Forever Young, Jacob Young.
Midwest, Mathias Eick.
Since Keith Jarrett and Jan Garbarek popularized their unique blend of jazz and European folk music in the 1970s, a steady stream of subsequent ECM releases have kept that tradition alive. Two recent standouts in the catalogue come from Norway: one from guitarist Jacob Young and another from trumpeter Mathias Eick. Refreshing for their emphasis on melody over chops, both records are enticing looks at the current state of Scandinavian jazz.
In addition to being a pun on its artist’s name, “Forever Young” shares its title with German band Alphaville’s 1984 hit single. This could be a coincidence, but it doesn’t seem like one; Young’s writing is nuanced and sophisticated, but it also draws heavily on pop tropes. Several tracks reference dancing in their titles, and even more of them rest atop Young’s syncopated guitar grooves. The aptly titled “Bounce” is built on a crisp backbeat and features a hypnotic melody delivered with vocallike flair by saxophonist and fellow Norwegian Trygve Seim. It can be hard to tell when Seim is playing melody and when he is improvising, and this is a good thing: his subtle solos snake naturally out of simple motifs, showcasing his malleable tone above all else. For his rhythm section, Young enlisted the longstanding Polish trio of Marcin Wasilewski, Slawomir Kurkiewicz, and Michal Miskiewicz, who deliver a tasteful and sensitive foundation for Young and Seim. Particularly notable is Miskiewicz, who plays everything from rock grooves to odd time signatures with a Paul Motian-like sense of economy.
2014, ECM.
Though it includes track names like “Fargo” and “Dakota,” Mathias Eick’s new disc doesn’t sound particularly more “American” than his past work. Using images of the midwestern United States as inspiration, the trumpeter’s new album features his signature blend of ethereal grooves and cinematic melodies, yet with perhaps a more ramshackle feel than previous projects. In lieu of a drummer, Eick enlisted percussionist Helge Norbakken, who builds grooves by hitting stray cymbals and hand drums. Backing up Eick’s flute-like tone on the melodies is violinist Gjermund Larson, whose mere presence plays up the folk-song nature of these tunes. “Midwest” is more atmospheric than indelible, but it’s a sonically rich and technically impressive showcase for an underrated trumpet voice.
2015, ECM.
Clarity, Unhinged Sextet.
Here/There, Adam Shulman Sextet.
These two recent entries in the ever-expanding and always impressive Origin/OA2 catalogue both feature polished straight- ahead arrangements realized by remarkably tight six-piece groups. The Unhinged Sextet, a band composed of players from around the country, sounds straight out of a 1980s Art Blakey set, with burning tempos and sprawling modal solos; pianist Michael Kocour is particularly reminiscent of a more reserved McCoy Tyner or Kenny Kirkland. With contributions from each member, the compositions are always intriguing and lushly arranged. For all the technical flair that these musicians possess, the most rewarding tracks are the slower tunes: the gentle waltz “Too Deep,” for instance, begins with a winding melody passed back and forth by the horns over icy piano chords, but the tune plunges headfirst into a medium swing that becomes a test of rhythmic dexterity. Kocour and tenor player Matt Olson pass with flying colors, just as elsewhere the album offers shining moments from alto saxophonist Will Campbell, trumpeter Vern Sielert, Jon Hamar on bass, and the steady confidence of drummer Don Moio. Many of these players are also educators, which shows in their textbook mastery of the craft. But this is all despite the fact that, like textbooks, this polished sextet can sometimes come off a tad dry.
2015, OA2 Records.
Pianist Adam Shulman’s group is another collection of accomplished straight-ahead players, in this case all based in San Francisco. The music here is reminiscent of Joe Henderson’s 1960s repertoire, with ample Elvin Jones-esque swing and Afro- Cuban grooves. On the opener, “Grant and Green,” which is named after a beloved watering hole near Coit Tower, an angular melody makes way for a burning improvisation from trumpeter Mike Olmos. Tenorman Rob Roth’s playing is also full of fire, but he struggles to lock in with the rhythm section. Patrick Wolff fares better on alto, favoring a fluid approach punctuated with strategically placed accents. On drums and bass, respectively, Smith Dobson and John Wiitala (a frequent Randy Porter sideman) conjure up a pleasantly bouncy swing. Shulman’s rolling bebop lines may not stand out among the ensemble, but only because he’s gathered such a fine band to surround him.
2015, OA2 Records.
Restraint, Catfish.
The first thing you hear on Catfish’s debut album is a soft, sustained chord voiced by saxophone and guitar; the last thing you hear is a wandering free improvisation. In between, this album offers a beautiful and utterly unpredictable ride. The latest release in the PJCE Records catalogue, the album is the brainchild of Joe Cunningham, a Michigan transplant and Blue Cranes member who here plays sax and keys in collaboration with guitarist Dan Duval and drummer Ken Ollis.
