Jazz

Anat Fort Trio w/Gianluigi Trovesi: Birdwatching (ECM 2382)

| Tyran Grillo

Birdwatching

Anat Fort Trio
Gianluigi Trovesi
Birdwatching

Anat Fort piano
Gary Wang bass
Roland Schneider drums
Gianluigi Trovesi alto clarinet
Recorded November 2013, Auditorio Stelio Molo RSI, Lugano
Engineer: Stefano Amerio
Produced by Manfred Eicher
U.S. release date: April 8, 2016

On Birdwatching, Anat Fort’s third album for ECM, the Israeli pianist and composer proves once again that music is a journey without repetition. I trace this axiom back to her label debut, 2007’s A Long Story, from which “Something ’Bout Camels” carried over into the 2010 follow-up, And If. This time around, another tune from that same record—“Not The Perfect Storm”—makes a reappearance, now re-cloaked by the melodic overlay of Italian reedman Gianluigi Trovesi, who joins her trio with bassist Gary Wang and drummer Roland Schneider for her farthest-reaching record to date. The rumbling pianism of that latter track speaks at once to Fort’s illustrative prowess and willingness to sidestep its clichés. Indeed, beyond the thunder implied in the lower register of her keyboard, the broad wingspan of Trovesi’s alto clarinet speaks of clearer skies. The forces at work are greater than the sum of their parts, which over the course of six and a half minutes emit more light than they absorb.

Moved by this collaboration, I opened a recent interview with Fort by asking about Trovesi’s involvement—a partnership perhaps as inevitable as it was unexpected.

“Unlike with Paul Motian, I was never intimidated by working with Gianluigi. I really loved his work, which I’d known through ECM, and fate brought us together on stage for a jazz festival in Novara, Italy in 2013. A few months later, he joined my trio in Israel. He’s such a gentle and beautiful human being, so there was never any conflict. The only thing that gets in the way is the language barrier, but at any rate we communicate through the music.”

Case in point: “Earth Talks,” which finds them conversing as a duo. Like Fort herself, Trovesi seems to attract entire planetary systems into orbit than be gravitationally pulled into others. His chromatic inflections are the blood flow of her ebony and ivory veins, which pulse with solitude even as they drink in joyful praises. Trovesi walks over, never through, Fort’s articulate themes, so as not to disturb their archaeological integrity. Even when he joins the full trio, as in “Jumpin’ In” or “Murmuration,” his sinewy topography feels like grass in love with the soil. In other words: an affirmation of roots.

Neither does the trio engage with blatant exhibitionism, but finds unity—and utility—in the negative spaces that frame each intimate spectacle. Such alignment to the inner workings of faith gives the quartet all the oil it needs to burn through the collectively improvised “Inner Voices.” Though delicate and exploratory, it never breaks its stare. Such disparate elements reach deepest convergence in two variations of “Song Of The Phoenix,” in which the trio clears a path for Trovesi’s transformation from roaming to mourning. His rougher bending of pitch enhances the emotional gravity at hand. Wang and Schneider reveal themselves to be so much more than a rhythm section, but a listening organ attuned to every gradation. Which is not to say their individual talents are not forthcoming. In the trio-only “It’s Your Song,” Schneider’s drumming is remarkably fluent, moving with the insouciance of an Olympic ice-skater, while Wang’s kinetic solo lends the scene some much-needed heat.

It’s impossible for me to experience such gestures without reading biographical impulses behind each tune. The beauty of this record, as with all of them, is that Fort allows more than enough space for individual interpretation:

“I think that’s how I usually treat my music, or how my music treats me, I should say. It’s a very personal thing. I could even call it a private universe, which of course I’m trying to share by playing and putting out there. This recording is different for having so many short pieces, which wasn’t something we planned to do. But as [producer] Manfred [Eicher] and I started mixing it together, we did more editing than I’ve ever done. It clearly needed to be a story of vignettes. That was a surprise for me, and something that the music initiated, and which we answered collaboratively. As I say in the promo video, the music will convey its own story if you let it.”

Listening to what the music was saying led to Fort to add two improvised piano solos: “First Rays” and “Sun.” Added at the last minute, these became the first and last tracks of the final mix. Within this frame, the album is better able to balance color and monochrome.

On that note of production, Birdwatching marks the first time Fort has worked with Stefano Amerio at the Auditorio Stelio Molo RSI studio in Lugano, Switzerland, thus completing her unintended tour of ECM’s heavyweight engineers, rounded out by Jan Erik Kongshaug in Oslo (And If) and James Farber in New York (A Long Story).

“Each of these experiences has been great,” Fort admits, “and Stefano has a great ear. It was very special to record at the RSI studio, because you record live, setting up on a stage in a very small auditorium without headphones or dividers. It’s really unique to do it that way, and he knows how to record so that it feels live but also clean enough to be crafted.”

