The Free Jazz Collective

Torino Jazz Festival 2026

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Wed, 13 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

TJF 2026 (Aprile 25th-May 2nd)

April 25th, Liberation Day, is a national holiday particularly felt in Turin, a city that was the heart of the partisan resistance to Nazi-Fascism. In these times of right-wing resurgence infecting our lives almost everywhere, it is even more meaningful to celebrate it. For the jazz addicted, the date coincides with the start of the Torino Jazz Festival, now in its 14th edition: in addition to the concerts’ schedule, lectures and films celebrate the centenary of the births of Miles Davis and John Coltrane. Below is a synopsis of what we saw.

Photo: Acid Rain Production

Interviews excerpts: La Stampa

FABRIZIO BOSSO “ABOUT TEN” - April 25 (Teatro Colosseo)

The great trumpet virtuoso pays homage to Ellington and Gillespie with his group (Julian Oliver Mazzariello on piano, Jacopo Ferrazza on double bass, and Nicola Angelucci on drums) expanded to include six young talents (Stefano Bergamaschi, Andrea Priola on trumpets, Didier Yon on trombone, Lorenzo Simoni on alto saxophone, Sophia Tomelleri on tenor saxophone, and Andrea Iurianello on baritone saxophone) for refined and swinging arrangements that bring a fresh take on the great classics and an intriguing interpretation of his own songs. Our main courses in the Festival’s menu are different, but it's gonna be a marathon, better to start off calmly and then, as Ken Vandermark teaches us, it's a good and healthy habit to take a dose of Duke whenever we can.

MARC RIBOT HURRY RED TELEPHONE - April 26 (Hiroshima Mon Amour)

After last fall's intimate concert at the Folk Club in support of Map of a Blue City, Marc Ribot returns to the city with his new group/project Hurry Red Telephone and, as expected, the sold-out venue is hit by a magnitude 9 tsunami. If it was well known that Chad Taylor is one of the drummers writing the history of nowadays drumming, less predictable and totally jaw-dropping was the metronomic, telluric fury of double bassist Sebastian Steinberg (anyone here remember Soul Coughing?). Orderly and precise, even too entangled in the score, Briggan Krauss's alto contribution alternates in a crazy, hyper-noise-saturated piece with the second guitar, reminiscent of the most ferocious Bill Orcutt. Marc described the group to us like this: “It was a trio with Chad Taylor and Henry Grimes that has created some of the best improvisations I’ve ever been involved in. I’ve wanted to continue collaborating with Chad ever since Henry passed away. And with this band, I’ve finally found the right lineup. Sebastian Steinberg was my favorite in the late ’80s and early ’90s, before he moved to Los Angeles. He and Chad make a truly exceptional rhythm section, the two most intuitive musicians I’ve ever known and Briggan Krauss is an extraordinary alto saxophonist.” What Ribot brings out, however, hunched over his old amplified acoustic guitar, is always astonishing: whether it’s picking or strumming, noisy no-punk or mellow calypso arpeggios, his signature asserts itself, whatever the declination, in a peculiar way, never predictable or self-indulgent, as only top notch players can offer. A double encore loudly demanded by the roaring audience and a final "loving" tribute to Donald with "Aliens in the White House" send us off to bed happily.

FYI, in the same interview, Marc assured us that the stop in Berlin before leaving for Japan with the Cubanos will be used to record their debut album. To say we can't wait to hear it is an understatement...

MORGENBARN - April 27 (Teatro Juvarra)

A recently formed Italian-Estonian-German trio, characterized by the compositional and performing flair of its members, Matteo Poggi (trombone, electronics), Maria Faust (alto sax, electronics), and Tilo Weber (drums, percussion, vibraphone). Formed after a chance meeting at the 2024 Sudtirol Jazzfestival and an impromptu concert, they sparked an explosive chemistry. Their performance exudes naturalness, freedom and curiosity, resulting in a captivating and courageous sound that respects no boundaries: Weber's vibraphone and drumming set the stage for Faust's explosive sax, while Poggi, alternating between trombone and electronics, enriches the mix phenomenally. We weren't familiar with them and they were really a pleasant surprise.

FUNK OFF + VOX ARTIFICIOSA “THIS IS NOT AN ORCHESTRA” - April 27 (Teatro Alfieri)

Take Funkoff, a historic large Italian ensemble founded 28 years ago by Dario Cecchini and composed of three trumpets (Paolo Bini, Nicola Cellai, Emiliano Bassi), two baritone saxophones (Giacomo Bassi, Nicola Cipriani), two alto saxophones (Sergio Santelli, Tiziano Panchetti), two tenor saxophones (Andrea Pasi, Claudio Giovagnoli), a sousaphone (Giordano Gerini), a snare drum (Francesco Bassi), a bass drum (Alessandro Suggelli), cymbals (Luca Bassani) and percussion (Daniele Bassi); add to that the group Vox Artificiosa led by Cristina Zavalloni, one of the most incredible voices on the international scene, accompanied by Rise Beatbox (vocal beatboxer), Mario Marzi (soprano, alto, baritone sax) and Achille Succi (alto sax, bass clarinet) and how high could be the risk of an indigestible music meal, such as pineapple on the pizza? High, of course, very high. Instead, contrary to all expectations, the two worlds merge, collide, dialogue and break down in smaller groups, then they recompose themselves into a "Not Orchestra" that unleashes thermonuclear energy, imposing a new language that erases the original elements. The arrangements of the two leaders, Dario Cecchini and Achille Succi, allow Cristina's stratospheric baroque "bel canto" to intertwine admirably with the wind instruments, the vocal beat of Rise, the percussive street dance and the jazzy cavalcades of the orchestral reeds. "James Brown and Handel dance arm in arm," their press release reads, and believe us, they really did.

SLIDERS - April 28 (Teatro Juvarra)

As modest jazz chroniclers, we always willingly rely on the Great Academics who write on the Free Jazz Collective, ensuring that this forum is "The only forum that matters," to quote The Clash. So, should the Professors be aware of any group, other than this one we're writing about, consisting solely of three trombones, please tell us, they know where to find us. As far as we know, the Sliders (Federico Vignato, Federico Pierantoni, and Lorenzo Manfredini) represent a unique ensemble, capable of demonstrating the unique versatility of this instrument, exploring its infinite timbral possibilities in a way that's never boring or repetitive. Brave and courageous guys.

FYI, their self-titled album, released in the fall of 2024 by Hora Records, features original compositions alongside reinterpretations of John Coltrane, Egberto Gismonti, Carla Bley and Duke Ellington.

NORMA WINSTONE & GLAUCO VENIER - April 28 (Teatro Monterosa)

Seen a few months ago as a trio, again with Venier on piano, one of the legends of British jazz returns to the city. Throughout her long and extraordinary career, she has helped redefine the role of the voice and its relationship to sound in contemporary jazz. The duo, formed in 1999, continues the journey Norma embarked on with Kenny Wheeler, John Taylor, Steve Swallow and her historic ECM recordings, which testify to her unique vocal work, thanks to which she remains an essential figure in vocal jazz. The timbre, verve, and stage presence, despite her age, remain dazzling.

GIORGIO LI CALZI & SIMONE SIMS LONGO “THEATRUM ANATOMICUM” - April 29 (Palazzo degli Istituti Anatomici)

Call it “site specific”: anatomical analysis of sound, disintegrated and recomposed into new forms, a musical autopsy report made of noise and silence, light and darkness, with the audience, in the semicircular University hall, focused and engaged in the unveiling of the sonic sphere and visual perception offered by the great Li Calzi (trumpet, analog, digital and electromechanical instruments) and Sims Longo (electroacoustic computer music, visual score). The intermedial performance, featuring synthetic textures, manipulated samples and ever-changing sensory environments, is fully functional and the location (the University's Anatomy Institute) adds further impact.

FRANCO D’ANDREA TRIO “SOMETHING BLUESY AND MORE” - April 29 (Teatro Monterosa)

It's impossible not to pay homage to the great Maestro, creator of some of the most extraordinary piano works known (for those who haven't already, listen to the recordings with the Modern Art Trio featuring Franco Tonani and Bruno Tommaso). Here, he blends his distinctive rhythmic and intervallic inventions with early blues and the scores of Ellington and Coltrane, accompanied by the amazing Roberto Gatto on drums (a collaborator with George Coleman, Enrico Pieranunzi, Chet Baker, John Scofield, John Abercrombie, Billy Cobham, Richard Galliano, Joe Zawinul, and Pat Metheny, among others) and the young Gabriele Evangelista on double bass, offering a free and communicative performance, in which D’Andrea's marvelous centrifugal thrusts are held in orbit by the gravity of the Blues Planet. A moving, well deserved, final ovation from the sold-out theater greets D’Andrea and his pards.

ITALIAN INSTABILE ORCHESTRA “PLAYS ELLINGTON” - April 30 (Casa Teatro Ragazzi e Giovani)

It’s Duke time again. After years of hiatus, the legendary Orchestra, founded in 1990 (which has hosted giants such as Giorgio Gaslini and Mario Schiano during its career) is back. Today, the band features Gianluigi Trovesi (alto saxophone, alto clarinet), Daniele Cavallanti (tenor saxophone), Roberto Ottaviano (soprano saxophone), Carlo Actis Dato (baritone saxophone, bass clarinet), Pino Minafra (didjeridoo, megaphone), Alberto Mandarini, Fulvio Sigurtà, Flavio Davanzo (trumpets), Giampiero Malfatto, Sebi Tramontana, Lauro Rossi (trombones), Emanuele Parrini (violin), Paolo Damiani (cello), Giovanni Maier (double bass), Fabrizio Puglisi (piano), Tiziano Tononi (drums), Vincenzo Mazzone (percussion), and is conducted and arranged by Giancarlo Schiaffini. The absolute caliber of the musicians, the stylistic signature of the large unity, at the service of Ellington's scores, ensure that the equation is perfectly resolved after the very first notes.

FRANCESCA TANDOI + JAZZ ACOUSTIC STRINGS QUARTET - April 30 (Teatro Monterosa)

With over 20 recordings under her belt (three as pianist for Scott Hamilton's quartet) and significant international critical acclaim for her album "Bop Wep," the captivating Francesca Tandoi is now one of the most prominent figures in contemporary European jazz. This concert brings to the stage the project linked to her latest album, "Hope," in which her trio (Stefano Senni on piano and Pasquale Fiore on drums) dialogues with a string quartet (Cesare Carretta, Silvia Maffeis on violins, Monica Vetrini on viola and Enrico Guerzoni on cello, Cristiano Arcelli on arrangements), blending piano virtuosity, orchestral writing and contemporary sensibility. Class and charme galore.

LISA ULLEN “TRANSPOSING SUN” - May 1 (Teatro Juvarra)

No one better than the Seoul-born, Stockholm-based pianist can describe what we heard: “explorations of life through sound, using rhythmic and melodic fragments, seeking to create music with multiple layers where different textures and rhythms can intertwine.” The concert centers on the song “After Sun,” from the 2024 album “Heirloom” (The Wire album of the year) in which, with the assistance of composer and sound engineer John Chantler, Lisa explores the possibilities of the piano and the unique sonority of the hall, enveloping the audience in a peculiar soundscape. Yet another confirmation of the terrific power of women in free music.

BILL FRISELL & EYVIND KANG “THE GREAT FLOOD” - May 1 (Lingotto Auditorium)

The film The Great Food is the result of a collaboration between director Bill Morrison (Oscar-nominated for “Incident” and author of Decasia, the first film of the third millennium to be included in the US Library of Congress) and Bill Frisell. The film was inspired by the catastrophic Mississippi flood of 1927, the largest in American history; an event of immense proportions that affected thousands of people, especially African Americans, who were forced to emigrate to the North. The catastrophe also changed music, starting with the blues and its protagonists, some of whom had witnessed the flood and recounted it in their songs: electric blues was beginning to blossom. In 2012, Morrison found and assembled the filmed testimonies of that catastrophe in unparalleled evocative forms and Frisell created a visionary musical narrative, presented here in a previously unreleased duo version with violinist Eyvind Kang. Frisell told us: “Morrison and I have often collaborated, but he would simply take pieces of mine and superimpose them on his images, but here we worked side by side. We went first to Memphis, then to New Orleans and finally up the Mississippi: almost a century has passed since then, but it's as if history were repeating itself, amidst political mistakes, ecological disasters and corruption. At first, the other musicians looked at the score, trying to learn it, then, over time, the images and music became a unified whole that took on a life of their own.” The film is amazing, as is the perfectly calibrated and coherent soundtrack, while some around us were disappointed that Frisell hadn't played any blues pieces (!), finding the concert boring (!!).

IRREVERSIBLE ENTANGLEMENTS - May 1st (Hiroshima mon Amour)

Three years later, here they are back in town for an event we'd marked in our calendar with indelible ink and the extraordinary concert that brings the Festival towards its end, not only doesn't disappoint, but exceeds the expectations, shattering them. With two long suites centered around their recently released album, "Future Present Past” and a final percussive sabbath, Irreversible Entanglements take no prisoners: the rhythm section of Luke Stewart and Tcheser Holmes is an unstoppable driving force, same as the locomotive in the film "Runaway Train", Keir Neuringer tirelessly alternates between sax, keyboards, gong and triangle, Aquiles Navarro, as he puts down his trumpet, plays percussions, melodica, bone horn and even a large conch shell! And then, of course, there's Moor Mother, the Voice (or better, the Scream) of Black Awareness, whose presence and magnetic charisma (unmatched on the planet today) captivate an ecstatic audience: from hip-hop or call-and-response modes to the voodoo-like trance of a blood sacrifice in the Haitian Heart of Darkness, Camae Ayewa, with metal rattles in the hands, enchants and envelops us in her sonic tentacles. Musically, the group demonstrates that they have broadened their scope, without distorting it, avoiding, as the excellent "Open the Gates" hinted, the risk of repetitiveness and predictability. Tinges of Miles off Keir’s Rhodes piano and shadows of Mingus (as Martin so aptly noted, reviewing their last album) are there to demonstrate that we are dealing with Irreversible Entanglements 2.0. A group like the Art Ensemble of Chicago will never exist again but our guys would be the most eligible to carry on their legacy. File under: Indispensable Presence.

JOHN SCOFIELD & GERALD CLAYTON - May 2 (Teatro Colosseo)

Warm-up and chillout: the training rules also apply to the Festival. We started off relaxed a week ago and so we close with the last concert of TJF 26, a tribute to another Old Lion of this edition. As we all know, from his early days with George Duke and Billy Cobham, to Miles' court and then on to his solo career, John Scofield has shaken up bebop, blues, funk, soul and much more, and the concert we're seeing is a kind of compendium of it all. Alongside the guitarist is the extraordinary pianist Gerald Clayton (collaborator of Bill Frisell, Roy Hargrove, Dianne Reeves, Charles Lloyd, Joel Ross, Kendrick Scott and Kassa Overall), described by Scofield as "one of the best pianists I've ever worked with", the perfect companion for an evening filled with virtuosity, obvious references to the electric Davis and a beautiful, greasy, sweaty blues to close.

Curtain down, see ya next year.

Goal Weight (Maggie Cox and Jennifer Gersten) - Keep Telling Yourself That (Relative Pitch, 2026)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Tue, 12 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Hrayr Attarian

The absorbing Keep Telling Yourself That is a series of stimulating improvised dialogues between bassist Maggie Cox and violinist Jennifer Gersten. Together, the New York-based Cox and Gersten go by the name Goal Weight. This is the duo’s debut recording, though there is nothing freshman about it, as it demonstrates both creative maturity and impeccable camaraderie.

The opening “Candy Doll Bluff” has a martial rhythm with hints of whimsy. Cox’s percussive chords set the mood with their exacting rhythms. Gersten’s twangy pizzicatto bounces off the bassist’s taut refrains at unexpected times, and with theatrical flair endowing the piece with a humorous undercurrent.

“Brian 1” that follows matches Cox’s energetic bowing with Gersten’s tolling strings. The conversation grows from delightfully dissonant and fiery to serene and melancholic. Cox’s darkly expectant melodies hint at the baroque. Gersten’s crisp and angular lines contribute to the dramatic ambiance. As the tune progresses, the violinist plays a wistful song that the bassist mirrors. The collective refrains enhance the anticipatory mood and lead to the solemn conclusion.

Western classical influences appear frequently throughout the album as both musicians are trained and skilled in both experimental and traditional musical styles. This is most pronounced on the title track. A wistful and pastoral duet on which Cox and Gerster mirror one another in their mellifluous musings. There is a sublime balance between unbridled spontaneity and warm, emotive expression.

Meanwhile, “Your New Uncle” opens with sparse groans and chimes that slowly coalesce into an intriguing, cinematic performance. It sounds like the soundtrack to an experimental film. Cox’s muscular phrases are like an approaching storm, while Gersten’s plucked and strummed notes have a mix of zen-like serenity and an undercurrent of angst. The flow of intertwined improvisations is both seamless and quite adventurous.

This imaginative and thought-provoking album is a demonstration of virtuosity and brilliance. Above all, it is Cox and Gersten’s bold, synergistic explorations brimming with lyricism that make this a work to savor.

Keep Telling Yourself That by Goal Weight: Maggie Cox, Jennifer Gersten

Anthony Braxton – 2 Comp (2023) (Schott Music, 2025)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Mon, 11 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Don Phipps

There’s always a cutting edge feel to the music of Anthony Braxton, and 2 Comp (2023) released last year is no exception. What is most engaging in Braxton’s efforts here are the dense and dissonant chords that overflow with subtle but edgy excitement.

Take 'Composition 445', the album’s first track. Braxton explores a kind of counterpoint in his bass lines as sax and trombones race along. The result is a feeling one might experience on a train going through a tunnel – an almost aural red shift effect. The piece, however, is not hot. For the most part it is a subdued kind of jumble – like a morning at the office where everyone is just starting their workday. Like recent projects, Braxton continues his use of vocals. Here they sound almost Ligeti-like and produce an escalator-like effect in tandem with the instruments – a movement of up and down. The music bubbles and rumbles, contrasting starkly with the rapid tonguing technique used by some members of the orchestra.

