Oded Tzur
My Prophet

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.

Oded Tzur
Here Be Dragons

Oded Tzur tenor saxophone
Nitai Hershkovits piano
Petros Klampanis double bass
Johnathan Blake drums
Recorded June 2019, Auditorio Stelio Molo RSI, Lugano
Engineer: Stefano Amerio
Cover photo: Jean-Guy Lathuilière
Produced by Manfred Eicher
Release date: February 14, 2020

Born in Tel Aviv and based in New York, tenor saxophonist Oded Tzur could not have found a more suitable home than ECM for his gentle brand of jazz. His uniquely tonal approach to the instrument, channeled through a rare melodic purity, make for a powerful combination. Heavily schooled in Indian classical music, he treats each tune as a raga in and of itself, and uses likeminded structures in distinctly jazz-oriented parallels to unleash the inner life of every motif. Ensuring that nothing goes to waste are his trusted crew of pianist Nitai Hershkovits, bassist Petros Klampanis, and drummer Johnathan Blake.

After a tender yet angular introduction, “To Hold Your Hand” ushers in a dimly lit performance that relies more on the contour of sound than on the sound of contour. Tzur lends an ear to both internal and external travels, and gives the listener over to possibilities of metaphysical experience. His saxophone, despite being rooted in the body, seems without one, taking on instead the skin of a cosmic animal stealth-walking through constellations—bending but never breaking the shapes we’ve come to interpret.

The emotional beauty of Tzur’s playing reaches its zenith in “20 Years,” which marks the period of time since his father’s death. As Tzur notes in the CD booklet, “I could feel that my father was somehow present in the room, and it was as if I was having a conversation with him.” In this respect, he converses not only with the dead but also with the living. Blake’s brushwork is exquisite in the trio section. Klampanis and Hershkovits intertwine as equal partners while Tzur drops into Child’s Pose for a spell. By the time he resurfaces, his solo is so attuned that every inhalation and exhalation is matched to the contractions and expansions of its surroundings.

The band shifts with barely a forethought between three solo “Miniatures.” The first, played by Hershkovits, is a balance of sparkle and shadow. The second, by Klampanis, is contemplative and touched by grace. The third, from the bandleader, sings like a flute carved from an ancient tree. This leads us to the masterstroke of “The Dream.” Despite being upbeat, a certain embrace of shadow prevents it from being a dance. Hershkovits is particularly ebullient and gives voice to love, while Blake adds a traction so tactile it makes one want to hold on to it. Just as the preceding tunes give robustness to gentility, so does this one give airiness to strength, as embodied in the continuous energy linking every note from Tzur’s lips. At last, we touch down in a surprising landing strip called “Can’t Help Falling In Love.” Made famous by Elvis Presley in Blue Hawaii, it brims with nostalgia. Though undoubtedly familiar, it takes on a life of its own, divorced from popular association and remarried to the listener in real-time ceremony.

It is worth noting that the album’s title refers to HIC SVNT DRACONES, a Latin phrase that once marked uncharted territory on medieval maps. Tzur has indeed set out on a voyage into dangerous waters, understanding the risks of never seeing that which is confirmed only in myth. Such spirit is evoked with gentility in the eponymous track that opens the set, working its way into the center of our humbled attention. Even when the waves pick up, bringing with them hints of the unknown, Tzur relies on his bandmates to keep the sails hoisted and the deck free of debris, so that only they and their integrity may set foot upon shifting sands at landfall.