteristically shifting interpretations of Jacques Brel’s “La chanson des vieux amants” and George Gershwin’s “I Loves You Porgy.” Pifarély’s instrument cuts a figure struggling to hold its shape in the wavering heat, its microtonal plasticity yielding haunting textures. Equal parts lyrical and contortional, both tunes find kindred company in Manning Sherwin’s “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley,” which manages to stay soulful throughout every twist and turn. With a touch of rain and softness on the horizon, it sings of clearer and brighter days before giving way to Pifarély’s “Les ombres II,” a spiral staircase turned inside out. Its counterpart, “Les ombres I,” begins the album with string-forward resolve, morphing into a reflective take on J. J. Johnson’s “Lament,” which barely disturbs the water’s surface before it fades. Further highlights abound in the violinist’s “Vague” and “What Us.” By turns brooding and whimsical, they prove that contemplation isn’t always pretty—nor must it be, until the decorations of hindsight fall into hand. Couturier’s colorations are astute and adaptive throughout. From pressing chords to baptismal sprinklings, there is much to savor. His own “Le surcroît I” and “Le surcroît II” cut against the grain of reality in the most intriguing way, time capsules of impressions saying only what needs to be said, while “Song for Harrison” (co-composed with Pifarély and named for Couturier’s cocker spaniel) playfully breaks into Duke Ellington’s “Solitude” for an artful contrast of layers. Each is a cipher that also serves as its solution, spinning the cryptex into new possibilities with every listen.
Benjamin Lackner piano Mathias Eick trumpet Mark Turner tenor saxophone Linda May Han Oh double bass Matthieu Chazarenc drums Recorded March 2024 at Studios La Buissonne Engineer: Gérard de Haro Mastering: Nicolas Baillard Cover: Fidel Sclavo Produced by Manfred Eicher Release date: January 17, 2025
After leaving a sizable footprint in ECM soil with Last Decade, pianist Benjamin Lackner takes us one step further with a fresh quintet, bringing us closer to a vision of identity. Although the music is more through-composed in the present context, it lends itself to the spontaneous inventions of trumpeter Mathias Eick, saxophonist Mark Turner, bassist Linda May Han Oh, and drummer Matthieu Chazarenc (a member of Lackner’s trio prior to ECM). From all of this emerges a moving picture that is equal parts brooding and hope.
The title track bids welcome with a reed-forward introduction, as the piano sweeps up and down its registers in the twinkling of cymbals before a flowing denouement ensues. Lackner’s pianism is revelatory yet humble, never appropriating center stage. Rather, he lets his allies speak—and speak they do. Whether it’s Turner’s forthright turns of phrase or Oh’s chameleonic acuity, this brew remains communal to the last drop.
The breezy beginning of “Mosquito Flats” shifts into an even breezier theme, where the wishes of an entire generation fade in favor of a timeless desire for harmony amid a slow-motion urban swing. The two horns forge tempered fire in exchange for the final recapitulation. Their duetting continues in “More Mesa,” another unassuming tune that is nevertheless robust in its way.
Chazarenc contributes “Chambary,” a track smothered in upbeat textures and wild (yet subtle) leaps, without a shred of pretension. It’s a highlight for being as deep as it is concise. It finds a genuine companion in “See You Again My Friend,” an especially tender vehicle for Eick, who later converses with Oh in safe seclusion from the dissonant strains of “Murnau.” By contrast, the feeling of anticipation in “Fair Warning” is almost unsettling, as if the fabric of reality could tear at any moment, revealing a nightmare.
I so appreciate Lackner’s willingness to blow-dry notes before they become too wet. This holds the listener’s attention and enlivens mid-tempo pieces like “Anacapa,” which also elicits my favorite solo on the album from the bandleader (neither can one forget Oh on “Ahwahnee,” where her touch sings of the very earth). And yet, no matter how much shadow clouds our vision, “Out Of The Fog” leaves behind an intimation of light. As it resolves into a collective hymnody, we see that the characters in this story have been seeking healing individually, only to find it in one another.
Spindrift is a screen lit by a single projector in an otherwise dark room. By focusing on the narratives before our eyes, it gives us the luxury of ignoring what lies behind them. Many of the films that repeatedly run through our minds are traumatic reflections of the media we consume daily. Here, we have an opportunity to engage with stories of wholesome reflection in which the soul needs no likes counter to validate itself.
Oded Tzur tenor saxophone Nitai Hershkovits piano Petros Klampanis double bass Cyrano Almeida drums Recorded November 2023 at Studios La Buissonne, Pernes-les-Fontaines Engineer: Gérard de Haro Mastering Nicolas Baillard Produced by Manfred Eicher Release date: June 7, 2024
For his third ECM album as leader, following the shadowy Here Be Dragons and the short but sweet Isabela, saxophonist Oded Tzur returns alongside pianist Nitai Hershkovits and bassist Petros Klampanis, plus drummer Cyrano Almeida (replacing Johnathan Blake from the previous lineup). A few years ago, I interviewed Tzur but neglected to incorporate our conversation into a review. However, I find that his answers remain as relevant to the present session as they were when he so graciously offered them, so I felt it appropriate to include his insights to enhance our regard for this latest star in his emerging constellation.