Braxton is not shy about using tried and true techniques like “call and response.” On 'Composition 445', the saxophones respond to trumpet blatts with short squeak bursts. And, like traffic in a city – the orchestra at times roars, and its proximity jars the senses. Braxton also employs strange combinations of instruments, for example – trombones interacting with a bassoon. The piece stretches like a rubber band – as if one were nearing an event horizon of a black hole. Trombones and bassoon, accordion interludes, woodwind notes that bounce like basketballs – it’s Braxtonian jumbled cubist creativity at its best.

The musicians on 'Composition 445' are: Accordion – Andreas Borregaard; Alto Saxophone – Anthony Braxton; Alto Saxophone, Sopranino Saxophone – James Fei; Bassoon – Katherine Young; Double Bass – Carl Testa, George Cremaschi; Trombone – Reut Regev, Roland Dahinden; Trumpet – William Forman; Voice – Andreas Halling, Anne Rhodes, Fabienne Seveillac, Juliet Fraser, Lisa Willems, Nick Hallett, Stepan Janousek.

'Composition No. 446 (Combination Music)' is equally engaging if not more intense. There’s a nightmarish feel to the odd harmonics and dissonance. Like ocean waves, the ensemble surges and then backs off; dynamic contrasts or other-worldly effects are followed by silence. It feels like pointillism in art - the elements of the number (tone, rhythm, color, techniques) singular, yet when combined, create a holistic effect. Abstractions seem to float in the air – through turbulence to slight breezes, and everything in between. The work dances and swirls about but at times feels uneasy – a kind of menace just beneath the surface.

As on more recent albums, Braxton’s prefers sonics that clash – take the electric guitar in an orchestra-ish setting. A piano line evokes impressionism while the polyrhythmic nature of the work give rise to dits and dots, slipping and sliding arcs, trilling, and exhortations from the vocalists. Braxton’s unusual gift for dissonant tone clusters is also on full display. The music moves sideways, up, down, and then sideways again – a kind of circular rotation that provokes and intrigues and keeps things very unsettled.

The musicians on 'Composition No. 446' are: Clarinet – Dafni Mengou, Rebecca Minten, Tadashi Lewis; Conductor – Anthony Braxton, Katherine Young, Kobe Van Cauwenberghe; Double Bass – Pablo Jimenez (7); Electric Bass – Paul Steinbeck; Flute – Luciana Perc, Maral Yerbol, Marianne Sihvonen, Seraina Ramseier; Guitar – Alec Goldfarb, Aleksey Potapov, Leonardo Melchionda, Orestis Tsekouras; Oboe – Aleksandra Panasik; Percussion – Aditya Ryan Bhat, Orson Abram; Piano – Jennifer Mong (2), Qi Qu; Trombone – Kalun Leung, Vasily Ratmansky; Trumpet – Émilie Fortin; Viola – Alison Eom, Aruzhan Abilseit, Christoven Tan; Violin – Ana Luisa Diaz de Cossio, Mac Waters, Paolo Vuono; Violoncello – Audreanne Filion, Clara Dietze, Jun Sian Chee, Laurence Gaudreau, Tord Bremnes; Voice – Elizabeth Gartman, Maria Morfeo.

With 2 Comp (2023), Braxton has once more provided another stellar illustration of his “creative” music. His expert ability to juxtapose instrumental voicings to create elaborate structures is in full evidence. Those who open this door, will find a path leading to the subconscious, the heavens, and the elemental. Enjoy!

Making Space: The Work of Access in Experimental Music

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Sun, 10 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

David Byrne. Photo by Cora Wagoner*

By Jeff Arnal

Making Space: The Work of Access in Experimental Music
Reflections from Big Ears on Democracy and the Avant-Garde

Across multiple traditions of creative practice in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, there is a recurring commitment to autonomy, resourcefulness, and collective invention that transcends style and genre. In the punk world, Michael Azerrad’s 2001 book Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes from the American Indie Underground 1981–1991 chronicled a generation of American underground bands that survived and thrived outside mainstream structures by building their own circuits of support: booking tours, releasing records on their own terms, and forging direct relationships with audiences without corporate mediation. The book’s title comes from a line in the Minutemen’s song “History Lesson Part Two”: “Our band could be your life,” an invitation to listeners to see themselves in the creative process and a declaration that meaningful art does not depend on institutional sanction or approval. The Minutemen’s “jam econo” philosophy carried this even further, a way of working that stripped everything down to what was necessary, touring constantly, moving light, sharing gear, and keeping production lean so the music stayed close to lived experience. It fused punk urgency with a kind of jazz openness, a disciplined but flexible approach to making and surviving on the road, where interdependence and adaptability were not abstract values but daily practice.

This punk DIY ethos connects backward and outward into other experimental milieus. In 1970s New York, the loft jazz movement saw musicians transform abandoned industrial settings into venues, rehearsal rooms, and recording environments when commercial support was absent. Jazz artists such as Rashied Ali, Ornette Coleman, John Fischer, Sam Rivers, and others built performance opportunities with and for their communities. Earlier, the Judson Church collective in downtown Manhattan brought together dancers, composers, visual artists, and improvisers in a context that resisted institutional hierarchy, privileging openness, chance, and intermedia collaboration. In the 1960s, the Fluxus collective, with figures like George Maciunas and Nam June Paik, enacted gestures that foregrounded event scores, indeterminacy, and audience participation, making participation itself part of the work. These moments, punk, free improvisation, and interdisciplinary performance art, are not isolated facts but shared methods. They emphasize resourcefulness, collective forms of support, boundary-crossing practice, and the formation of contexts where participation is not pre-defined but discovered in practice. Each tradition demonstrates that creative practice does not wait for permission; it invents its own platforms, its own audiences, and its own ways of circulating ideas.

Before going further, it is worth saying that there is not a single term that holds all of this. Creative music, contemporary classical , noise, DIY, jazz, free jazz, improvised music , electronic music, avant-garde: each name points to something real and each falls short. These labels carry histories, communities, and also the weight of institutions and markets that shaped them. I do not mind the term experimental music, and for the sake of this piece I am using it as a kind of shorthand, knowing it has its own baggage, its own history, its own residue. It feels less like a fixed category than like a moving one, a way of pointing toward practices that question form, resist easy definition, and stay open to change.

Mary Halvorson with Tomas Fujiwara, Henry Fraser, and Dave Adewumi.
Photo by Cora Wagoner

The Audience Is Already Onstage

In experimental music, the audience is rarely an external body waiting to be reached. It is already embedded in the work. The same people circulate through multiple roles as performer, listener, organizer, label operator, archivist, critic. These roles are not fixed. They rotate, overlap, and collapse into one another, and in doing so they blur the line between maker and receiver.

This is not unique in an absolute sense. From the work and ideas of Marcel Duchamp onward, modern and contemporary art already unsettles the idea of a passive viewer: Meaning is completed through perception and participation rather than simple looking. But in experimental music the overlap becomes more continuous and more social. It is not only that meaning is activated in interpretation. It is that the same small networks are involved across the full cycle of the work, from making and performing to documenting, distributing, and sustaining it over time.

What emerges is less a separation between audience and artist than a shared field of participation. The work is carried by the same relationships that receive it.

At venues like Roulette, a Brooklyn nonprofit performance organization that grew out of the late 1970s downtown loft scene, and Issue Project Room, a Brooklyn-based venue for experimental and durational performance, this overlap is not incidental. Rhizome DC, a Washington, DC experimental and community arts venue known for presenting improvisation, electronic music, and interdisciplinary performance in an intimate, artist-run setting, operates less like a venue and more like a switching station. Downtown Music Gallery, a long-running New York record store and informal hub for experimental and improvised music, functions as a living archive, a place where circulation and memory coexist. The audience is not something to be developed or expanded in the abstract. It is already present, already participating, already shaping what the work becomes.

This condition has historical precedent. The Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians (AACM) in Chicago in the 1960s, free improvisation circles in London, the 1970s New York loft scene, and punk basements in California all formed around informal, self-made settings where music existed outside institutional permission. These were not separate audiences so much as overlapping communities of players, listeners, and documenters, often the same people moving fluidly between roles. What appears from the outside as a limited audience is, from within, a dense and active network of participation, a self resonating circuit in which production and reception continuously fold back into one another.

Tyshawn Sorey. Photo by Ryan Clackner

A Turning Point in Listening

Any attempt to understand this field passes through John Cage and his 4’33” , a work shaped as much by Zen Buddhism as by the radical propositions of Duchamp. Cage did not simply expand music; he removed its center. Sound was no longer something organized solely by the composer. It was already present, already happening, already available to anyone willing to listen.

What Cage opened was aesthetic and conceptual but also social. By removing hierarchy from sound, he destabilized authority over who gets to make music and how it is received. Pauline Oliveros extended this into what she termed Deep Listening, grounding it in attention, embodiment, and collective practice. Julius Eastman insisted on presence, naming, and identity within experimental composition, making clear that sound is never separate from the conditions of power, visibility, and survival that shape it.

David Tudor collapsed performance and composition into generative live systems, shaping environments in which sound was emergent and collective. Laurie Spiegel used early computer music to expand access and participation, anticipating the distributed, system-driven approaches that are now commonplace. Alvin Lucier made listening itself a material, revealing space, resonance, and time as active forces in perception. Artists like Daphne Oram, Wendy Carlos, Maryanne Amacher, and Laurie Anderson helped define early electronic and multimedia approaches, building tools and conceptual frameworks that reshaped expectations about sound, audience engagement, and temporal experience.

Time-based, transmedia, and durational practices also exemplify this openness. Works that unfold over hours or across extended processes, like Alvin Lucier’s I Am Sitting in a Room, where repeated playback allows architectural acoustics to gradually replace spoken language with resonance, or Maryanne Amacher’s City-Links and mini-sound series , where psychoacoustic tones are composed to be completed by the listener’s nervous system and the acoustics of specific sites, treat sound not as fixed material but as something activated through time, perception, and environment. Pauline Oliveros’s multi-channel sound environments extend this further, grounding listening in attention, embodiment, and collective presence. These works demand sustained attention and situational awareness. They challenge conventional performance boundaries, blurring distinctions between composer, performer, audience, and environment itself.

Isaiah Collier plays Coltrane with Dave Whitfield, Conway Campbell, and Tim Regis.
Photo by Andy Feliu

Earbuds, Art Centers, and the Concert Hall

The geography is now fractured. Music and other sounds circulate through overlapping systems that no longer align neatly with older distinctions between underground and institutional contexts. A track can move from Bandcamp to independent radio to a performance in another country within days. Distribution is now widely available. Tools that once required studios, labels, promotional channels, and of course the financial resources that sustained them are increasingly shared.

At the same time, listening has become stratified. Earbuds create intensely private encounters with sound. Art centers frame work through curatorial context. Concert halls place it within historical lineage and institutional authority. These contexts overlap constantly. A work can move among them without changing form, only context. Small, locally rooted communities continue to invent their own practices and spaces, becoming microcosms of experimentation that circulate back into broader networks.

Entry is no longer the central barrier, and this shift is visible in how certain works and practices now travel across these overlapping systems. For example, albums released independently on platforms like Bandcamp often circulate first through artist-run or listener-run channels before moving into independent radio ecosystems such as WFMU or NTS, and from there into live performance contexts that include both DIY venues and major international festivals. Live coding and algorithmic performance practices, as developed in communities like Algorave, similarly move between informal club spaces, academic research contexts, and large-scale festival environments, with the same core work shifting meaning depending on framing rather than changing materially. Likewise, sound-based installations by artists working in both gallery and performance contexts, such as Janet Cardiff and George Bures Miller’s walking audio works, circulate between museum presentation, headphone-based individual listening, and site-specific public activation, depending on where and how they are encountered.

What emerges across these examples is not a single unified system, but a set of porous circuits where production, distribution, and reception no longer align in stable ways. The same work can be private and collective, informal and institutional, local and transnational, often within the span of its own circulation.

The question is how to maintain meaning in an environment of near-infinite production.

Experimental music doesn’t wait for permission to take shape. It builds its own systems and its own audiences through the structures it creates and the people who gather around it. The audiences who show up for events like Big Ears reflect this. Big Ears draws tens of thousands of visitors each year, with a substantial portion of its attendees coming from outside Tennessee and from across the country and beyond. Many visitors commit multiple days to listening, dialogue, workshops, talks, and community programming, seeking connection, discovery, and deep engagement rather than passive entertainment. Some attendees are cultural professionals, curators, programmers, and label representatives whose presence signals that this field operates across overlapping scales, at once local, translocal, and networked. This expanding and engaged audience underscores that participation in the field is shaped by curiosity, commitment, and intentional cultivation, not solely by commercial logic or passive consumption.

Maria Chavez, Greg Saunier, Shahzad Ismaily. Photo by Jess Maples

Democracy Without Filters

When experimental music is described as democratic, it is not a claim that sits in one place. It moves through the field itself, through artists describing how they work, through presenters and curators trying to account for forms that do not fit institutional expectations, and through critics and listeners trying to find language for practices that are already happening before they are named.

What it tends to point toward is not equal representation in any simple sense, but something closer to distributed authority inside the work. Equal representation suggests balance in who is present or visible. Distributed authority describes how decisions actually happen in real time, how form is shaped through response, interruption, listening, and adjustment among performers, and sometimes listeners and organizers as well. It is not that everyone has the same role, but that no single role fully determines the outcome in performance.

In improvised music, and especially in lineages connected to the AACM, this becomes a lived practice rather than an idea. Structure emerges through interaction rather than being delivered from above. A piece is not executed so much as negotiated in time. Roscoe Mitchell’s ensemble work, or the intergenerational networks around artists like Tyshawn Sorey or Tomeka Reid, make this visible as a sustained practice of listening and recalibration rather than a fixed model of participation.

Across the broader field, including at events like Big Ears, this produces something closer to interdependence than symmetry. Artists move between roles as performers, composers, and organizers. Audiences are often deeply embedded in the field itself, sometimes including other musicians whose presence is part of what supports the work. Attention circulates across these roles rather than resting in a single center.

Value does not disappear in this system. It stops being universal and instead forms through repetition, proximity, and sustained engagement within specific communities of practice. What counts is not fixed in advance but built over time through shared listening, shared risk, and continued return to the work.

This form of democracy exists in tension with the world around it. At a moment when broader systems feel fragile, exclusionary, or in some cases actively regressive, experimental music offers another model. Not utopian, not pure, but functional. Small, interdependent communities form around sound. People organize their own platforms, define their own values, and maintain practices collectively over time.

At the same time, it is not clear that these formations are simply democratic in any straightforward sense. They operate more as situated or practiced forms of democracy, where participation is real but shaped by access, knowledge, proximity, and time. What can feel open from the inside often looks quite different from the outside, where the same formation may appear specialized, coded, or difficult to enter without prior context or connection.

The history of the AACM makes this tension legible. It emerged as a response to exclusion from dominant cultural and economic systems, creating a space where Black experimental musicians could define their own artistic and organizational terms. That autonomy required building its own structure, its own set of expectations, and its own forms of accountability. The aim was self-determination, but self-determination also meant drawing boundaries in order to sustain a shared practice over time.

What emerges is not a contradiction so much as a condition the field lives with. These communities are democratic in the sense that authority is distributed and participation matters, and they are also selective in the sense that they depend on sustained engagement, shared language, and forms of labor that are not equally available to everyone. They are built through relationships that deepen over time, and that depth itself naturally produces thresholds.

In that sense, the question is not whether these spaces are democratic or exclusive. They are both, and they have to be. Their openness is real, but it is not abstract. It is shaped through practice, maintained through participation, and continually negotiated in real time.

Engagement in this practice is not a solution to isolation, fragmentation, or exclusion within the field or outside it. It does not resolve the uneven access that shapes who gets to participate, who has the time and resources to stay engaged, or who is able to move through these networks with any consistency. Those conditions remain in place, and in some cases they are reproduced inside the very structures that are trying to work differently.

What these small communities do instead is something more limited and more specific. They create working methods inside those conditions. They build situations where people can actually show up for each other, listen, collaborate, and take shared risk over time. They make room for forms of relation that are harder to maintain elsewhere, but they do not remove the larger structures they are operating within.

In that sense, music in this context is not a fix. It is closer to a practice of rehearsal. A way of testing how people might organize together under real constraints, without assuming those constraints disappear. It is infrastructural in a quiet way. It builds relationships that can hold, sometimes loosely and sometimes tightly, but always under pressure from the conditions around them.

Seen this way, the value is not in resolution. It is in continuity. In the ability to keep making and listening together, even when nothing about the broader situation is settled.

Caroline Shaw. Photo by Cora Wagoner

A Music That Builds Its Own World

A consistent thread across these practices is the way experimental music builds its own systems of relation, rather than relying on existing ones.

The AACM emerged in Chicago in the mid-1960s as a self-organized collective that created its own concerts, education programs, and distribution networks out of necessity. The model of self-determination it developed has been extensively documented by the musician and scholar George Lewis, who has written and composed deeply on improvisation, technology, and Black experimental practice. Within this tradition, the bassist and composer William Parker understands music as inseparable from daily life, a continuous practice of listening, responsibility, and community. The saxophonist Charles Gayle speaks openly about the difficulty of sustaining that life, maintaining artistic commitment and material survival in conditions that are often unstable or indifferent. The drummer, visionary artist, and polymath Milford Graves approached improvisation as ritual and healing, a way of aligning body, rhythm, and spirit through sound as lived process rather than performance. Cecil Taylor, pianist, composer, and free jazz pioneer, treated music as energy in motion, a system of forces rather than fixed forms, framing each performance as something alive in the moment, never repeatable in the same way twice.

Miles Davis insisted on transformation, urging musicians: “Don’t play what’s there, play what’s not there,” a directive that emphasized invention over replication and placed responsibility on the performer to imagine new possibilities in real time. Herbie Hancock framed creativity as inseparable from life itself, and contemporary artists like Caroline Shaw and Tyshawn Sorey continue this line, moving fluidly across forms, genres, and ensembles, demonstrating that commitment and attention, not labels, define experimental practice.