One can hear this especially in “Meditation For A New Year,” which boasts some of Fort’s most soulful playing on record, but keeps its expansiveness within reason in search of a major chord. Like “Milarepa,” of which only the first of three parts appears on this album, it indicates a new phase of self-expression, a turning of the ear toward the self to know what may become of love.

Yelena Eckemoff Quartet: Everblue

| Tyran Grillo

Everblue

Everblue introduces the Yelena Eckemoff Quartet, for which the Russian-born pianist is joined by a trio of ECM’s Norwegian regulars—saxophonist Tore Brunborg, bassist Arild Andersen, and drummer Jon Christensen—in what amounts to her most sublime effort to date. All the more so for being recorded at Oslo’s hallowed Rainbow Studio, with none other than Jan Erik Kongshaug at the helm. That it is self-produced like Eckemoff’s previous albums shows the commitment with which she has paved her road.

Since dedicating herself as a jazz recording artist, Eckemoff has intrigued at every stage of development, as with each new release she draws bigger and bigger names into her circle. More than any other, this album shows just how far she has grown from her purely classical roots. That’s not to say she’s let go of them entirely. On the title track, as well as “Sea-Breeze,” she solos tentatively at best. One can hear her struggling against the rigidity of her training to branch toward improvisatory skies, and the learning process, as for any musician, will for her be lifelong. But here she is among masters of the field whose very presence audibly rubs off as synergy begins to take hold. Between Brunborg’s golden veils, Andersen’s sagacious wisdom, and Christensen’s peerless feel for coloration, her allies are like the tide: they ebb and flow with surety.

Yelena Eckemoff Quartet promo photo
(Photo credit: Odd Geir Sæther)

Two aquatically themed tracks are, in fact, among Eckemoff’s best, “Waves & Shells” boasting evocative dialogue between her and Brunborg and showing the pianist in her element. “Skyline” is just as painterly, Eckemoff and Brunborg again sounding beautifully off each other over the rhythm section’s tectonic support. This time the leader’s soloing is more thoughtful and confident, blending organically into Andersen’s own. Eckemoff shines when the lights are low, as in the tenderer glow of “Blue Lamp” and “Abyss,” in both of which she draws clear and present inspiration from the saxophonist.

Brunborg is an especially vital component of these interlocking puzzles, but Andersen and Christensen bring especial wonders to bear on “All Things, Seen and Unseen,” over which Eckemoff’s pianism skirts genre lines, brushing sparkle into the robust currents of her bandmates. A spry solo from Andersen toward the end speaks of younger memories. “Ghost of the Dunes” highlights Christensen, who contrasts light splashes of cymbal with deeper drums. But it’s Andersen, with his two originals, “Prism” and “Man,” who brings out the best in Eckemoff. Thus freed from the tunnel vision of her own writing, she attains freshness of sound. One can only hope, in light of her obvious excitement, that she will tackle more jazz works by others in the future, if only to see how much she might flower still.

Errol Rackipov Group: pictures from a train window

| Tyran Grillo

pictures from a train window

With pictures from a train window, Bulgarian-born vibraphonist and composer Errol Rackipov debuts his eponymous group with guitarist Hristo Vitchev, reedman Lubomir Gospodinov, pianist Martin Bejerano, bassist Josh Allen, and drummer Rodolfo Zuniga. Listening to the groove laid down by the bandleader on “Mad Djore,” it won’t come as any surprise that the mallet man studied under greats Gary Burton and Ed Saindon. But there’s also an underlying sensibility that is uniquely his own, and which he expresses in his ability to keep his musicians in focus.

The ever-prolific Vitchev trades his normally outgoing smoothness for the back road, architecting his virtuosity distinctly in “Folk Dance” but for the most part content in providing tender underpinnings. Gospodinov carries the band into nostalgic territory on “Far Away From Here, A Long Time Ago,” where his sopranism reveals the art of a genuinely melodic improviser. Then there’s Allen, whose bassing draws triple-metered spirals in “Dill Man,” also a fine vehicle for Bejerano’s pianism. As for Zuniga, he is the heartbeat of heartbeats, anchoring the set from start to finish with chameleonic ability.

Yet despite, if not also because of, these contributions, pictures is Rackipov’s baby through and through. He is a consummate player who shows not only the skin but the internal organs, and whose geometric styling leaves few facets un-rendered. Be it the Eastern European folksiness of “Jumble” and “The Other (Wrong) Way,” the sparkling dialoguing with Vitchev in “Wild River,” or laid-back beauties of the title track, he spins the wheel with assurance and tenderness. As on the final “Once A Mother Had A Child” by Dimitar Ianev, the only non-original of the album, his attention to structure leaves an aftertaste that is clean, sonorous, and itinerant, making for a lovely addition to any vibraphone enthusiast’s shelf.