The music on the album is rooted in improvisation, yet these pieces have been carefully constructed. Many of the longer songs, such as “The Sea Makes the Rules,” consist mainly of slow-burning rock grooves, with Cunningham loosely constructing tasteful melody. On top of the core trio’s playing, though, Cunningham has added layers of strings, saxophones, and keyboard instruments to augment the drone-like chord progressions and lend a lush, orchestrated quality to the often loose compositions. “Restraint” is indeed the key word here, as the tracks never get much louder than whisper volume. But even so, each moment seems to arrive like a bullet out of nowhere. On “Hamamatsu,” for instance, the band begins with a quiet, free-time rumble, with Duval laying a gentle melody on top. Yet this stability is fleeting: soon, the melody collapses and swells into a gentle cacophony.
It’s refreshing to hear improvised music so unconcerned with convention, and even more impressive that the pieces work so well.
2015, PJCE Records.
Creating Structure, Rich Halley 4.
There are many improvisers in the world who are much more freewheeling—perhaps even more virtuosic—than tenorman Rich Halley. But in the context of his band, Halley’s playing fits just right. Indeed, the Rich Halley 4 has been working together for ten years, and even if their all-over-the-place style isn’t your cup of tea, their cohesion is undeniable. The band’s newest record is a sprawling, often unwieldy affair that nonetheless remains electrifying.
Halley’s tone is big and rough, like that of Coleman Hawkins or even Pharaoh Sanders. He isn’t afraid to shy away from melody: often, as on the opening track “Analog Counterpoint,” Halley plays melodic, even bebop-informed ideas over the rhythm section’s controlled chaos. It’s a technique that recalls Ornette Coleman’s adherence to blues licks, and it works particularly well in concert with some of the less tonal pieces on the program. Even when his lines become less logical, Halley rarely devolves into saxophonic shapelessness; his playing is marked by clarity and attention to each note. Trombonist Michael Vlatkovitch is more content with sliding around the horn, a technique that often works as a foil to Halley’s more precise style. But Vlatkovitch can play Halley’s game, too. Counterpointheavy compositions like “Metal Buzz” feature the horn players in a duel, trading off stabs and repeating notes until finally agreeing on a ceasefire.
Perhaps most remarkably, this is a surprisingly traditionalsounding record. The rhythm section of bassist Clyde Reed and drummer Carson Halley are most often founding swinging away, and the two-horn interaction is just a freer update of tradjazz practices. For all its randomness, Halley’s music maintains firm roots.
2015, Pine Eagle Music.
Live Beauty, John Stowell/Michael Zilber Quartet.
This live meeting of two West-Coast powerhouses succeeds precisely because it’s not the kind of combustible collision that many all-star collaborations can become. You can probably thank guitarist John Stowell for that: he’s got chops for days, but actively avoids setting fires. Instead, he sits back and plays only the right things. The answer also lies in the instrumentation. With no piano (and particularly with Stowell in the guitar chair), the music feels wide open. Chords are implied, but never thrown in your face. And then there’s saxophonist Mike Zilber, who seems to channel Charles Lloyd at times when interpreting the melodies of the original tunes performed here.
But Zilber’s not always game to play along with the cool vibes at play. Take the opener, a tune by drummer Jason Lewis called “In the Park.” After a chilled-out solo from Stowell, Zilber decides to turn up the juice. And while Stowell doesn’t match the volume of Zilber’s Michael Brecker-esque high notes or Lewis’s thunderous tom-toms, his accompaniment is almost furiously active.
Most of the tracks here are originals, oscillating between free improvisation and gentle ECM-style groove tunes. Toward the end of the set, though, Stowell and Zilber engage in an ethereal duet that slides abruptly into a playful take on “My Funny Valentine” (or is it “Everything Happens to Me”? both melodies are heard). Switching from tenor to soprano for this number, Zilber keeps his version of the melody understated, though he does pop the occasional high note out from nowhere. Stowell limits his accompaniment to single notes, sliding around the fretboard and filling up the space that Zilber leaves him. Like many other riveting moments on this disc, it must have been particularly rewarding to sit in that room and watch the song unfold out of nowhere.
2015, Origin Records.
Ramshackle Serenade, Larry Goldings/Peter Bernstein/Bill Stewart.
This organ trio, often billed just under Larry Goldings’ name, comprises some of the top players in New York, and at this point, they’ve perfected their formula: a couple grooving original tunes and some off-the-beaten-track standards, executed with taste and efficiency. The strategy certainly doesn’t fail them here. All three of the players are more content with creating interesting textures than shining as soloists, and the result is a disc full of interaction and nuanced dynamic range.