In practice, these ideas are not abstract. They are enacted through the music itself. In works like George Lewis’s Voyager, a computer system improvises alongside human performers, creating a shifting sonic environment in which no single agent controls the outcome. Authority is distributed, and listening becomes an ethical act. Each participant must respond, adapt, and make space for others in real time. Similarly, the broader AACM approach treats composition and improvisation as collective problem solving, a way of modeling social interaction through sound. Early AACM statements made this explicit, asserting that musicians could determine their own strategies for political and economic freedom through collective organization and creative practice.

Throughout these examples, one sees a consistent thread. The work is not simply musical. It is infrastructural, social, and ethical. It creates spaces in which community, improvisation, risk, and care coexist. Each artist reminds us that experimental music is sustained as much by belief, practice, and labor as by sound itself.

The DIY ethos of the late twentieth century required building infrastructure from scratch. Bands created their own circuits, economies, and audiences.

Now much of that infrastructure is readily available. Anyone can record, release, and distribute music. What once depended on studios, labels, and the logistical weight of physical circulation now exists in more immediate, dispersed forms, often built from tools that are widely shared and relatively easy to access. This shift lowers the barrier to entry, but it also changes the conditions of attention. The question is no longer only how to make work visible, but how to sustain it in a field where everything is already moving.

This changes independence. It lowers the barrier to entry while raising the difficulty of sustaining attention. The challenge is no longer access but continuity, how to keep going, build relationships, and make work that persists over time. What looks like freedom in this context is never separate from the conditions that hold it up. It is made in the ongoing work of rehearsal, organization, care, and return. Freedom is tied to labor, not as constraint but as the steady practice through which anything shared or lasting is actually made.

Despite fragmentation, certain traditions remain active as methods.

In Europe, Stockhausen and Xenakis expanded composition into systems and architecture, shifting musical thought toward structure, spatial form, and process. Roscoe Mitchell treats ensemble practice as ritual, where form emerges through sustained collective attention. Anthony Braxton extends composition into language and philosophy, building frameworks that move between sound, notation, and conceptual structure. George Lewis integrates improvisation, history, and computation, connecting experimental practice to technological systems and shifting histories of agency.

Other currents move through spirituality and transcendence, from John Coltrane to Alice Coltrane, reappearing in contemporary practices that merge sound with devotion and expanded states of listening. The downtown continuum extends through artists like Laurie Anderson, where performance, media, and narrative fold into one another, while diasporic and global traditions reshape the field through ongoing exchange, translation, and return.

These are not fixed inheritances. They remain in motion, carried forward through practice rather than preservation.

Wild Up: Arthur Russell's 24 to 24 up. Photo by Taryn Ferro

A Living Cross Section: Big Ears 2026 and Other Festivals

What this looks like in practice can be felt in the density of Big Ears 2026. Not as a lineup, but as a temporary ecosystem where histories, communities, and practices intersect.

The presence at the festival of John Zorn and the Masada projects connects decades of composer-performer networks to artists like Ikue Mori, Ches Smith, and Brian Marsella, who move fluidly across improvisation, composition, and electronics. The AACM lineage continues through Roscoe Mitchell, Tomeka Reid, and collaborations with Tyshawn Sorey and Jeff Parker, extending the AACM’s foundational commitment to collective self-determination, original composition, and the integration of improvisation with structured and experimental systems. Emerging from Chicago in the 1960s, AACM artists not only redefined approaches to timbre, form, and instrumentation, but also built their own institutions, performance spaces, and educational models in response to structural exclusion. That legacy persists as both sound and method: a practice grounded in artist-run infrastructure, interdisciplinary experimentation, and the understanding of creative music as a social and cultural force. Another cluster forms around artists connecting Chicago, Los Angeles, and global scenes through figures like Carlos Niño, Nate Mercereau, Josh Johnson, and Isaiah Collier. Their work intersects with artists like Sam Gendel and Shabaka, linking spiritual jazz, ambient practice, and contemporary improvisation.

Composer-performer ensembles sit alongside artist-driven projects where composition and improvisation are inseparable. Artists move between configurations across the festival, appearing in multiple contexts. This is the network made visible, built through ongoing collaboration rather than isolated work.

Global traditions are integral to this context. Carnatic and Hindustani music, Ethiopian jazz, Gnawa, and cross-cultural collaborations unfold alongside experimental pop, folk, noise, and large-scale multimedia work. Artists like Laurie Anderson and David Byrne extend the field outward by translating experimental practices into more widely accessible forms, connecting them to broader audiences and cultural contexts without fully abandoning their underlying complexity. Their work operates as a bridge, making experimental approaches legible across disciplines and publics, while other performers remain committed to more intimate, durational, or deeply situated practices. Electronic and computer music legacies from the likes of Laurie Spiegel, David Tudor, and Alvin Lucier continue to inform new generations.

Underlying all this are shared support systems. Labels, independent radio, critics, archivists, venues, and informal networks. What emerges is not diversity as a surface condition but interconnection as a lived reality. Different histories and identities are not parallel. They are entangled.

The scale of the gathering reveals a dense layering of infrastructures that support the work. Labels function as archives and distribution networks. Radio creates continuity across generations. Writers and critics trace lineages and create context. The same names appear across projects not as repetition but as evidence of relationship.

Festivals make this visible. They compress what is usually dispersed.

The Vision Festival nurtures a long-term community. Founded in 1996 and held annually in New York City, typically in June, the Vision Festival brings together multiple generations of improvisers, dancers, poets, and visual artists within a self-organized, artist-run framework. Big Ears creates a temporary environment of openness, particularly in a region where that openness is not guaranteed. In Tennessee, where cultural policy has moved to restrict forms of expression, including attempts to ban drag performances, the presence and success of this kind of gathering is not neutral.

From a southern perspective, this carries a particular weight. In places like Western North Carolina, and in the longer shadow of the Deep South I grew up in, cultural life has often been shaped by distance from major institutional centers, by uneven access, and by the way communities build meaning without relying on sustained formal infrastructure. In that context, gatherings like this do not simply add another cultural option. They briefly reorganize what public life can feel like.

Audiences move between radically different forms within a shared environment, not as isolated encounters but as a kind of collective attention that is not always available in everyday life. What matters is not contrast for its own sake, but the experience of proximity itself, of being in a place where different histories, practices, and ways of listening can sit beside one another in real time, and where that co-presence becomes a kind of temporary commons.

What emerges is not a single narrative but a field of relations. Aesthetic questions remain open. What matters, what lasts, what holds attention over time, these are not settled questions. But the scale of activity itself is significant. The number of artists, practices, and connections forms something like a laboratory, a testing ground where ideas about sound, community, and value are constantly being proposed and revised. It is uneven, sometimes overwhelming, but it is alive.

What holds this field together is not agreement, but participation. Artists become audiences. Audiences become organizers. Organizers become archivists. Agents, curators, and promoters facilitate movement across contexts. The system does not stabilize into a single structure. It circulates across contexts, practices, and communities. Experimental music is not defined by a fixed audience. It is defined by those who choose to engage with it, to carry it forward, and to listen deeply enough for it to matter.

Despite its density, what is described here is only a partial record of a wider field that is always in motion. There are informal settings that never get documented, scenes that flare up and dissolve, small labels that circulate quietly, artists who step away and others who continue under difficult conditions. There are also networks of relation that shift depending on where you stand, and forms of labor that remain largely unmarked even as they hold everything else in place. Attention is never evenly distributed. Participation is always shaped by geography, by access, by race, gender, class, and ability in ways that no single account can resolve.

None of this completes the picture. It simply returns it to the conditions in which it is already unfolding. What holds is not resolution but continuity, the ongoing fact of the work as it moves through different registers, across places, through different hands. The field is not something to be finished or fully seen, but something partial, contingent, and in process. It is entered partway, listened to from within, and left while the motion continues.

---

Jeff Arnal (b. 1971) is a percussionist, curator, and arts organizer based in Asheville, North Carolina. His work moves across performance, writing, publishing, and organizational practice within experimental music, shaped by long engagement with artist-built infrastructures. Since the 1990s he has performed internationally, including duos with Charles Gayle and appearances at venues and festivals such as Big Ears Festival, Blurred Edges Festival, the Vision Festival, Issue Project Room, and Roulette.

He currently works in projects including Chrononox with Camila Nebbia, Dietrich Eichmann, and John Hughes; a trio with Bonnie Han Jones and Ken Vandermark; and Drum Major Instinct with Curt Cloninger. Since 2016 he has served as Executive Director of the Black Mountain College Museum + Arts Center, where he has expanded exhibitions, performance, publishing, residencies, and research in dialogue with contemporary artists and scholars. He studied with Stuart Saunders Smith and Milford Graves, and holds degrees from the University of Maryland and Bennington College.

*All Photos courtesy of Big Ear

Camila Nebbia, Gonçalo Almeida, Sylvain Darrifourcq - Hypnomaniac (Defkaz, 2025)

noreply@blogger.com (Stef Gijssels) — Sat, 09 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Stef Gijssels

Argentinian saxophonist Camila Nebbia has steadily become one of the favourites of this blog, with reviews of "Noche U Niebla", "Presencia", "A Reflection Distorts Over Water", "Exhaust", with various ensembles, yet all from the past year, and this even without mentioning concert reviews, videos and end-of-year lists on which she featured.

On "Hypnomaniac", we find her in the company of Portuguese inventive double bassist Gonçalo Almeida and French percussion wizard Sylvain Darrifourq, and the result is ... well ... hypnotic. What begins as a free-jazz sax trio, with all three musicians tentatively probing the terrain, gradually transforms into a mesmerising sonic experience in which the instruments dissolve into a dense, drone-like wall of noise. The dual rhythm section of Almeida and Darrifourq develops into a bizarre and overwhelming mass of sound, while Nebbia’s hoarse saxophone flutters above and through the murky sonic miasma. The piece sustains this intensity for the full "19:45" suggested by its title.

The massive sound subsides and is replaced on the second track by cautious subdued rhythmic sounds over which Nebbia's sax hovers close to a tonal center, subtle and fragile. This approach is kept in the third piece, called "8:59". The three instruments basically merge into one coherent soundscape, with the occasional variation and escaping from the collective sound. It's fascinating.

Only on the final track do the individual instruments regain their distinct voices, though the bass remains electronically warped. The result is jittery, frantic, intense, and gloriously unhinged. It feels as though the sustained tension built across the earlier tracks suddenly erupts without restraint, propelled by Darrifourq’s machine-gun soloing and Nebbia’s wild, untethered improvisation, driving everything toward a deafening, full-throttle finale, welcomed and applauded by an enthusiastic audience.

Nebbia, Almeida and Darrifourq are highly inventive musicians with distinct musical identities and sonic approaches, yet remarkably they succeed in making their visions converge without sacrificing the individuality of their own voices.

The performance was recorded live on March 15th, 2025 at Thessaloniki-Greece during the ''Take 2'' festival organised by Defkaz records and the Mikri Skini venue.

PS - it seems to be a fashion to print titles upside down, as Han-Earl Park did on ‘uᴉɐƃ∀ ʍǝN sI plO sI ʇɐɥM’". For reasons of clarity, I kept the normal way of writing in the title, but for purists: here is the title of this album: "Ɔɐɯᴉlɐ Nǝqqᴉɐ' פouçɐlo ∀lɯǝᴉpɐ' Sʎlʌɐᴉu pɐɹɹᴉɟonɹɔb - Hʎduoɯɐuᴉɐɔ".

Ǝuɾoʎ¡

Listen and download from Bandcamp.

... and their concert schedule in Europe this year:

Luis Nacht & Camila Nebbia - Noche Y Niebla (ears&eyes Records, 2026)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Fri, 08 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Ferruccio Martinotti

While all around us certainties crumble one after another, one remains intact: the creative streak of the Berlin-based, Argentine-born, ace musician Camila Nebbia shows no signs of drying up. After an incredible run of albums in 2025, so high-quality that it's almost impossible to rank them (don't even try, just get them), Nebbia doesn't let our turntables cool down and returns with the album "Noche y Niebla," an equal partnership with Luis Nacht on tenor and soprano saxophone, supported by the rhythm section of Jeronimo Carmona (double bass) and Fermin Merlo (drums), while she on tenor, as a rule.

Born in Buenos Aires in 1959, Luis began his formative journey studying the flute in Mexico City, taking his first steps as a professional musician touring Central America and Europe as a flutist and singer with the latin music band Grupo Sur. He later moved to New York and began playing saxophone, taking lessons from George Coleman and Richie Beirach. His collaborations include, among others, Actis Dato, Iannacone, Giunta, Otero, Hoogland, Hecht, Verdinelli, and Perez, and a series of prestigious awards earned at home and in Europe contribute to defining his stature as a musician. Jeronimo Carmona is a double bassist with a solid trajectory in foundational Argentine jazz ensembles and collaborator of Luis Nacht for over two decades. Fermin Merlo stands out for his rhythmic creativity and deep understanding of interaction in free improvisation, having worked alongside Nacht for more than ten years.

After many encounters on stage and in the student/teacher dynamics, Luis and Camila meet again in a Buenos Aires studio, attempting, through aesthetically and generationally diverse perspectives, to define sonic paths that unravel in the nocturnal mists of the amazing cover picture and perhaps also of their names, which translated as Night and Fog. We don't know if this is a joke or an induced suggestion, but what is certain is that the final result fully achieves the intended goal, offering us a labyrinth that challenges the listener, not by imprisoning him in tangles of sounds he can't unravel, but, on the contrary, by showing him the way out, or rather, multiple ways out, according to different everyone’s sensibilities, provided he follows the directions simply hinted at by the musicians.

A distinctive feature of the album is the working method used, establishing, before recording, the titles of the pieces, which serve as narrative coordinates within which to let the improvisation flow, unfolding between stories, intrigue and mystery, without ever drying up into sterile conceptualism and thus losing the emotional intensity expressed in dramatic and dreamlike plots that constitute the album's hallmark. The interplay and the resulting play of references among Nacht and Nebbia is wonderful, perfectly met by the powerhouse of Merlo and Carmona and, as always, it's interesting to hear what the protagonists have to say about. Nebbia: “Improvisation in ‘Noche y Niebla’ is a radical commitment to the present moment. We are not only searching for melody but for the expression of sound in its most solid and stripped-down state. It is a sound that is found and shaped in the fog, right at the moment of execution.” Nacht: "This album is the continuation of many years of work, taken to a new conceptual limit. My lyricism collides with Camila's sonic purity and that tension becomes the true composition of the record. Having Merlo and Carmona, musicians with whom I share more than years of history, gives this freedom an essential rhythmic anchor". As in every great free album, the architecture is very solid and only the excellent skills of the musicians are able to make it invisible to the listener: Noche y Niebla is a paradigmatic example, don’t miss it.

Noche y Niebla by Luis Nacht y Camila Nebbia

Tyshawn Sorey – Members…Don’t! (Pi Recordings, 2026)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Thu, 07 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Fotis Nikolakopoulos

Coming out during the turbulent 1968, Max Roach’s Members, Don’t Git Weary was an album of its time. Political (continuing Roach’s musical statements that started with We Insist!), vocal and aggressive in its own right. The acclaimed –and a favorite of mine- drummer Tyshawn Sorey offers us here not a cover album, not even new interpretations of the songs, but, I dare say, a brand new reimagining of the old material.

Recorded live at New York’s Jazz Gallery with a great band -consisting of Adam o’ Farrill on trumpet, Mark Shim on tenor saxophone, Lex Korten on piano, Tyrone Allen on double bass and Fay Victor on vocals- Sorey and his comrades achieve something that only the quartet of [Ahmed] is doing right now: taking musing of the past, through a current perspective, and making it a product of the present. Really great Black music. Ancient to the future indeed.

Sorey as, somewhat, a leader is a musician that even a listener, like me, who prefers music as a means of collective expression, can trust. I use the word trust as he seems eager to channel the Black tradition that he so clearly has absorbed into a new entity that belong to the group of people that are behind all the sounds.

Joining the dots, very fast and ecstatically, between the jazz tradition, free jazz and the journey of transcendence that jazz, those days, offered to everybody (as did Roach’s music too), the music on this release, over ninety minutes long, is a joyous affair and a signature recording for a year, our current situation, that sees the planet going towards chaos, imperialism and fascism.

Music has no boundaries and sets free powers that can heal or, at least, bring solace. Even for brief moments. I commented before about Sorey’s leadership and that, obviously, brings in mind the solo players in jazz history. But Sorey here –continuing my previous line of thoughts- assures that this is a collective effort with the focus on how to act and react (the interplay between the musicians) using the material as a basis to comment on our dire situation right now. As did Max Roach’s music back then. This is an urgent listening for sure .

Listen here:
Members... Don't! by Tyshawn Sorey

@koultouranafigo

Han-earl Park uᴉɐƃ∀ ʍǝN sI plO sI ʇɐɥM (Buster & Friends, 2026)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Wed, 06 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Sammy Stein

Berlin-based Korean American guitarist and improviser Han-earl Park has released ‘uᴉɐƃ∀ ʍǝN sI plO sI ʇɐɥM’ (What is Old Is New Again), a collection of twenty-one solo miniatures recorded between January 2024 and February 2026. Most are first-take improvisations with minimal editing and production.

Park is associated with numerous projects, including, but not limited to, ensembles and duos Juno 3 with Lara Jones and Pat Thomas, and Gonggong 225088 with Yorgos Dimitriadis and Camila Nebbia, Richard Barrett, Wadada Leo Smith, Paul Dunmall, Pauline Oliveros, Charles Hayward, Mark Sanders, Lol Coxhill, Louise Dam Eckardt Jensen, Evan Parker, Ingrid Laubrock, Josh Sinton , and Franziska Schroeder, and a shedload more.

While the tracks are miniatures (as described by Park), they vary in length, some running for several minutes and others being shorter. What they have in common is Park’s touch of the bizarre, the explorative and various mechanizations of the guitar body and strings to create different soundscapes and atmospheres. The contrast between the numbers is impressive, and Park manages to find twenty-one slightly different ways to present an instrument. From the quirky, slightly thunky explorative open-fretted opener ‘All The Wrong Notes’ to the warpy, atmospheric ‘Drift After’ or the beautifully evocative ‘Bees on a Summer Day’ where the listener might conceivably feel as if they are inundated with little furry visitors of the apiaran kind in a grist, but not quite a swarm, as the notes plink and flip.