Rather than try to put his music into a rigid box—Is it Raga? Is it Jazz?—I asked whether Tzur would ever ascribe a “genre” to his musical style. His response:
“I call it ‘Deep Structure,’ which is a reference to Noam Chomsky’s theory of linguistics. Chomsky claims all languages share certain features that are concealed by surface elements, which he calls ‘Surface Structure.’ Sometimes, it does seem a little limited to put things in categories, especially when a work’s influence spectrum ranges from South Asia to North America. However, it isn’t completely false to place a piece of music in a continuum so people have a frame of reference. It’s just that those continuums are getting trickier nowadays because the world moves in the direction of unification, at least if we compare it to 100, 500, or 1000 years ago. My personal journey has led me to feel strongly that all musical traditions share certain elements, and while they also have distinct features and differences, those shared elements are crucial and often hidden. Joseph Campbell’s views on religion make the same point, in a way, where the commonalities between different mythologies are simply too precise and striking to be dismissed as coincidence. What Raga—the Indian melodic universe—shows us about sound and melody can be seen in synagogue prayers as well as the Blues.”
Taking these reflections to heart empowers us to hear the alpha in every omega, as embodied in “Epilogue,” which happens to initiate the set. Tzur’s uniquely vocal tone elicits a brief and resounding call to gather the remnants of our speech as an offering to something so deeply communicative that we can only resort to the fluid intensities of “Child You.” The second of six intimate tracks casts his metaphysical virtuosity as an inevitability rather than a choice. He finds a graceful interplay with Klampanis, whose inner feelings correlate one by one. Furthermore, his entanglement with Hershkovits provides ample room for our ears to breathe, building tone upon tone as a gradual monument of stones.
With so much focus on his sound, it’s only natural to ask about the many years of discipline and refinement (or is it unrefinement?) that go into it. How has it, I wonder, changed over time, and how does he see it possibly changing in the future?
“The process certainly began in Jazz for me, transcribing Dexter Gordon, John Coltrane, and many others. The encounter with Indian classical music and my time with Hariprasad Chaurasia was a pivotal turn because I didn’t want to play an Indian instrument; I felt like the sound I was hearing was another way or another version of the saxophone sound. The influence of Indian instruments, for which the octave is a continuous spectrum rather than 12 dots, has had on me is very significant. I followed Chaurasia’s sound as closely as possible for a number of years and didn’t want to give myself the excuse of ‘I’m playing the saxophone.’ For the future, I hope to continue to work on ways in which microtonality can be accessed on the saxophone, as well as aligning those techniques efficiently with the more traditional sound of the instrument.”
Consider that goal embraced in “Through A Land Unsown,” where that same human timbre arises into waking. Despite the softness of articulation, it reveals a hard-won truth that can only be possible when shedding enough desire to block the past from assaulting the flesh. The brilliance of his playing is that it never forgets the past, either, taking what it has learned without succumbing to its temptations of self-glorification. Klampanis’s solo here draws inspiration from that spirit. Again, Hershkovits carries this basket down a river of unexpected turns and textural currents, ultimately landing in the reeds where it was meant to be discovered. Throughout, Almeida conveys an uncanny ability to foresee every move the others make. His drive continues in “Renata,” forging a pulse within a pulse that lends itself to the heart without force while Tzur’s tenor navigates all of this with purposeful intuition. The drummer’s brushes are flashes of heat lightning in the title track, a muscular gift from above that works its way through nocturnal shades of meaning.
With so much to interpret in these inward gazes, what is Tzur’s greatest wish for his listener?
“Music is a way to learn about ourselves because music can create experiences that are revelatory in their nature. Learning history is also an excellent—and perhaps more urgently needed—way to learn about ourselves. Music is a more abstract form, like prayer or meditation. If I can create music that would reveal to people things that they didn’t know before—or, even better, knew and forgot—I would have fulfilled an important musical goal.”
And in the concluding “Last Bike Ride In Paris,” we find that ethos in full display. With a joyful sound, sunlit and smiling, the rhythm section connects telepathically as a cage for Tzur’s bird to sing and—eventually—transcend in flight to the next journey beyond the mountains. Some of his most inspired playing is to be found here, watering every root with an inspired future.
Although nothing about My Prophet necessarily implies a trilogy, the progression of album covers suggests otherwise. Whereas Here Be Dragons features standard typography and photography, Isabela shows a bordered image with black and blue typography. And now, we get only the latter against a white background. It’s as if the ornaments have been stripped away with every iteration. All of which proves that even with the flurry of notes, there is stillness to be savored. Like a hummingbird, Tzur’s playing works hard and at great expense of energy to hover in place.
Between Sound and Space: ECM Records and Beyond 