“Roach,” the bluesy Goldings composition that opens the album, sounds like something off a John Scofield record, with Peter Bernstein’s ultra-clean guitar tone perhaps the only indicator that this is a different band. The track never reaches fever pitch, but it is full of action, most often thanks to drummer Bill Stewart’s always-chattering left hand. The solos don’t seem to end, but flow into each other like chapters of a book; when Stewart begins his rumbling solo over a vamp, it might take a few seconds to realize the torch has been passed.
The band proves it can definitely cook, but the focus here is actually mostly ballads. The title track is a gentle rubato number that lets Bernstein and Goldings play with an almost child-like melody. The group also covers a late-period Jobim ballad, “Luiza,” and add a gently grooving solo section to the middle of it. Two very recognizable tunes also appear: the band’s version of “Sweet and Lovely” swings hard and gains some new changes, and the album ends with a textbook rendition of the Horace Silver ballad “Peace.” Do we really need another album of medium swingers and pleasant forays into the jazz songbook? Maybe not, but I’ll take anything I can get from these guys.
2014, Pirouet.
Orphic Machine, Ben Goldberg.
Clarinetist Ben Goldberg could have alienated a lot of people with this most ambitious of his many extremely ambitious projects. A dissection of poet and critic Allen Grossman’s writings, realized by a nonet of eccentric jazz musicians, and cycling through various folk styles? Sounds like a lot to swallow, but remarkably, Goldberg has made his dense subject matter completely accessible without watering anything down. At times, the album sounds more like an avant-garde folk or pop record than a jazz record, with Grossman’s meditations on poetry sung smoothly by singer/violinist Carla Kinseldt. Then Nels Cline will jump in with a guitar solo, coated in distortion, followed by a lush chord that sounds like modern chamber music. And if you dig your music with a little klezmer and tango mixed in, they’ve got that, too.
To help with his project, Goldberg has enlisted a formidable ensemble of allies, all of whom are as content to blend into the ensemble as they are immensely idiosyncratic soloists. Trumpeter Ron Miles gets his moment to shine on the hazy “Line of Less than Ten,” but can most often be heard atop the other horn voices. Pianist Myra Melford and vibraphonist Kenny Wollesen are often the backbone of the album’s gentler moments, but the more aggressive movements are driven by the tough unit of Cline, bassist Greg Cohen and drummer Chas Smith. The slightly wacky “Bongoloid Lens” begins with a unison theme that then devolves into free playing, but Cohen and Smith just keep swinging harder amid the noise. But this is always Goldberg’s show; from the beauty to the chaos, his touch is evident in every moment of this modern jazz epic.
2015, The Royal Potato Family.
Take This, Jacky Terrasson.
An accomplished straight-ahead pianist, Terrasson has made a career out of linking jazz with music around the world. Nowhere has this desire been more apparent than on his Impulse debut, which might be his most sprawling project yet. For this collection of groove-based originals and standards, Terrasson has enlisted, among others, Malian percussionist Adama Diarra, Cuban drummer Lukmil Perez, and most interestingly of all, Sly Johnson, an African-French vocalist/beatboxer. A dissection of poet and critic Allen Grossman’s writings, realized by a nonet of eccentric jazz musicians, and cycling through various folk styles? Sounds like a lot to swallow, but remarkably, Goldberg has made his dense subject matter completely accessible.
The original tunes are certainly compelling here—the labyrinthine opener, “Kiff,” is particularly great, a sunny showcase for Johnson’s wordless vocals—but Terrasson seems to have emphasized the covers here. We get an odd-meter calypso version of the Beatles’ “Come Together,” a surprisingly traditional version of Miles Davis’s “Blue in Green,” and not one, but two takes of “Take Five.” Neither of these versions are particularly recognizable, though both retain the original’s 5/4 meter. “Take Five - Take 1” is lively, percussion- heavy, and only references the original melody sporadically. The second version, on the other hand, feels like an acid-tinged R&B slow jam, with Johnson slow-dancing around the melody and Terrasson trading off between piano and a heavily filtered keyboard.
The most surprising cover, however, is the album’s version of the 2011 pop hit, “Somebody That I Used to Know,” by Australian singer-songwriter Gotye. Terrasson’s version is not entirely a success: those familiar with the tune might find it farcical, while to the unfamiliar listener, the piece will surely come off as a fragmented collection of simple melodies over a compelling but minimal groove. Thankfully, this isn’t the end of the record. Terrasson and company close with an acoustic ballad called “Letting Go,” a high point on the album and a showcase for the pianist’s impeccable touch.
2015, Impulse.