There are many highlights on this recording, from the overlapping melodies of ‘Footwork’ to the explorative ‘On The Way Out’ with its unexpected final phrases, and the wonderfully worked ‘The Zen of FWIW, Frustration,’ a retake of an earlier one-take work by Park (the FWIW is for What It’s Worth.)

‘Trash Fumble’ is wonderfully spooky and dark, with a frenetic ending, while tracks like ‘Scratch ‘n’ Sniff’ and ‘Coefficient of Friction/(Breathe, Just Breathe)’ contain contrasting rhythms, shaped phrases,, and in the latter track, Park uses the fourteen minutes of music to explore many facets of the guitar.

Of the title, Park says, “I don’t really want to be too explicit about the meaning—it’s probably my most didactic piece, which I don’t feel 100% comfortable about. It was recorded a few days after the ‘military action’ in Venezuela, and on January 6, the anniversary of the attempted self-coup in D.C., and the Star Spangled Banner runs both pro and retrograde through that piece. But do you think there’s a way -not- to spell that all out explicitly? None of it’s particularly hidden—or a secret—but I’d like listeners to come across it themselves.

The title came from a videographic piece recorded by Park for YouTube.

Over the eclectic mix of tracks, Park uses his music to convey a range of meanings, and the impact is varied, from the dark shades of ‘Grade Separation’ to ‘All You Zombies/Salvo and Echo’, where two guitar lines are interwoven to create chord-like essences.

There is the quietness of ‘Don’t Overthink It’ and the Latin elements that creep into ‘Envelope/Duo Minus-One’. The title track is beautiful, while the gloriously loud and gloopy ‘Oatmeal Again’ is crazily wonderful.

Park manages to give the track appropriate titles, as his artistry extends from the music through to the visual effects the sounds can have.

This is an album to listen to with intent and perhaps in parts because the intricacy and content need time to digest and imbibe. Listening to the entire recording feels like you might be glimpsing the relationship between Park and his guitar, one that is still developing and becoming ever more intricate and complex – a bit like the music.

Preorder available today on Bandcamp.

uᴉɐƃ∀ ʍǝN sI plO sI ʇɐɥM by Han-earl Park

Original track from uᴉɐƃ∀ ʍǝN sI plO sI ʇɐɥM:

Rodrigo Amado This Is Our Language - Wailers (European Echoes Archive Series, 2026)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Tue, 05 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Eyal Hareuveni

Wailers is the fourth album so far of Portuguese sax hero Rodrigo Amado and his American super-quartet, This Is Our Language - Amado on tenor sax (on the left channel), Joe McPhee on tenor sax (on the right channel), double bass player Kent Kessler, and drummer Chris Corsano. The album was recorded during the quartet’s European tour that introduced its second album, A History of Nothing (Trost, 2018), at the same studio where it recorded its first and second albums, Namouche Studios in Lisbon, in October 2019. The quartet’s third album, Let The Free Be Men (Trost, 2021), was recorded live at Jazzhose in Copenhagen in March 2017. Amado released this archival recording on his own label.

Amado frames the quartet’s free jazz ethos of resistance, truth, and transformation with a quote from American poet, writer, teacher, and political activist Amiri Baraka (aka LeRoi Jones), titled “Wailers”:

"Wailers are we

We are Wailers. Don't get scared. Nothing happening but out and way

out. Nothing happening but the positive. (Unless you the negative.)

Wailers. We Wailers. Yeh, Wailers. We wail, we wail.”

The music was credited to the quartet, except one piece, the heartfelt “Theory of Mind III”, dedicated by Amado (who plays here the alto sax and bird water whistle), Kessler, and Corsano to McPhee. This Is Our Language offers free jazz, entangled with free improvisation in its most intense, ecstatic, poetic, and spiritual form, totally possessed by the music of the moment and performing it as seriously as their lives, while also aware and respectful of the great legacy of free jazz. The quartet’s energy is instantly absorbed by the listener and has a powerful, motivating, and emotional impact, transforming John Lennon’s “Power to the People” and Patti Smith’s “People Have the Power” into an actual reality. It reminds us, as Baraka wrote, of the constant need to resist common evils and keep working for the greater good.

Amado and McPhee sound like spiritual brothers who keep feeding each other with fiery ideas and touching melodic-soulful themes, as if they have discovered an endless well of sacred songs. You can repeat their deep conversations on “Hot Folk” and “Subterranean Night Color” time and again and still wonder at this inspired magic. Kessler and Corsano know when to push forward with manic, propulsive energy and when to open the interplay for an introspective dynamics that highlights the distinct voices of this quartet and its profound camaraderie. Just listen to Kessler’s masterful bowed solo that introduces “Violent Souls” and Corsano’s rolling drums, and the way they together build the tension for Amado and McPhee's soaring solos. This great album ends with the soulful, fiery blues” Blue Blowers”.

Wailers by Rodrigo Amado / Joe McPhee / Kent Kessler / Chris Corsano

The Thunks - Swarm Patterns (Trost, 2026)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Mon, 04 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Brian Earley

…the Janus-like aspect of knowledge and cognition must be set against a background fabric of cultural possibility: individuals draw their self-understanding from what is conceptually to hand in historically specific societies or civilizations, a preexisting complex web of linguistic, technological, social, political and institutional constraints.

-Leslie Marsh and Christian Onof, 2007
“Stigmergic Epistemology, Stigmergic Cognition,” Cognitive Systems Research

No matter an individual’s greed, or desire for personal power, each of us works by necessity in collaboration with a larger social fabric. The utopian dream of nonhierarchical social structures may be more scientific fact entangling our actions in constant negotiation with the behaviors of those around us. Stigmergy, or communications and actions mediated with our surrounding environment, serves as a central component of swarm behavior: the phenomenon of starlings swooshing through the sky instantly negotiating each turn with the group so that the birds never collide with one another and form beautiful panoplies of arches and elastic contours.

No matter the political rift, so must human beings abide by the simple truth that we need each other to survive.

The Thunks, a trio assembled of one pianist and two drummers, manifest such coexistence in their recent release Swarm Patterns for Trost Records. On this work Elizabeth Harnik, the brilliantly inventive piano player who spends almost as much time playing the inner strings of the instrument as she does the outer keys, joins her former bandmate from the DEK Trio, drummer Didi Kern (the third member, “K,” is Ken Vandermark), and Martin Brandlmayr, himself a former collaborator with Harnik in the Trio of Mikolaj Trzaska, Harnik, and Brandlmayr.

The music on this album, comprising two long works, “Swarm Patterns I” and Swarm Patterns II,” is rich with energetic, spontaneous group swirling and swarming, but also materializes as extemporaneous or predetermined compositional patterns. Think Cecil Taylor’s concept of unit structures. For example, on “Swarm Patterns I” Harnik and the drummers create at least five distinct motific patterns they return to at various times through the twenty-nine minute work. After some opening swarming Harnik thunks the piano for the first time at 15 seconds and then lifts upwards into swarms of piano washes until developing a three and two note-thunking at the mid-range of the keyboard for the work’s first motif. The three musicians fly off into the stratosphere as a collective soaring Garuda until returning to the established pattern just after the one minute mark.

After five minutes into the piece Harnik is strumming the innards of the piano like a harp before establishing a be-dom-DOM sequence that will soon blend with the first pattern around 6:10 in the work.

This patterning happens over and over again, but so do spontaneously communicated stretches of interplay. At 7:20 atonal space time arrives and soon the drums are scratching on cymbals, followed by a series of tom hits. Stigmergy manifests in one of its clearest moments with a percussive SMACK around 7:50 prompting a strike on the piano strings by Harnik.

The piece alternates between synergistic hushes of silence framed by percussion and a swirling upward frenetic energy that lurches forward. The group attains autonomous, nonhierarchical vitality as tension synchronously builds and falls into quiet, and by the 23:50 mark the group develops its final motific pattern, which it quickly combines and recapitulates with motifs from the beginning and middle of the work.

A humorous piano splatter and a simultaneous drum and cymbal hit end the piece with laughter.

The group dynamics on Swarm Patterns are remarkable, and for some real swarming, check out the first five minutes of “Swarm Patterns II.” All over these works, the three members shift and fly and land and ascend like starlings or stars swirling in an expressionist night sky. But they are not avian creatures or orbs burning in the nether reaches of the cosmos, of course. These are three human beings showing the rest of us the possibility of beauty and harmony when individuals know they need each other to soar and shine.

Swarm Patterns by THE THUNKS (Harnik/Brandlmayr/Kern)

Globe Unity Orchestra - Live at Berliner Jazztage 1976

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Sun, 03 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

Just hitting the internet: from nearly 50 years ago and sounding as blasphemously fresh as it did then, this performance of the Globe Unity Orchestra is a must see. If you need more convincing, simply take a look at that list of musicians joining pianist Alexander von Schlippenbach on stage at the Berliner Jazztage that evening in early November.

Peter Brotzmann: Alto Saxophone, Bass saxophone,
Clarinet Evan Parker: Soprano Saxophone, Tenor Saxophone
Gerd Dudek: Soprano Saxophone, Tenor Saxophone
Rüdiger Carl: Alto Saxophone, Tenor Saxophone
Michel Pilz: Clarinet, Bass clarinet
Kenny Wheeler: Trumpet, Flugelhorn
Manfred Schoof: Trumpet, Flugelhorn
Albert Mangelsdorff: Trombone
Paul Rutherford: Trombone
Günter Christmann; Trombone
Peter Kowald: Tuba, Bass
Alexander von Schlippenbach: Piano
Buschi Niebergall: Bass
Han Bennink: Drums, Percussion, Clarinet
Paul Lovens: Drums, Percussion

Johannes Bauer, Michael Griener, Olaf Rupp - Aufsturz (scatterArchive, 2026)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Fri, 01 May 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Martin Schray

It’s always great when unexpected recordings of your favorite musicians surface, in this case the eternally underrated drummer Michael Griener, the great Olaf Rupp (if I had to pick my favorite guitarist in nowadays improv scene, it would be him), and trombonist Johannes Bauer, who died far too young and who was the living proof that free jazz can swing. When you listen to this live recording from Berlin’s Aufsturz Club from 2007, you shake your head in disbelief as to why this music wasn’t released back then. But the answer is relatively simple: the musicians organized this gig to have a demo tape that they could send to promoters. The simple stereo recording had a few technical flaws that could only be corrected now with modern studio technology. Finally, after mastering by Olaf Rupp, it has been made available in good sound quality - and the result is nothing short of sensational.

A long note opens “Aufsturz“, the first track, and already in the beginning almost everything that awaits you in the following 40 minutes is laid out. A powerful wave envelops you and takes your breath away. You feel as if you could literally grasp creativity: percussion shooting back and forth at lightning speed, machine gun fire, guitar glissandi and chopped runs, the accentuated trombone, which takes on the function of both the bass and a melody-leading wind instrument. Dark rumblings alternate with bright, sharp sounds. You don’t know where to listen first because you are pulled from one extreme to the other. Seemingly total chaos (but of course the band is complete control). Free jazz in the European tradition, as if from a picture book. It’s great fun feeling how the fiery improvisation of the opener penetrates your whole body. The sound swells like a tsunami and screams like a thunderstorm before the piece ebbs away.

In a beautiful article a few years ago, the major German newspaper DIE ZEIT claimed that Olaf Rupp plays guitar like only Olaf Rupp can play it. But that comes at a price, the article says, because he doesn’t fit into any pigeonhole. But isn’t that what it’s all about? His rushing runs and splintering sounds, his flageolet torrents, his booming feedback, and his generally bone-dry sound carry this recording. And it fits Johannes Bauer’s creaking, snarling horn, this sparkling, effervescent notes that stretch and compress sounds that are both real and unreal at the same time. Anyone who thinks that Griener’s drums hold the whole thing together is mistaken. It’s quite the opposite, his style, reminiscent of a hyperactive Paul Lovens, tends to tear everything apart. At the same time, however, he skillfully directs the dynamics of the improvisation. And of course, being the professionals they are, they saved the best for last. The 14-minute “Türsturz” sounds like a mixture of wild Sonic Youth, Derek Bailey, Jimi Hendrix, New York Art Quartet, and a distillation of Brötzmann's Machine Gun . It’s easy to get carried away by this force of nature.

Aufsturz is heaven and hell in one. So far, my favorite in 2026.

Aufsturz is available as a digital download. You can listen to and download the album on the scatterArchive bandcamp site: https://scatterarchive.bandcamp.com/album/aufsturz

Mia Dyberg: Hometown Duos

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Thu, 30 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Paul Acquaro

Two duo recordings from saxophonist Mia Dyberg from the tail of 2025...

Mia Dyberg and Axel Filip - HobbyHouse (Relative Pitch Records, 2025)

Danish saxophonist Mia Dyberg and Argentinian percussionist Axel Filip both currently call Berlin home and work together in a trio they've named "HobbyHouse." Avant-garde and experimental, their debut as a duo seems to focus on the intersection and overlay of timbre and textures as much, if not more, than the melodic and rhythmic sensibilities that also permeate their playing.

HobbyHouse starts with 'Feet in the water,' where long, hushed tones and gentle percussive vibrations intermingle gingerly, making for an expectant atmosphere. Then, they light off some small fireworks on 'Running horses,' spryly skipping rhythmically about. Next, 'Snow plow racer' combines the two approaches as a slowly unfolding, intervallic melody emerges over the splash of cymbals and taught figures.

A stand out track is the very short 'When they jump,' just slightly under two minutes of indeed jumping intensity. Here Dyberg's thoughtful playing bounces delightfully off Filip's agile figures for a fun romp. Skipping to the end, the closer, 'Swimming in the air' exudes a cool calmness, a gentle wrap up to a rich recording, which throughout the duo seems to be able to say quite a bit in the short duration of the tracks.

HobbyHouse by Mia Dyberg, Axel Filip

Mia Dyberg & Rieko Okuda - Glasscut (Kassiani Records, 2025)

Dyberg's duo with Japanese pianist and also current Berlin resident Reiko Okuda marks the debut not of their recorded work but of the Kassiani Records label, which has released Glasscut digitally and as a very limited edition LP. The album fits quite well sonically alongside Okuda and Dyberg's previous releases, Nigatsu 二月 from 2019 and Naboer from 2020. At times pensive and other times exuberant, the duo artfully follow their intuition.

The opening track's reservation is nerve wracking. The tension is palpable, first introduced by gentle breathiness from Dyberg and followed by a building of austere notes from Okuda that stretch a dissonant filament between the two instruments. It only gets more intense, suddenly breaking only when the next track begins. 'No Cut' is uptempo, starting with a curlicue melody from Dyberg, adorned with trills from Okuda. Here, one can hear the pianist's modern classical roots, which were long ago the focus of her studies before being drawn into the experimental fold, in the harmonic accompaniment. The track is both dense and light, moments of wildness tempered with more deliberate passages.

The final track, 'Jikan' begins with Dyberg with long solo introduction, demonstrating her jazz sensibilities and fragmented approach to melody. When Okuda joins, it is with single note lines that interject and intertwine for short stints. The piece develops in fits and starts, mixing restraint and eruptive play.

Glasscuts is an enjoyable and diverse recording from a two dynamic musicians in the contemporary improvisation scene.

Glasscut by Rieko Okuda / Mia Dyberg

Emmeluth’s Amoeba - With Love (Moserobie, 2026)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Wed, 29 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Brian Earley

As I drove home from Philadelphia on March 28 of this year my soundtrack of choice was music from Scandinavia. Specifically, With Love, the latest release from Signe Emmeluth’s Amoeba. The specter of authoritarianism had brought me to Philly’s Love Park that day where I met up with 80,000 of my closest friends. A calling card of fascism has always been deliberate confusion and the restriction of information, both of which apply directly to my experience of With Love. When I clicked “Check out now” to purchase the physical record on Bandcamp from Moserobie Music Production, I was met with a message informing me this item no longer ships from Sweden to the United States, part of the fallout from the US mandate removing the de minimis tariff exemption. I don’t wish to trivialize the much more serious and life altering impacts of fascism on individual lives, where it rips apart families until the earth is charred and oil rains from the sky, but I also don’t want its tiny bruises to be normalized either. Information is growing a little harder to obtain in the US. Thank goodness the internet is still free enough for me to listen to music from a Swedish label.

I have long been in crazy love with Emmeluth’s compositions and recordings, and since Signe’s 2021 solo work Hi Hello I’m Signe , I acquire her albums as quickly as I can; a hard miss for me was the 25 edition release of Live 2022/2023with each cover a unique handpainted origami by Emmeluth herself (throw a shout my way if you know where I can find one!). Somehow, her work possesses a sound that is at once completely distinct and utterly new. This album is no exception. For example, mere seconds into the record’s second track, “Golugele,” there is no mistaking the sound for anything other than the Amoeba. Pianist Christian Balvig and Emmeluth bang down composed unison syncopations, while Karl Borjå’s jangling guitar alternates off beat chords with Sonny Sharrock like runs and drummer Ole Mofjell rolls the snare into splash and crash cymbal waves.

At times Emmeluth’s group evokes Don Cherry’s multi-thematic works where small themes emerge into expansive improvisations. In fact, like Complete Communion or Symphony for Improvisers, this album is one long suite, though perhaps it maintains a tighter line with composition than those legendary albums. At times Sun Ship era Coltrane is present, as it is on “Amoeba 1,” the first song on the record. The work, despite the community of free jazz ancestors smiling from the ether at their musical lineage, sounds like nothing else. Make no mistake, Emmeluth and the band are imitating nobody, but they do not come from nowhere. Although their roots may grow deep, they flower into petals and filaments not found on any other stem.

The music tumbles freely forward while remaining tightly fused. Check out the opening romp on “Amoeba 2” where Emmeluth’s horn soon signals the group in the direction of a heavy metal like guitar riff starting around the 2:00 mark. The work stomps along while operating with shocking precision, but really starts rocking as it continues into “Hubby,” the following track. The music converts into an asymmetrical wobble that escalates into a glissed wail around the 30 second mark. The riff returns and soon yields Emmeluth’s alto whistling at the top of the music before embarking upon a noise solo urged forward by Balvik crashing the piano keys.

“Pling Plong MF/Dripping Liquids/Pling Plong MF” follows the controlled chaos with mysterious ambience, and the record reaches its zenith on its closing work. “Something Old” returns the riff from “Amoeba 2” but varied and simplified and played on only strings at first (plucked on Balvig’s piano–or also on Borjå’s guitar?), and a trance-mania manifests as the group continues and varies this throughout the 9:52 work.

“Gåen,” the final song on the digital recording, seems to stand alone outside of the suite, and despite its opening flourish, emanates liquid meditation. It is soft and reassuring and sad and full of hope and is as filled with paradox as the band that plays it. I hope I have no illusions about my privilege in being able to listen to such a complex and beautiful work. The Amoeba is still tossing threads for us to catch and follow in the labyrinth, and I don’t want to grow complacent about how wonderful it is to have easy access to this remarkable music. The attention to detail, commitment to originality, and conscious lineage with its tradition all demonstrate just how much love went into the creation of this album, and it is with love that I thank those involved for it.

With Love can be found here: https://signeemmeluth.bandcamp.com/album/with-love

With Love by Emmeluth's Amoeba

Sónia Sànchez / Jordina Millà / dieb13 - Munich 2025 - Day 3 Set 1 (MMI Festival, 2026)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Tue, 28 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Eyal Hareuveni

The Music & More Impro (MMI) Festival curates new, intimate musical and dance constellations, featuring artists from different generations and nationalities, and even different artistic disciplines, who have never played together—or at least not in that particular formation—for a one-time encounter and experience. The Festival began in Munich in 2016 but moved to Barcelona for its third and fourth editions, and returned to Munich in 2025.

The MMI Festival has released seven albums from its 2025 edition so far, documenting meetings between John Butcher and Marta Warelis, and Agustí Fernández and Lucía Martinez, among others. The last album in this series is of a trio of Catalan, Barcelona-based dancer Sónia Sànchez, who innovates the flamenco dance legacy with Japanese Butoh and Body Weather; fellow Catalan, Salzburg-based hyper-pianist Jordina Millà Benseny, who was introduced to the improvisational world by Fernández (who has also played with Sànchez, in a duo with Millà, and in the MMI Festival), plays with Barry Guy, and has collaborated with dance and theater groups before, including with Sànchez in Trio Mars; and Viennese turntables and electronics wizard dieb13 (aka Dieter Kovačič), who performed before with Millà.

This trio’s set opened the third and last day of the festival and was recorded live at Einstein Kultur in Munich in May 2025. Obviously, the album does not offer the full experience without Sànchez’s expressive face and dance moves, but you can hear her feet pounding the floor. The 51-minute free improvised piece begins with Millà producing delicate, otherworldly friction and percussive sounds from inside the piano, subtly extended by dieb13’s humming electronics. Slowly, it morphs into a resonant, enigmatic, and poetic texture, spiced with dramatic, fragmented pulses.

dieb13 kept introducing surprising, processed, and noisy sounds that stimulated the tension and disrupted any attempt to surrender to a familiar course, and mid-piece, he even adds a heavy, hypnotic, Fire! Trio-like pulse, and samples of vocal artist Phil Minton (dieb13’s long-time collaborator), while Millà transformed the grand piano into a twisted, restless harp. And just as this improvisation reached its chaotic climax, it gently slides into a cathartic coda, as if the trio has equipped its audiences with heightened sonic and visual awareness for the sober awakening that comes after such a masterful performance ends.

Munich 2025 - Day 3 Set 1 by Sónia Sànchez - Jordina Millà - Dieb13

Yvonne Rogers - The Button Jar (Pyroclastic Records, 2026)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Mon, 27 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Hillary Carelli-Donnell

For listeners hungry for something humane yet experimental, there is a new musician offering work that strikes this delicate balance. Brooklyn based composer and pianist Yvonne Rogers’ is blending playful free improvisation and a burnished yet fearless approach to the piano. She uses subtle dissonances in rhythm and texture, combined with an elegant sense of restraint to develop fresh yet timeless pieces that speak a language all her own.

Rogers grew up in Penobscot Maine and studied at the Eastman School of Music at the University of Rochester. Since relocating to New York City in 2022, she has quickly made her mark on the jazz and improvisational landscape, playing regularly with various ensembles including saxophonist Ingrid Laubrock’s Lilith and trumpeter Adam O’Farrill’s ELEPHANT. Last December she wrapped up a yearlong residency at Close Up and is now preparing a Spring Season Commission at Roulette. On a cold winter morning, we spoke about her creative process and her upcoming album.

The Button Jar, set for release on Pyroclastic Records in May,will be Rogers’ first solo effort and a follow up to her 2023 debut Seeds. She’ll be in good company on Pyroclastic, which has released work from such heavyweights as Mary Halvorson and Craig Taborn. The Button Jar is a mature collection of compositions that shows off Rogers’ versatility as both a composer and improviser. It contains an equal measure of minimalism and rich harmonic interplay, and a few completely improvised pieces. It's a record that situates her, as she says, “solidly between experimental and jazz”. The idea for the album was born when Kris Davis, the experimental pianist behind Pyroclastic Records and Rogers’ mentor, encouraged her to further develop the tiny explorations she was posting to Instagram. “Seeds, my first project, was a quartet record, and [Kris] really wanted me to explore my sound to go deeper into my thing,” said Rogers. Although the pieces originated as sketches and most remain under three minutes long, it's clear that Rogers has taken a thoughtful approach to composition, noting that it sometimes takes hours to write a few measures. Rogers recalls her mother would implore her, “If you’re going to use this button, you need to know how to sew it on,” as she dug through the dross in the craft room. “It needed to be intentional.… but also it was just for fun”. Indeed, her compositions on The Button Jar are lively and playful, but the intentionality of purpose is palpable throughout the record.

The album is sonic homage to Rogers’ upbringing in Coastal Maine and her connection to its estuarine environment, which shaped her creative practice. “I was always outside,” Rogers says, “It was such an imaginative childhood for me, the feeling of being totally alone in the woods and feeling like that was my space.” The album is an exploration of an inner world, but without the indulgence. The softer, more introspective tracks contrast well with the angular modernist elements found in others. The record opens with “Luster”, a counterpoint melody reminiscent of the repetitive unpredictable patter of raindrops. The title track “Button Jar” is a frantic, but ultimately coherent, scramble. On “Monkey’s Fist” named for a mariners knot, she goes in a different direction opening with a theme suggestive of Roy Ayers’ “We Live In Brooklyn Baby”. Three of the pieces, Avid Risks (an anagram of Kris Davis), the “Craft Room” and “Exhale” are wholly improvised and were recorded in a single take. That they’re indistinguishable in complexity and vigor from the other composed pieces speaks to her ability to pare down a complex musical idea into a succinct package. Jazz critic for the New Yorker, Whitney Balliett, once wrote that if Cecil Taylor is a hammer, then the keyboard is an anvil. With that in mind, on this album Rogers is a woodworker, and the piano is a tree.

Photo by Alice Plati

In the process of carving out her melodies, Rogers is experimenting with a distinctive sonic toolkit. “I never really got into voicings…I’m more interested in what textural effects an interval or a rhythm will have. I think texturally rather than harmonically. I would rather play something that I really don’t like rather than something I think is boring.” Choosing to take creative risks like these is what imbues her artistic statement with vitality and personality, and it’s also what makes it interesting to be in the audience for her performances.

While The Button Jar highlights her solo chops, Rogers also shines in an ensemble as a skilled and versatile accompanist. Her personal style, percussive and angular comes through in combo settings, but she says her attention is focused on moving in sync with the other musicians. Her ensemble playing feels like watching a murmuration of birds. “It's about anticipating where the other person is going to go, it's intuitive” she says. “Most people are reacting to the soloist, but I want to be going somewhere together”. Indeed, her upcoming Roulette Commission is focused on the artistic personalities of her quartet members. Rogers shared that the pieces collectively titled Odesare “directly inspired by the musical habits, rituals, and timbres unique to each of my collaborators, it encourages us to spend time getting to know each other, and to celebrate the magic of our idiosyncrasies.”

The fundamental humanity of her music comes through in her live performances as well. When asked about how to interest people in a music that might feel esoteric or challenging, Rogers offered: “I think the first step is to relate to your immediate surroundings, and include people in the room. Live music is having a moment. The act of gathering being exposed to something that you might not normally be exposed to is important. I think people are appreciative of that right now.” Musicians and audiences today are beset by the isolating and homogenizing forces of artificial intelligence and capitalism. In this environment her approach that weaves connections between improvised music, human beings and the natural world is a necessary one, and it could not have come at a better time.

The Button Jarwill be released on May 8th on Pyroclastic Records; she performs “Odes” at Roulette in Brooklyn on June 6th.

The Button Jar by Yvonne Rogers

______________________________________________________________________

Hillary Carelli-Donnell is a musician, DJ and sometimes writer interested in how democracy manifests in society, culture and music.

Marc Ribot - When the World's on Fire

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Sun, 26 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

"Where will you run, when the world's on fire?", asked guitarist and tune-smith Marc Ribot last year on the title track from his pensive Map of a Blue City album.

It seemed like an urgent enough question then and a sounding of an alarm now.

A book and a movie: NOW JAZZ NOW and SUN RA

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Sat, 25 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Ferruccio Martinotti

NOW JAZZ NOW - 100 Essential Free Jazz & Improvisation Recordings 1960-80 (Ecstatic Peace Library, 2025)

WARNING: This book is addictive and may lead to compulsive and repeated use of your PayPal, Discogs and Bandcamp accounts. We recommend deactivating them immediately for at least a month after reading.

First things first: this is not a book about free jazz, this is THE book about free jazz. We haven't seen Johannes Rod's work yet, and we're sure it's excellent, but as far as we know, Now Jazz Now MUST be on your book shelves between the Penguin and As Serious as Your Life, period.

In short, strengths and weaknesses.

PROS:

1) The Layout. a) Thick, heavy-coated paper; b) Cover and inside jacket photos (Don Cherry, Pharoah Sanders and Sonny Sharrock, Marshall Allen, Carla Bley, Frank Wright, and Noah Howard) are among the most incredible you've ever seen. c) Each album's description includes a cover photo of the first vinyl pressing (you 3, bloody damn discaholics...). d) A preface by Neneh Cherry and a final poem by Joe McPhee are worth the ticket alone;

2) The Authors. One thing's for sure: with a forward line like that, even Torino Football Club would be playing in the Champions League. Byron Coley confirms himself as that seeker of the Musical Klondike who sifts the stream in search of golden flakes and nuggets. And he finds them (thank you, Mr. Coley, for the "guided tour" in the '90s through Memphis' darkest alleys following Gibson Bros. et al.). Thurston Moore (Thurston Moore!) with humility and modesty approaches the records and the musicians he loves and shares his feelings with us. Mats Gustafsson…well, what can we say, Mats writes as he plays: visceral, passionate, incandescent, engaging, you read it and in an instant (autobiographical reference) you find “Nana,” “We Now Create,” and “King Alcohol” keeping company with your records;

3) The Discoveries. A cornucopia of inspirations, ideas and emotions through a sonic journey. From the Ensemble Muntu to the Edward Vesala Trio, from Abdul Al-Annan to Mario Schiano, from the Black Unity Trio to Lokomotiv Konkret, you'll never cease to be amazed;

4) The Confirmations. The aim of the book isn't a competition between the authors to find the strangest album on earth, so we find records that any average avid listener would listen to: Mitchell, Rollins, Coltrane, Braxton, Howard, Parker, Giuffre, etc., but described in such a contextualized and exciting way that when you put them back on the turntable for the hundredth time, it will almost seem like you've never heard them before.

5) The Global Unity. From the United States to Japan, from Finland to England, from France to Italy, from Germany to Sweden, there are no walls, barriers, tariffs or visas. The only form of suprematism is the universal one of the music that will move you so much that you'll forget the usual "why-is-there-this-and-not-that" game.

CONS. One major, heartbreaking flaw: given Mats and Thurston's direct involvement in the music scene from the '80s and '90s onward, it will be nearly impossible for a volume 2 to ever see the light. This book is the epitome of BUY OR DIE stuff.

SUN RA: DO THE IMPOSSIBLE (Christine Turner, 2024)

For the twelfth edition, the Seeyousound International Music Film Festival in Torino fulfills its usual goal of catering to diverse tastes without ever compromising on quality. Our palate found what it was looking for in the Italian premiere of the biographical documentary on Sun Ra by American director Christine Turner (The Barber of Little Rock, J'Nai Bridges Unamplified, A Knee on the Neck, Token of a Great Day, Homegoings, Betye Saar: Taking Care of Business, Paint & Pitchfork). The Music Purist Guards in the theater were arising the questions: can 85 minutes tell the story of the life and works of a genius of the caliber of Sun Ra, one of the greatest visionaries of the 20th century? A specious question, obviously not. Would we be more satisfied watching every evening at the Fondation Maeght on rotation? A rhetorical question, obviously yes. As we listened to such learned questions, we wondered how many Ra records these "professors" actually had but ok, let's forget it...

The film is an excellent work that, on the one hand, serves as an excellent introduction for those unfamiliar (or not too familiar) with Sun Ra, and on the other, will certainly satisfy the readers of our community. The archive footages are breathtaking: from his native Birmingham to his trip to Egypt among the pyramids, it cannot fail to impress even the most completest of collectors, and the live scenes featuring keyboards from Saturn, magic spheres, tiaras, and mystical headdresses leave the viewer speechless. The external contributions are a notable added value, including Arkestra members like Marshall Allen, Cheryl Banks-Smith, Ahmed Abdullah, musicians DJ Spooky and King Britt, and commentators Harmony Holiday and Louis Chude-Sokei. In short, a kaleidoscopic journey into the surreal world of a larger-than-life character like nobody else, by definition impossible to be summed up in this or in any other film but that does not diminish the crystalline beauty of “Do the Impossible”.

Big Ears Festival Day 4, Sunday, 3/29/2026

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Fri, 24 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Sarah “Flake” Grosser and Richard Blute(*)

Julian Lage Quartet
Tennessee Theatre

Julian Lage has a couple of mighty fine carpets on stage. The whole layout is a rather big setup for a four-piece with John Medeski surrounded by organ and piano. There's barely a spare seat in this auditorium, which is to be expected for Lage, who is not only a superstar in terms of popularity, he is also probably the most technically gifted guitarist in the scene. Let's face it.

What more can really be said about his tone, dynamic control, and speed? Beyond which, his sentimental sensitivity and radical softness simply can't be emulated. This set is quite ballad heavy, with a strong focus on his latest album Scenes from Above. He's always got that kind of surprised expression on his face, like he is personally delighted at his own abilities, and there's nowhere or no one else he'd rather be. And fair enough – the world is a better place because Julian plays guitar.

On one song, Medeski pulls out an organ solo that might have been my favorite solo of the weekend - tough to pick! Drummer Kenny Wollesen and bassist Jorge Roeder complete this quartet. There's so much talent on this stage, it's hard to decide who to watch. Many fans opt to simply close their eyes and let their combined brilliance wash over them.

As an amusing aside, later in the day Greg and I went for some lunch at the Tomato Head restaurant in town which coincidentally happened to be the same lunch-place of choice for Julian, Jorge, and a few friends. We did not engage, as they had taken a spot up the back and were just enjoying lunch in peace. All of a sudden Julian’s song “Opal” began playing gently over the sound system. Nobody working in the restaurant seemed to have made the association and recognised them, but Greg and I couldn’t help but glance over to try and catch the reaction of the band. As suspected, there were bashful smiles and eye-rolls all around. Too funny! File that one under “only at Big Ears.”

Brian Marsella’s iMAGiNARiUM
Tennessee Theatre

Brian has it all - all the genres, all the musicians, all the lights! He is in his element at the helm, and with his funny goggles on his hat, we know we are in for a good time. iMAGiNARiUM doesn't take itself too seriously or try to push any agenda. It's got a nostalgic Zappa-esque cartoonishness both visually and sonically - maybe this is most characteristic in the xylophone, today played by Sae Hashimoto, sounding very reminiscent of Ruth Underwood from the Mothers of Invention. The big band is nice, but it's the individual solos that really shine here. Big moments for flute (Itai Kriss), sax, guitar (John Lee), and violin.

The songs weave through various passages, some sparsely instrumented, some with the full ensemble. Of course there are a few manic piano runs that Brian effortlessly whips off. All the while conducting the ensemble while switching between piano and multiple keyboards, synths, and apparently even a toy piano.

Some of the songs were accompanied by visuals. The more steam-punk animations meshed neatly with the whole aesthetic, while the abstract color and light visualizations just floated by like a dream.

Patrick Shiroishi. Photo by Billie Wheeler

Patrick Shiroishi(*)
The Blackbox

One of the highlights of this year’s festival was Patrick Shiroishi’s stunning solo performance. He was performing music from his 2025 album Forgetting Is Violent and was accompanied by video. His standing on the stage alone seemed so appropriate for this music as the theme of the album, and much of Shiroishi’s music, is racism and how it separates us from each other.

But in his performance, Shiroishi is reaching out to offer his hand and try to get past the hatred.

While the video presentation was touching, I also found myself marveling at Shiroishi’s skills as a saxophonist. He played fluid, serpentine lines in the style of Evan Parker, but also very much his own.

There was a haunting quality to his playing. He uses electronic techniques to extend the sound of his saxophone and so much of the music he played felt like a lone voice reaching out from the past. His playing was matched by the visuals that were flashing behind him. They were grainy black and white videos which seemed like a memory the viewer was trying to find.

Nels Cline: Lovers. Photo by Cora Wagoner

Nels Cline: Lovers
Tennessee Theatre

On a day of the massive ensembles, Nels is up there with the biggest- nineteen musicians and the fabulously sassy Michael Leonhart conducting. The ballads are super soft- a tip of the chapeau to the festival programmers once again for their inspired gentle Sunday programming. The wafty string section lulls and sways as Nels, upfront in his new red shirt, works his understated guitar magic.

Ever humble, Nels quietly addressed the enormous room: "I’m trying to act like this is a normal event for me." Later on, Nels announced, "We're gonna continue with a song on the setlist that I cannot see. I guess I should have my own copy."

The ensemble patiently worked its way through cuts from the critically acclaimed 2016 album Lovers featuring tracks “Secret Love,” “Cry, Want,” and “Glad to Be Unhappy.” Where the album featured appearances from Nels's wife Yuka Honda, Steve Bernstein, Julian Lage, Erik Friedlander, Kenny Wollesen, and many more, today Nels was joined by Michael Leonhart and the Knoxville Jazz Orchestra.

Our experience in Nels’ world of soft experimentations and ballads was only short lived, as we needed to high-tail it outta there in order to catch my companion’s big wish for the final day – Matt Mitchell’s Zealous Angles.

Matt Mitchell’s Zealous Angles

Matt Mitchell’s Zealous Angles
Regas Square

There's no questioning the talent in Matt's incredible quartet. Chris Tordini (bass), Dan Weiss (drums), and Miles Okazaki (guitar) can certainly keep up with his sporadic, spontaneous-sounding compositions. But it has to be said, the visuals are almost stealing the show. They are flashing hard with at least four live cameras on the musicians- very atypical for a jazz show, but certainly a lot of fun. I never knew I needed the slow-motion blending of a delayed Miles Okazaki fading into a rainbow until this very moment.

The playing is absurdly tight, many of the pieces are sparse, with Dan bringing impressively intricate rhythms. Miles gets deep on a crisp guitar solo for the elite who can still handle this level of intellectualism after four days. In so few words, it’s just a really impressive group.

Greg Saunier: “Who’s doing it like this? Relentless refusal to play in a key or a rational rhythm. Refusal to play above mezzo piano. So beautiful plus the [other] funniest drummer on the planet, Dan Weiss.”

JACK Quartet

JACK Quartet Plays John Luther Adams
St. John's Cathedral

Normally when I write my reviews I write them in person, on location, in full sentences, in the moment. For JACK quartet’s rendition of two John Luther Adams suites, this was an impossibility for me.

Mere seconds after Austin Wulliman delivered his introduction of the suite The Wind in High Places, I felt something stir inside of me, rendering me completely unable to write. The sound of the quartet emulating the wind, via the natural harmonics of the strings, and without pressing them down, was quite possibly the most beautiful sound I had ever heard in my life, and the piece had only just begun.

I am tearing up even now as I write this, remembering the relentless beauty of the sound, the setting of the cathedral, the acoustics, the overtones… I remember the feeling of complete and utter surrender to the performance – not a single thought in my head, and with eyes closed the feeling of just allowing the tears to cascade down my cheeks, in waves. The well-trained audience remained obediently quiet between pieces, not once breaking the spell. After some time, I finally opened my eyes to the realisation that my entire face was dripping onto my clothes. So lost in the moment was I, completely unaware of what a wet mess I had become, entranced by this unforgettable performance.

I feel that words won’t do justice to the music, other than to describe the pieces as two very minimal suites, that while deceptively simple in concept, can only be executed by four masters of the craft. The second suite Lines Made by Walking was equally as breathtaking and cathartic.

Absolute perfection, and one of the most stunning, and memorable musical performances I have ever witnessed.

What a finale.

***

Read: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

Big Ears Festival Day 3, Saturday, 3/28/2026

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Thu, 23 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Sarah “Flake” Grosser and Richard Blute(*)

Cobra
Bijou Theatre

The always cryptic, hand-written prompting signs line the front of the stage where Zorn has prepared to conduct another round of his famous Cobra – this reviewer’s personal favourite live performance of the Zorn repertoire. The musicians file into place. Zorn jumps into the audience to his conductor’s spot just in front of the stage. Some late-comers try to sit too close to Zorn but he shoos them away. And with that we may begin. The room is hushed as musicians raise hands, fingers, and tap heads while Zorn points at them. They physically write down notes in silence. In anticipation of what’s about to start, Zorn addresses the audience, translating the arm-flailing gibberish for us by simply stating: “You’re gonna love it!”

Half the fun in watching Cobra is the not knowing exactly what’s going on, but for the few of us with a little understanding, there are a couple of obvious visual cues. For instance, John Medeski is suddenly wearing a neon sweatband. This signals that he has been allowed by Zorn to “Go Guerilla” and ignore the prompts for a period of time, and so he goes rogue on the organ, independent from the ensemble.

Cobra

As a series of conducted improvised pieces, what sets Cobra apart is the staggering amount of talent onstage, and the extreme level of concentration required to play the game. The tiniest slip up in prompt recognition from Ches Smith, mistakenly coming in on the drums, results in a shocked John exclaiming: “No-no-no-noooo!” The resulting punishment? No drums in the following piece. Only strings for this round; Jay Campbell (of the JACK quartet) on cello and Jorge Roeder on double bass!

I can’t figure out what prompted Simon Hanes to start playing his bass sideways because there is so much to watch at one time: A beautiful vibraphone solo from Sae Hashimoto. A trio forms between Jorge Roeder, Ches Smith, and Brian Marsella, who play ring-a-ding jazz. This is suddenly interspersed with more heavy cross-over, as the metal guys lock in – Matt Hollenberg, Simon Hanes, Dave Lombardo (for all the Zorn trainspotters, Dave is wearing a Simulacrum T-shirt!). Maybe Wendy Eisenberg on guitar too, but I couldn't see, because my view was obstructed by William Winant, who was mainly using balloons as a primary source of sound generation.

Everyone on stage is such a huge character and it’s fun watching what they do as pairs. They communicate via exaggerated, cartoonish facial expressions and eye contact to try to get the attention of people on the other side of the room. This makes for some really interesting combinations. And let’s talk for a moment about those dynamics. Zorn likes to go loud, Loud, LOUD. When prompted to go hard, folks are clearly hitting it as loud and as hard as they physically can, and somehow Zorn dials it up to eleven. Exacerbated, they somehow manage to go even louder and harder. Chalk it up to that exhilarating Zorn magic.

Greg Saunier: “I am usually not a fan of conducted improv, but this was outrageously satisfying. Wall to wall A-List participants. Rather intimidating, TBH.”

Mary Halvorson & Henry Fraser. Photo by CoraWagoner

Mary Halvorson: Canis Major
Tennessee Theatre

I was only able to catch a couple of songs from Canis Major, but the venue was quite packed for the popular virtuoso’s newest quartet. Henry Fraser (double bass) brings a special kind of darkness to the project. I had previously enjoyed his solo recordings on Bandcamp, and his work in various other groups (alongside Camilo Ángeles, Elias Stemeseder, Jason Nazary, etc), so I enjoyed seeing him taking direction from Ms. Halvorson, and working his signature style amongst the moods of her compositions. Mary's quirky effected runs take center stage over Tomas Fujiwara's confident drum accompaniment, with Dave Adewumi's trumpet bringing the spice on top. Fans of Mary know she never misses and Canis Major is no exception. Crescendos like rolling thunder; she has such a good ear for great melodies that are memorable but still complicated. Such a skill, and all this on top of her incredible technical guitar talent. How exciting is it to be living at the same time as Mary Halvorson?

The Joyful Noise Players. Photo by Ashli Linkous

Joyful Noise Presents: The Joyful Noise Players
Pretentious Beer Company

Contrary to the weather forecast, the sun is beaming down on the Pretentious Beer Company's back garden where nine colorful characters occupy the outdoor stage. The music reveals itself only gradually – Kishi Bashi's effect laden violin opening the conversation, as slowly the others join in. Tall Tall Trees plucking intermittently on his banjo, Booker Stardrum peppering with bass sample stabs, shakers, and percussion, and Patrick Benjamin's expressive synth arpeggiating.

The brass section of Marta Tiesenga and Patrick Shiroishi hold back until there is space amongst the reverb and digital mish-mash. After a melodious run, a small trio forms between Kishi, Trees, and Booker. Shahzad Ismaily (bass) and Greg Saunier (drums) team up out back and things start to take a psychedelic turn. Wendy Eisenberg whammies her guitar and the saxophones have a moment to do their thing.

Greg switches to hand drumming. A couple of interested onlookers peak sneakily over the fence. In a particularly pretty moment, Wendy rips a soulful phasing solo with eyes closed and everyone lets the melody evolve with ease. The crowd sways and dances along to the reverberant beats.

It all somehow transposes into a kind of doom march, with Trees taking over on bass when Shahzad needs to run off to another show. From there, somehow a little funk even slips out.

As the band heats up, so too does the crowd who are all smiles, and with closed eyes. For the grand finale, it's the return of Shahzad. He picks up Trees's banjo, painted with butterflies and elephants, and gets right to work.

In its quietest moment only hand-drumming and a bass pulse sample from Booker. A guy apparently on the Big Ears Brown Acid says, "It's so beautiful, you can feel it. You can recognize it in the hugs."

Peni Candra Rini.Photo by A Ogle

Peni Candra Rini
The Blackbox

I have seen Peni perform a couple of times now, and in anticipation of “probably more of the same” I missed out on the beginning of her set. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Accompanied with the same crew of Dr. Andy Shaw (Percussion), Shahzad Ismaily (Moog/Bass), and her percussionists / shadow puppeteers, this year instead of one of the church locations, Peni had been stationed in The Blackbox. This immediately offered a totally different vibe and context in which to enjoy her profound talent. Beyond that, the visual accompaniment was a more modern combination of shadow puppets and video material, depicting scenes of traditional Indonesian dancing. Most arrestingly, Peni’s compositions appear to have taken an equally modern turn, venturing deeper into the realms of contemporary avant-garde with a twist of darkness. This moodier version of the already brilliant Peni is an exciting evolution, and offers a glimpse into her future as a versatile, unique performer and in a class of her own. A true artist who continues to surprise, and delight. Unsurprisingly, she receives a roaring standing ovation. In contrast to her extremely focussed presence as a singer, when the show ends she suddenly transforms into a hyperactive little kid, excitedly shouting: “THANK YOU BIG EARS SOUND SYSTEEEEMMM!” – absolutely adorable.

Greg Saunier: “Her group has developed into a real band with its own sound. Just because she is perfect doesn’t mean it’s an act.”

Laurie Anderson. Photo by Billie Wheeler

John Zorn & Laurie Anderson(*)
Bijou Theatre

It was Laurie Anderson who taught me that there could be more to music than the rage of Dead Kennedys or the melancholy of Joy Division. It was John Zorn (along with Peter Brötzmann) who taught me that punk and jazz met in an intersection that could produce amazing music. So John Zorn and Laurie Anderson performing together? I was first in line that night.

Laurie mostly played violin. Zorn would punctuate her soothing almost romantic playing with harsh skronks and wailing sax lines. It’s always a pleasure to listen to Zorn’s alto playing under any circumstances. Tonight, the music kept the listener off balance but constantly in awe of these two fine musicians. And Laurie added some spoken word pieces. One piece began “The reason I love the stars so much is that we can’t hurt them.” She then went on to list the myriad ways we humans do damage to each other and concluded with “But we’re still trying, we’re getting closer.” In another piece she stated, “America. We saw it. We tipped it over, and then we sold it… Another day in America… All my brothers, and all my long lost sisters, How do we begin again?"

There was quite a bit of sadness at the state of the world in this performance but there was also an ember of hope to be found. It was there in the beautiful music and the obviously deep friendship these two great musicians shared. It was a hope that we might someday soon rediscover our compassion and decency.

Patricia Brennan Septet. Photo by Ashli Linkous

Patricia Brennan Septet
Jackson Terminal

Patricia Brennan's idea of slowing down the pace is a speedy arpeggio solo on vibes. The crowd whoops – she is so impressive, and as always a complete ray of sunshine. She conducts her septet with all four mallets in hand, (which incidentally is handy for those of us further in the back, as we could easily follow along from a distance!) The Jackson Terminal is a great open setting for Patricia's infectious latin flair. That big brass sound is perfect for a Saturday Night Boogie. It's hard not to bop along and get down. “Los Otros Yo” might be the catchiest song in her catalogue. I’d only just managed to get it out of my head since the Saalfelden Festival in 2025, but now it’s stuck back in there all over again. Not sad about it, tbh.

Patricia always brings so much spirit and energy to her performances and she is truly special. So groovy and so much fun, while also being seriously intellectual. Party on!

Greg Saunier: “Some tunes border on atonality but the catchiest-and-most-impossible-not-to-smile atonality in musical history. The entire band operating at an impossible level of musicianship. Finally got to see Marcus Gilmore in person on the drums.”

Laurie Anderson. Photo by Taryn Ferro

Spin: Laurie Anderson with Eyvind Kang & Martha Mooke
PostModern Sound Exchange

A triple treat of violin goodness, Eyvind on a pretty standard looking instrument, Laurie and Matha on some funky-ass futuristic electric space fiddles. Laurie's doesn't even have tuning pegs. What is this sorcery? The same can be said about the magic three: Yes it's classical, but the subtle effects add a slightly modern edge. A little reverb and delay and zaps for good measure. It's entirely relaxing and pleasant considering some of the more abstract stuff we've seen this weekend.

With pedals and iPad, the trio whirl long bowed notes, weaving them into a sweet, spacey, reflective world of their own. Nuance and rich sentimentality that only string instruments can conjure. It's simultaneously melancholic and uplifting. Heavy reverb creates a huge vast atmosphere, swirling, cinematic, and epic. Sometimes it sounds like the loneliest chasms of deep space, sometimes the majesty of mighty natural landscapes here on earth. But always somewhat driven and determined. Hopeful. This might be 2026 Big Ear's answer to 2025's turntable trio of Miriam Rezaei, Maria Chàvez, and Victoria Shen.

Darius Jones. Photo by Ashli Linkous

Darius Jones Trio(*)
The Blackbox

I had the great pleasure of catching the Darius Jones Trio, consisting of Jones on alto sax, Chris Lightcap on bass and Gerald Cleaver on drums performing songs from their album Legend of e’Boi (The Hypervigilant Eye). It was one of the highlights of the Festival.

Gerald Cleaver is such a fine drummer, I just love watching him play. I’m pretty sure I could watch him with the sound off and still be drawn into the rhythms he’s creating. Chris Lightcap provides perfect bass accompaniment to Jones’s wonderful compositions. Jones is the star here, both in terms of his playing and his composition. His lines are simple, but elegant and he imbues every note with such deep emotion.

I was particularly struck by his final song, "No More My Lord." Darius spoke about the song before performing it, and I did a bit of research on the song. It was written by Henry Jimpson Wallace. Not much is known about him except that he wrote the song in the American South’s oppressive prison system. It was documented by the tireless ethnomusicologist Alan Lomax. The trio’s performance of the song reveals the song’s deep melancholy. But I can also hear a flicker of hope for salvation. It was probably the most moving moment of the festival for me. I wrote to Darius and asked him to comment on what the song meant to him. Here’s what he said:

“It means relief to me. Relief from all the woes of the world. The transcendence to another world. Henry Jimpson Wallace was a captured man that had brilliance within himself, and I feel the recording of this piece captures it. There is something unique about the recording of this piece too that has intrigued me for years. At about 1:40 you will hear a weird loud almost electronic sound. That sound is a wood chip from the tree Henry is chopping down that hits Alan's mic. In many ways I feel it is Henry's spirit saying: remember me.”

Masada II
Bijou Theatre

Joey Baron (drums) comes out guns a-blazing and it's go time instantly for the second original Masada quartet performance of the festival. Zorn has been conjuring energy throughout the day over at the side of the stage – god knows how he does it. Somehow at seventy-two, he is still one of wildest and most dynamic sax players at the entire festival. Facing Dave Douglas (trumpet) the interplay between them is constant. Joey takes a boldly loud solo.

The old bandmates sail through classics like "Karaim" with ease. Joey is limber and rubbery as ever; brush in one hand, stick in the other, every hit he makes is a sound decision with complete confidence. But it's entirely that confidence that's required to keep up with Zorn. He conducts his bandmates with such dominance: different gestures and signals seem to magically produce the notes.

Of course Masada is one of the prime examples of his Radical Jewish Music, that influence is omnipresent. One particularly gnarly solo sounds like a snake charmer trying to charm the snake as fast as he can. It's a weird one, and the audience chuckles, enjoying its originality.

You would never guess that this original Masada configuration now only performs sporadically. They are every bit locked into each other now as they were in their heyday. Everyone is constantly smiling; they all are having fun. The crowd erupts with thunderous applause in a standing ovation after the last note, and Johnnie raises his sax triumphantly to the skies – onward, and upward!

Greg Saunier: “Hyped up Ornette quartet which is irresistible because who can resist Joey Baron, the funniest drummer of the planet.”

***

Read: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

Big Ears Festival Day 2, Friday, 3/27/2026

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Wed, 22 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Sarah “Flake” Grosser

Tomas Fujiwara: Dream Up
The Greyhound

The venue of “The Greyhound” is a former Greyhound bus terminal. Funnily enough the ambiance is reminiscent of, well, a bus station, with concrete walls all around. It’s a great spot for a show as the high ceiling allows for the acoustics of Tomas Fujiwara's drums and Ches Smith's vibes to reverberate up into the air. Dream Up features four percussionists. The vibes carry most of the melody, decorated by a plethora of rhythmic accoutrements: Kaoru Watanabe features on the Taiko drums and Tim Keiper is announced as being on “everything” – donso ngoni, kamale ngoni, calabash, temple blocks, timbale, djembe, castanets, balafon, and found objects. Also, there is a wooden flute.

The room is interspersed with viewers from every angle around the central stage. Some of us are the refugees who did not make it into the first Masada quartet performance due to the capacity limit of the Bijou Theatre where all of John Zorn's performances were held. For now, we have Keiper on a gourd drum sitting on the floor, getting a good groove going while the rest of the band bounce along. Folks nod their heads approvingly, and an occasional "Yeah!" is heard.

The final piece is a more relaxed affair. Downtempo with brushes and light taps on the vibes. A very easy way to start the day. The wooden flute solo, right at the end bringing it all home.

Tune-Yards
Mill & Mine

We duck into the Mill & Mine for a short ten minute interlude before we go queue up for Nels Cline and Julian Lage's secret show at a small venue. The simple setup of electric drums, bass, and sampler/effects allows for Merrill Garbus's characteristic and powerful voice to shine over the top. It's indie pop and relatively straightforward composition-wise. Pop does mean popular and she has a ton of fans here to prove it.

Nels Cline & Julian Lage

Nels Cline & Julian Lage Secret Show
Blue Note Lounge

One of the unique aspects of Big Ears are the "Secret Shows" – special combinations of artists performing in small venues, usually improv, and only announced shortly before they happen. These Secret Shows are blocked out on the officially printed Big Ears schedule, so you know ahead of time when and where they will be, but the exact names of who is performing are not revealed until around 30 minutes before each show. Patrons receive a notification via the Big Ears app, or, if you are a good hobnobber, you might get word from the artists themselves or find out via – GASP – a leak! It’s cool to contemplate whether or not you want to roll the dice, and with results such as “Cline vs Lage” or “Halvorson vs Ribot,” the risk was often too good to resist. This gambling aspect of the festival is super spontaneous and adds a whole layer of fun (or even further decision-making stress) to an already packed-out weekend. Love it, love it, LOVE IT!

The soft harmonic intro of Nels and Julian is no match for the blaring sound emanating from the next door Jackson Terminal venue. Thankfully this situation is quickly rectified by someone shutting the door. Introverted and inwardly focused, Nels arpeggiates and Julian quickly follows along on that flat-2, sharp-4 tip.

Julian's fingers dance around, as if programmed by his emotive eyebrows. This is some good guitar noodlin'. Julian has a special, enigmatic energy that the greats seem to invoke whenever they play with him. He seems not to be even pressing the strings, his grip is so feather-light. Their grooves swell around each other in the most perfect and effortless manner. It's the kind of chemistry which is impossible to articulate with words, and can only be appreciated in reality when it's right in front of you.

The duo are in sync every step of the way, regardless of the change in mood, like old friends who just get each other, completely relaxed in each other's presence. Some folks listen with their eyes closed. Most, however, are transfixed on the stage and the two exquisite performers. Nobody even drops their phone; the guitar gods were smiling. After improvising, Nels announces that playing with Lage is: "The highlight and joy of my life." They then play an immaculate piece by Jim Hall, in his honour.

We ran into Nels later in the street, as he was shopping for a new red shirt. He had a look of elation, or soft bliss in his face, clearly still buzzing from the set he had shared with Julian. With great confidence he insisted that this duo will absolutely be moving forward, both in the studio and touring. And why wouldn’t they – the very thought of it makes him so happy, and we are so ready for them.

Greg Saunier: "Unannounced improv show in a tiny room at low volume. A hush of concentration comes over the audience who hang on every twist and turn. I’ve never heard such chops and such telepathy.”

Marc Ribot’s Hurry Red Telephone
Jackson Terminal

Famous for bringing the chaos, a slight technicality at the beginning doesn't stop our boi Marc. For all we know this was purely intentional. True to form, his guitar strings are springy and uncut at the tuning pegs. His sheet music crumply, like a 3D paper art-installation perched precariously on the music stand. He whips each sheet carelessly onto the ground as he finishes. Wild compositions are on fire – it's going down a treat. Marc is another of those really "cool" guitarists; those legendary/legacy artists whose playing shows no sign of wear. Jackson Terminal is at full capacity and with good reason, as sources report that Ribot's SHREK performance yesterday was also outstanding.

Marc's embracement of punky drums and rebellious energy is always welcome in a genre which oftentimes gets caught up in stiff pretentiousness. Distortion and effects cap off a great rock sound. Raw attitude. The summary on his website reads: “Ribot has continued to be anything he’s wanted to be,” and I couldn’t have summed it up better.

Greg Saunier: “The Marc Ribot Quartet still provides a type of musical cruelty and self sabotage unique to Marc Ribot. I am still the willing, smiling, laughing masochist. Deerhoof would never exist without the Ribot Punk Jazz Bible.”

John Zorn Plays Harry Smith
Bijou Theatre

The expectations from the title “John Zorn Plays Harry Smith” were that John Zorn would play a live soundtrack over Harry Smith films – this turned out to be partially true. Although a full band of Ikue Mori, Ches Smith, Jorge Roeder, and Zorn himself were introduced, the three films were accompanied in part by playback, which was kind of a shame. The second film did feature a live score from Zorn and band though, and that was cool.

The band is completely hidden in the darkness of the side of the stage while spinning orange figures and shapes of butterflies are projected onto the screen and obscure animations like odd stained glass windows. Ikue's water sounds are fitting with the fish-like animal. The films have a psychedelic '70s aesthetic and subtle humour about them.

The green mirrored dancing lady scenes are accompanied by a piece of music from Zorn's IAO album: the voodoo magic ritual shaker and bongo sounds are hypnotic and quite repetitive.

The second film features closeups of colored quilts, soundtracked by Johnnie on sax and finally a bassline from Jorge Roeder. It's a pretty smooth jazz combo while the red and blue material flashes by in a kind of stop motion effect. The sax takes the forefront and leads the gentle rhythm with just a hint of sass.

The third film features more cutout characters and Monty Python-esque animations. The soundtrack to this is a piece from the Filmworks series. One can’t help wishing that the band would play along with it.

Fred Frith. Photo by Ashli Linkous

Fred Frith’s Fremakajo
The Standard

Perhaps as a nod to his days in Zorn's Naked City, Fred is on the bass. He is joined by drums, sax, and accordion. A lively, bouncy two-step march feels slightly polka-esque with the addition of the accordion. He plays a song called "Lau for Now" in homage to the Scottish trio “Lau.” Did you know Fred could play the fiddle? I sure didn't until now!

Fred's pieces resemble ditties, most of them ending with a distinct kick on the very last note as a kind of signature. The intense red-down lighting makes for a rather dramatic setting during one of Fred's compositions that sounds like a series of one-shots. Any note could signify the end of the piece. Each kick drum sounds like punctuation; a period at the end of a short sentence. Maybe Morse Code is a more apt reference.

Like most of the music at Big Ears, Fred's is an acquired taste, but it's far from the most far-out music here. It’s a kind of Intellectual Prog, with lots of pretty harmonies between sax, accordion, and bass, as well as moody moments. Overall there is a kind of mature playfulness to Fred's compositions. Fred announces, "Time for a ballad: 'Ballad on the Run'" and the front row is awash with warm smiles.

John Zorn + Brian Marsella Trio

Impromptus, Ballades, Nocturnes
Bijou Theatre

The combination of Brian Marsella at the piano and John Zorn composing with exactly him in mind is truly a powerful mixture. Brian is too good to be true, and these compositions are some of Zorn's most vibrant and enjoyable of late. It's been a super long weekend for drummer Ches Smith but he seems to thrive off the endurance factor. A set of shoes and camouflage pants can be seen just offstage, as Zorn watches on.

The curtain, usually at the back of the stage, has been lowered and brought forward transforming the Bijou Theatre, making it feel much more intimate, like a club. Brian smiles as he plays a familiar driving riff, giving bass player Jorge Roeder a chance to take a beautiful solo. Given how much music all three have been playing this weekend, and still have yet to play, it's no wonder each member is glued to their sheet music.

Brian is so much fun to watch when he's riffing. He's quite animated as he rocks out, lurching into the keys, always with a giant smile on his face. Two guys in the audience bob their heads along to a completely improvised piece with no meter. How, is a mystery.

John Zorn, Dave Lombardo, and John Medeski

Awakening Ground
Bijou Theatre

God help you if you try to take a photo of the rare trio of Dave Lombardo (drums), John Zorn (sax), and John Medeski (organ). Before the show, ushers hold up large placards saying "NO PHOTOS" while trying their best to look menacing.

As soon as the trio takes the stage, the metal-heads in the audience throw devil-horns into the air. Somewhat atypical for a jazz show, but Zorn has a way of uniting entire spectrums of fans with his multitude of projects that cross genres. The coolest parts are when Lombardo gets to thrash it out on the metally bits. In these moments, the energy of the sax, organ, and drums fuse together in a very natural, but gnarly way. When given the floor to solo, Lombardo hammers it out loud, fast, and making full use of both kick drums. In his fit of passion, Lombardo somehow loses a drum stick which ceremoniously rolls across the stage. A single fan shrieks in delight. Zorn grins.

At the conclusion of the song, fans cheer riotously with hands in the air. Zorn walks over to Lombardo to shake his hand, clearly impressed, as confirmed by his raised eyebrows. Maybe it seems like a novelty combination on paper, but this band is more than some festival jam session. The amalgamation of talent fits into a neat trifecta of skill, where no one legend outshines the others.

One piece is just the drone of the organ but with patterings of drum fills and the odd sax squawk. Very austere and a bold choice for so late in the night. It’s past our collective bedtime and some of us in the crowd are getting a little drowsy, but thankfully the band doesn’t leave it at that. A final blast of trademark Zorn-horn seals the deal for the night, which is met with an obvious standing ovation, and bringing Day 2 to a thunderous conclusion.

***

Read: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

Big Ears Festival Day 1, Thursday, 3/26/2026

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Tue, 21 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Sarah “Flake” Grosser

With canceled visas, flight delays, and legendarily long airport security queues due to understaffing, it’s a miracle that everyone made it to Big Ears this year. Fans began speculating whether this would be the last time notorious plane-hater and headliner John Zorn would ever set foot on a plane again in his life. Instead, the seventy-two year old opted to skip the chaos entirely, asking guitarist Matt Hollenberg to drive him from New York City to Knoxville instead. Matt later played in Saturday’s Cobra, alongside drum icon Dave Lombardo (Slayer), and many others.

Once again in 2026, the streets of downtown Gay Street were abundant with avant-garde superstars left and right. One could not go fifty meters without running into the likes of Nels Cline buying a new red shirt for “Lovers,” Laurie Anderson on her way to the Lou Reed Guitar Drones, or David Byrne on his famous fold-up bicycle that he apparently takes everywhere.

The staff at local restaurants also get into the spirit sporting band-shirts, while buskers line the main drag – some are more talented than others. No shade to the melodica chick, the steel drum guy, or the speedy drummer practising his blast beats, but the dude channeling Prince kinda owned it this year. Plus there was a cosplay convention in town, so add a few furries and a guy dressed as Gumby to the mix.

A recurring theme at Big Ears is that of FOMO, and this year was no exception. For every band you see there’s ten you miss out on. Beyond that, there are movies, artist talks, art exhibits, record/merch fairs, and that’s all before breakfast! Meals are foregone in favour of pop-up shows, some of which end up being the best sets of the weekend. At least when festival goers do have a free moment, downtown Knoxville offers plenty of tasty food options and fine microbreweries to refuel and plan for the next show.

This year, I was joined frequently by my favourite festival buddy, drummer and fellow jazz-enthusiast Greg Saunier, whose taste in music is remarkably similar to mine. For many of the shows we enjoyed together, he has written some additional summaries that I have included in this article, starting from Day 2.

Brian Marsella and Sae Hashimoto. Photo by cstewart

Brian Marsella and Sae Hashimoto
Regas Square

Brian and Sae open their set with "The Brilliant Questions That Children Ask," as the sun gently glows through the back windows at the small Regas Square venue. All the seats are filled and a sprinkling of extras stand in the back. The combination of vibraphone and piano makes for an intimate, intricate introduction to the festival, for those with a palette for flittering, flickering soft melodious pieces.The waltzing time signature is relaxing.

Sae announces that Big Ears is one of their favourite places to play and they are both so happy to be there. Brian prepares the piano and they launch into their new album's title track "Tunnel Vision." It's a lot more percussive in reality than on the recording. The two are artistically a great match, as they can keep up with each other as they speed through so many notes. The vibraphone sounds very warm, almost like a marimba. The wind is picking up outside and the queue signage is wobbling around, like it's enjoying the performance.

Just one year ago at Big Ears, Nels Cline announced onstage that Brian was not joining them as he had just become a father. Today, said child and their extended family were in the venue to witness the debut performance of this album that was recorded while Sae was pregnant. Life is sweet.

Brian is on fire, and after a particularly complicated run across the piano keys, a guy behind me lets out an exasperated sigh, "Phew." He is impressed. So are the rest of us.

Deerhoof. Phto by Taryn Ferro

Deerhoof
Mill & Mine

The Mill & Mine is chock-a-block and the crowd is bouncin'. Proper Deerhoof fans can be spotted in masks, as the band requests that everyone mask at indoor shows to help prevent the spread of Covid. The beats are infectious. Someone yells out to bass player/singer Satomi Matsuzaki that they love her dress. "Country Style!" she replies, with a lil' hoedown that flicks the fringing around. At the risk of sounding cliché, it's impressive that a band that's been together for so long remains so undeniably fresh and tight. Drummer Greg Saunier has the audience in the palm of his hand with a super pianissimo drum solo song introduction. It's the perfect segue into a more downtempo piece after their cover of Eddy Grant's "Electric Avenue." The crowd and band are one as the music plays and the audience sways. Yes, they get the party started. But tender moments are likewise appreciated. They don't miss, and bring something for everyone. Infinitely likeable, and just really good music.

Satomi dedicates their bunny song “Gore in Rut” to Easter and hops up and down making bunny ears with her hands. The aging Big Ears crowd doesn't exactly pogo along, but they make an effort. A young lad in the audience is using his hands to conduct along to one of the sassier time signature songs, "Scarcity Is Manufactured." Their appeal transcends generations; sure, the older fans don’t have the knees for moshing anymore, but there are plenty of younger fans who are hip to the Hoof.

Ches Smith's Clone Row. Photo by A Ogle.

Ches Smith's Clone Row
The Standard

Meanwhile, over at The Standard, Liberty Ellman and Mary Halvorson are battling it out on dueling guitars, as Ches Smith leads the way on drums and vibraphone. I only caught the last moments of this set but the mellow vibe seemed to be a hit as the medium-sized venue was quite populated, even up in the VIP balcony area.

I'm not sure how Ches and bass player Nick Dunston are communicating those alien rhythms to each other but apparently it's a prerequisite that both mouths hang open to receive and transmit signals. Whatever it is, it's working.

Super pianissimo is the flavor of the drummers' day as Ches's solo also featured some hand-pattered feathery ghost notes. Things pick up towards the tail end of the set with Mary psycho-noodlin' to some futuristic grooves with fun time signatures that get people dancing! Everyone goes, "Woooo!"

Mary Lattimore & Julianna Barwick
First Presbyterian Sanctuary

What better setting for a harp than a nice big church? Paired with an angelic voice, and choral samples on pads, the real-life version of the duo's album Tragic Magic resonates better and more tingly than their perfect studio recordings. The easy compositions are simple lullabies executed with grace, poise, and delicacy. It's such a shame when anyone sneezes from the famous Knoxville pollen, or drops their phone on the wooden church floor. When everything is finally silent, the magic is revealed. It's also a good thing that the wristband scanning machines beep in tune with the music, so that it was only slightly disruptive. Thankfully, Julianna is able to drown it out with some angelic layered vocal effects.

As a female, I can say that this music is relentlessly girly in the best, most empowering way – divine feminine positivity. I swear if one more person drops their phone I will stab them…

Mary explains how Tragic Magic was recorded on historic instruments normally kept behind glass at a Paris museum. The song title "Waking Up the Sleeping Princess" was taken from a comment about how these instruments are princesses and by playing them, Mary is waking them up from a long slumber. I am usually wary of loop pedals, but Mary knows what she is doing and the harp just works brilliantly through it.

Ryan Clackner (above) & Tyshawn Sorey (below, right). Photo by Taryn Ferro

Ryan Clackner & Tyshawn Sorey
The Standard

What a unique sound! This new duo stews slow-cooked doom jazz, simmered for hours in a crockpot. Good shit takes time, and for the glacial crescendos this focussed pair have no fear in dragging it out. Patience is a requirement. In fact, I overheard the guy behind me tell his partner, "Just give it a minute…"

These two are so into the realm they've created at the intersection between drone metal and free jazz; Ryan behind his Wayfarer shades, Tyshawn squinting in permanent stankface throughout. This is all about feeling. The Standard is not completely full, maybe because this one is pretty obscure, but most likely because this set clashes with Pat Metheny. The basic jazz guitar fan would have headed to see Pat, but for the dedicated avant-garde supporters here, they are rewarded with a different kind of passion – deep, original, and pretty darn cool.

Chávez / Ismaily / Saunier. Photo by Jess Maples

Chávez / Ismaily / Saunier
The Standard

To be fair, the size of the crowd forming a line to get in would probably surprise its three band members most of all. Although there's no queue outside the venue, the inside has a determined snake from the door curtain and around the foyer. Pretty far out for an improv trio comprised only of drums (Greg Saunier), Moog/bass (Shahzad Ismaily), and some super abstract turntables (Maria Chávez). Perhaps it's the novelty, as this trio has only performed a handful of times.

The event staff informs me and other media attendees that we can only take photos during the first three songs. She obviously doesn't know that there will only be one "song" tonight.

The curtain is drawn open and the snake slides on in. It's abnormally packed and a typically quiet affair for Big Ears alumnus Shahzad Ismaily who gently "oohs" into the mic over crackling record static – it's like listening to a rotating earth. Meanwhile, Greg is contorting and spasming, performing wild eccentric movements over the kit, but with super soft results. The hi-hat bounces but no sound is emitted. Maria nonchalantly flings a record onto the floor as Shahzad dials in the lightest whoof of a resonant bass frequency. One patron leaves in total disgust, smashing his can in the trash as he departs. The rest of the audience remain transfixed and silent. A humble groove evolves but soon makes way for swooshes of melody. It's surprisingly earnest and heartfelt. Maria adds some more of her signature crackles, this time like radio static. And then all of a sudden, flutes!

I love that this festival dares to showcase art of this persuasion. It's refreshing to see these artists entrusted with the space to be extremely avant-garde. What's more is the audience who are in for a penny, in for a pound. What a special thing it is for the programmers, the artists, and the audience to all come together and say, "I trust you."

It's getting late and after an absurdly loud, but very thorough Chakra cleansing of Shahzad's Moog, most of us will be primed and ready to warble off to bed to catch what brief sleep is available before tomorrow's events start.

Overheard at the end, "Well, that was bizarre.

***

Read: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4

Around, about and present … Three archival releases point to the continuing relevance of Derek Bailey’s work …

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Mon, 20 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Stuart Broomer

Right around the 20th anniversary of Derek Bailey’s passing on December 25, 2005, three recordings appeared (or in one case reappeared) that share some kinship with Limescale (Inctus, available as download), that brilliant late career recording that must be regarded as among Bailey’s most significant works (it received special attention in Ben Watson’s Derek Bailey and the Story of Free Improvisation [Verso, London 2004], p.370-373). The band was a quintet consisting of Bailey on guitar, Tony Bevan on bass saxophone, Alex Ward on clarinet, and the radical duo of THF Drenching (Stuart Calton), playing Dictaphones, and Sonic Pleasure (Marie-Angelique Bueler), on bricks. Though Bevan and Ward were regular Bailey collaborators, the young duo with strange, assumed names and equally strange instruments emphasized an expansive radicalism in Bailey’s late music, including Domestic Jungle (scatterArchive), his home recordings with late-night London underground radio. Limescale is work of collective genius, a language of myriad scrapes, whirrs, jingles and blasts in which the simultaneous sounds of the five musicians seem to emerge collectively and almost anonymously. It’s among the highest achievements of free improvisation.

Rex Casswell, THF Drenching, Martin Klapper, Sonic Pleasure – ARGOT (scatterArchive, 2025)

When I encountered “Drenching” and “Pleasure” on this recording, their names seemed new to me, having forgotten their presence on Limescale. My familiarity with English guitarist Rex Casswell was largely based on a couple of brilliant CDs by a trio called Bark! released on Evan Parker’s psi label. ARGOT is a brief but brilliant recording, a single track just 23 minutes long, a brevity encouraged by scatterArchive’s format of downloads only, so that music of the first rank doesn’t have to fill out an LP or CD. It documents a performance from December 4, 2005, at Klub Argot, Copenhagen, though the word “argot” might well cover the special language of the unorthodox instruments. Martin Klapper is heard playing toys, amplified objects, electronics and tapes of numerous recordings.

I was soon reminded that improvisers practiced in close listening (with an occasional and similarly skilled not listening) can produce wholly engaging, formally (and anarchically) satisfying, genuinely social music with the unlikeliest of means, with Casswell the sole quartet member playing a conventional musical instrument. As on Limescale, their instruments are, as defined on the recording’s Bandcamp page, Dictaphone (“a small handheld device for manipulating sounds recorded onto magnetic tape. see ‘tape scratching’”) and brick (“a percussion instrument made of pieces of stone struck or scraped with metal sticks”).

The resultant work has a variety of unexpected sounds and textures, from squeeze toys and buzzers to possible airport announcements, some possessing their own compound unidentifiability. The musicians are intensely engaged in collective invention, constantly interacting to create continuous phrases that shift amongst the four members, their sonic bits spontaneously aligning and reacting, creating a shimmering, shifting field of sounds that possesses both rhythmic complexity and undercurrents of meaning just beyond recognition. Even Casswell’s guitar is barely distinctive amongst the sounds. Argot is a genuinely liberating experience, consistently renewing itself, highly recommended.

ARGOT by Rex Casswell, THF Drenching, Martin Klapper, Sonic Pleasure

Derek Bailey + Tony Bevan River Monsters (scatterArchive, 2025)

Equally germane to the special character of Limescale is the presence of Tony Bevan, heard exclusively there playing bass saxophone, an instrument that might be the best suited of all acoustic devices to represent the primordial roars of the largest and most ferocious of dinosaurs. Bailey and Bevan played extensively together, and River Monsters , released on the 20th anniversary of Bailey’s passing, gathers their duets over an 11-year period between 1988 and 1999. It’s a mix of live performance, studio and home recordings, and is sufficiently personal to include one of Bailey’s cassette “letters”, in which his spoken reflections are accompanied by continuous guitar playing. This one, to Bevan, on the subject of saxophones and their players, includes a discussion of Charlie Parker that includes a perfectly idiomatic insertion of “Scrapple from the Apple”. The sound quality varies from session to session, but the music has a distinct and sometimes extraordinary quality, even benefitting from the interactions of loud and complex sounds in relatively small spaces. The oldest track (each track or series is identified solely by its date), is from 1988, from one of the Company concert series that Bailey curated. It’s heroic, rapid-fire, improvisation with Bevan playing tenor and the two musicians already revealing the intense listening and response skills that will characterize all their work together. The latest tracks, from October 1999, might also be the subtlest, Bevan sometimes underplaying the special sonic heft that his bass saxophone will reach elsewhere, the two musicians at times developing spectacular rhythmic interaction. Bevan is also capable of microscopic details and surprisingly subtle shifts in timbre given the scale of his instrument.

A series of three pieces (tracks 5 to 7) from January 1998, recorded by Bevan, possess a ferocity that exceeds that of Peter Brotzmann or Mats Gustafsson, the wonder being the way in which Bailey’s compounding, detailed, clanging abrasions fuse into a singular roar with Bevan’s titanic blasts, creating a stream of sound that might suggest Armageddon with empathy. A series of recordings by Toby Hrycek-Robinson at Moat Studios from July 1998 might have the best technical balance of these recordings, matching Bailey’s metallic bursts and abstracted clangs to Bevan’s intensely vocalic roars and runs. It’s music that seethes life, in some ways not unlike the raw spirit of Albert Ayler’s 1964 trio recordings. There are moments in the concluding track in which the two achieve a special level of coordination, their phrases somehow suggesting chaos, but doing it so happily that it simultaneously invokes the reckless joy that could permeate early jazz, especially when it involved the roar of Adrian Rollini’s bass saxophone.

River Monsters by Derek Bailey + Tony Bevan

Henry Kaiser - Domo Arigato Derek Sensei (Balance Point Acoustics, 2025)

Around the time of that 20th anniversary of Bailey’s death, a few copies of a 2006 tribute to Bailey appeared for sale on the Balance Point Acoustics website. The work remains available as a download. It’s of genuine interest, not least of all for the detailed immersion in Bailey’s principles and practices that the homage usually represents in these then fresh tributes, but it can also reach back another 30 years into Kaiser’s formative past. It begins with Kaiser speaking about Bailey and the tribute project, self- accompanying himself on guitar, a la Bailey, throughout. From there follows an extraordinary range of unpredictable, exploratory music, drifting from Asian instruments to highly developed electronica and a certain edginess worthy of Bailey himself.

“Gamera Tai Reptilicus 2005” has Kaiser playing electric guitar and joined by the startling wail of Kiku Day’s shakuhachi. “Continue On” begins as a spoken dialogue between Kaiser and Henry Kuntz, founder of the journal Bells , an early advocate for free jazz and improvised music, the spoken dialogue leading to a musical one with Kuntz playing tenor saxophone. “Improvisation 102a”, from 1978, finds Kaiser playing with trumpeter Toshinori Kondo, while “102x” has Kaiser matching long electric slides with percussionist Andrea Centazzo. “Just Be a SCUBA diver” is another dialogue, this one with Damon Smith playing bass and Kaiser ukulele as they discuss Bailey’s art. Longest and perhaps strangest of the tracks is the 13-minute “Book Review”, initially a highly developed guitar solo by Kaiser that segues into a self-accompanied spoken critique of Ben Watson’s aforementioned Bailey tome.

There’s also the brilliant, constantly shifting music of “The Metalanguage Trio” (2006), the trio of Kaiser, Larry Ochs on sopranino saxophone and Greg Goodman on voice and piano. After a couple of minutes of brilliant interactivity, it devolves into brief and comic reminiscences of Bailey: honest, direct and spontaneous. “The Night of Departure”, from 1996, is a strikingly bright acoustic guitar solo. “Tokyo Trio For Aida” (1979), is energized collective improvisation with Kaiser, bassist Motoharu Yoshizawa and tenor saxophonist Mototeru Takagi.

“Pre-Vou” (1996) has alto saxophonist John Oswald and Kaiser exchanging strange, wandering glissandi in instrumental voices that can fuse identities. The concluding “Kavichandran Salp'uri” (1993) is sublimely beautiful and mysterious. It has Sang-won Park singing and playing changgo, an hourglass-shaped drum with two different pitches, with Kaiser and Derek Bailey both playing subtly empathetic electric guitars, an ideal conclusion to a near optimally global homage to a man who defined his own, insistently immediate, sonic world, one in which human speech might happily coincide with spontaneously improvised music.

Domo Arigato Derek Sensei by Henry Kaiser

Music Is the Healing Force of the Universe: Obituary for Hans Falb (1954–2025)

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Acquaro) — Sun, 19 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

Hans Falb. Photo by Elvira Faltermeier.

By Philipp Schmickl
(translated by Friederike Kulcsar, read German original )

Hans Falb, who passed away on 26 December 2025, was an extremely generous person, and he strove all his life to realise his vision of a better world. Using his café restaurant, the Jazzgalerie Nickelsdorf, as his platform, he achieved this goal through music and friendship (and, of course, with the help of good food and wine). Hans, better known as Hauna, was a complex character and sometimes not so easy to get along with – whatever you did together could take unexpected twists and turns, for the most part compassionate turns; and he knew how to put things off until the timing was surprisingly good. Over the years and decades, the many club concerts and festivals Hans organised with his friends in this manner not only created and influenced numerous networks of friendships that stretched across national and geographical boundaries, but also enabled listeners to forge a close bond with music, an improvised music that mainly but not only refers to jazz; encouraging attentiveness in a laid-back environment, nurturing a form of concentration that sets in when a concert begins: a collective listening that unites musicians and audience.

First, a few numbers: the Jazzgalerie – by which I now mean Hans and his friends – organised 48 three- to four-day festivals virtually without pay: the Nickelsdorfer Avant-Jazztage in 1978, the Konfrontationen from 1980 to 2025, Cosmic Tones for Mental Therapy/Homage to Sun Ra in 2012, and The New Gardens of Harlem/Homage to Joe McPhee in 2015. About 500 club concerts took place between 1976 and 2007, with occasional gigs in the following years. From the late 1970s to the 2000s, the music programme was curated by Hans in collaboration with Reinhard Stöger (aka Grölli). Then he took over, though he would accept the suggestions of his friends, sometimes wholeheartedly, sometimes reluctantly.

Soon after the two-day opening celebration of the Jazzgalerie Nickelsdorf with still rather mainstream music in November 1976, the Jazzgalerie turned more and more towards the European and Afro-American jazz avant-garde and within a short period emerged as one of the major clubs on the continent, perhaps even beyond, for what was referred to at the time as “progressive” music – all funded for the most part by revenues from the Café Restaurant Falb. [1]

In an interview I conducted with Hans in 2013 he said, “After the 1984 festival I felt a bit exhausted and thought I’ve done a lot already, that someday I would change my life too …” Inspired by Clifford Thornton, Julius Hemphill’s album Dogon A.D. and Chris Marker’s film Sans Soleil , he travelled via Lyon to Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, at the end of 1984 and explored Western Africa for three or four months. His stories about these journeys kept returning again and again, about crossing borders, sometimes legally, sometimes clandestinely, sometimes punished with a day in prison, before being brought back to the same place he had started out. He also loved telling how once the village children stole his toothpaste to paint their faces white. Or when in the Rwenzori Mountains, if you saw people sleeping by the roadside with their heads pointing downhill instead of their feet (which was usual) it was a dead giveaway that you were in a schnapps-distilling region. Getting back to the quote from above about him wanting to change his life, Hans said, “… but I didn’t succeed”, a conclusion he came to soon after he returned home in the spring of 1985. “And the musicians are glad I didn’t.”

In the 40 years between this extended African trip and his journey to the hereafter, Hans Falb with the Jazzgalerie created a space that was permeated with music and a great love for the arts; a space that was inspired by the spirit of friendship and characterised by a cosmopolitan open-mindedness. I remember that in the Jazzgalerie music magazines such as Wire, Spex, Skug, Jazzlive,Jazz Podium, freiStil or Neue Zeitschrift für Musik lay side by side with various daily newspapers and the Falter, the Swiss WOZ, konkret, Le Monde Diplomatique, and Lettre International; there was a large atlas, which was consulted regularly, and books about whisky, wine, and hiking trails. With its club concerts and festivals the Jazzgalerie also brought “the world to our home”, as Grölli put it. This home in the Austrian periphery, the Jazzgalerie, which Hans shared with his many friends[2], was as unlikely a place as Fitzcarraldo’s dream of an opera house in the Peruvian rain forest. Perhaps this music world, “the world” Reinhard speaks of, was so enthusiastic about the Jazzgalerie, because it was run by a man who did a lot of things – here again Fitzcarraldo – “like a cow jumping over the church roof”. At the end of the film Fitz sells the colonial landowner the ship that he hauled in vain over the mountains on the isthmus and slips his captain the bundle of money he received demanding that he bring him not only a tailcoat, a red velvet chair, and “the best cigar in the world” but also the very opera orchestra that had made a guest appearance in Manaus to play on his ship. Applauded from the shore, the music drifts over the water, while Fitzcarraldo in tails stands proudly on the ship, smoking next to the orchestra ‑ like Hans, who very often was onstagelistening to “his” concerts, smoking, but never in tails.

The Konfrontationen with its combinations of tone colours and shades of language was an outstanding festival. [3] Inspired by Hans’s ideas of a better world, the Jazzgalerie and the music played and improvised there opened and shaped a space of expanded possibilities and anarchic structures directed against the dominant hierarchies. Hans conceived the festivals so that everyone felt at ease, as he put it, while they “got something complex poured into their hearts” (from the same interview). Over time the festival took on a life of its own. What we call diversity today was understood as unityfrom the very beginning: unity of arts, unity of place, and unity of people. Anti- and postcolonial thought embraced the sound of modernism ; minimalist textures from the Vienna-Berlin axis were rung in and out by church bells; and my personal highlight on festival afternoons: the sound of the schnitzel mallet and the piano tuner amid the mixture of languages. In the Jazzgalerie and at the festivals, sensibility and intellect have always inspired one another just as music inspires friendship and vice versa. In conjunction with playing and listening, eating and drinking, dancing and kissing.

Hamid Drake and Hans Falb. Photo by Elvira Faltermeier

Usually open deep into the night, the Jazzgalerie was not only a door to the world and to different music communities, but has also always been a place of safety for friends and strangers, for the newly arrived, for us young people or those who felt a bit misunderstood by their folks. If you didn’t want to go home, you could sit with Hauna at the bar, listen to music and then sleep over in the club. Those in need of money could work, eat and drink there. It was a safe space for marginalised people in particular, which became even more apparent in 2015 when 300,000 refugees crossed the border at Nickelsdorf, and for some of the few who stayed in the village the Jazzgalerie became the place where they weren’t treated paternalistically but could work as equal human beings in the kitchen or serving guests. One of them, Ali, said on the day before Hans’s funeral, “Hauna had a warm heart.” I think that in his café restaurant in the European periphery he practised the hospitality I knew from the stories of his journeys in Western and later Central Africa.

Such places have but a small chance of economic survival, as the insolvencies and eventually the loss of the restaurant demonstrated. The first big insolvency in 2007/2008 also affected the festival. However, the end of the Konfrontationen was prevented by the dense, transcontinental network of music and friendship, and the association Impro 2000 was re-organised. This resulted in the organisational separation of restaurant and musical activities. Due to the first corona lockdowns in March 2020, and Hans reaching retirement age, the Jazzgalerie restaurant was closed but remained his living room where he met his friends and where he ate and drank. It remained his office where he made his phone calls, wrote an e-mail every now and then, and where he could listen and re-listen to the records and CDs that people sent to him. It was the place where he had put together the music programmes with his friends since 1976 and later single-handedly. In June 2025 he had to vacate his living room, as there were new tenants and plans for the restaurant. Being already very weak, he moved into the two rooms adjoining the restaurant, which up to then had served him as bedroom and archive (the festival office). He refused to move out completely. He also refused any medical aid. Despite the adverse circumstances – he believed you have to adapt to such changes, but not without complaining about the music in the yard – he always talked about his difficulties as if they were adventure stories. Hans never saw himself as a victim of the economic and socio-political changes, but always as an adventurer. No matter how much his situation deteriorated, he recognised and lived the poetry of his life. In Lyon, on November 28, 1984, just before his flight to Ouagadougou, looking at the reflections of the advertisements in the Rhône or Saône, he wrote in his travel diary: “CARDENAL comes to my mind, and if I had to bear witness to my time, I would say: it was barbaric and primitive, but poetic.”

As in Grimms’ fairy tale Hans in Luck, Hans Falb had got a lump of gold in 1976: the restaurant offered wealth and promising perspectives. But step by step he traded away this wealth with its perspectives; unlike in the fairy tale, the wealth Hans traded away turned into friendship and music – a music that in turn can never be recaptured. Hans liked to quote Eric Dolphy, who is reported to have said, “When you hear music, after it’s over, it’s gone in the air.” Hans Falb in Luck successfully traded away all material wealth. At the end of the fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm it says, “With a light heart and free from every burden he kept going until he was at home with his mother.”

Photo by Elvira Faltermeier

[1] Fatty George (clarinet), Al Fats Edwards (vocals), Rudi Wilfer (piano) and Karl Prosenik (drums) played the opening concert. Initially, in the years following, performers included Abdulla Ibrahim/Dollar Brand, Alexander von Schlippenbach, Sven-Åke Johansson, Clifford Thornton, Amina Claudine Myers, the World Saxophone Quartet, larger and smaller ensembles of Roscoe Mitchell, Joseph Jarmen, Muhal Richard Abrams, Anthony Braxton and Don Moye, Peter Brötzmann, Frank Wright, Michele Rosewoman, Maria Böhmberger, Akira Sakata, Sun Ra with an eleven-piece Arkestra, Andrew Cyrille’s Maono, Max Roach, Dieter Kaufmann, Dieter Glawischnig/Neighbours, Peter Kowald, and H. C. Artmann. As Hans Falb wrote in a letter to Roscoe Mitchell (found in the Jazzgalerie archive), a four-day portrait of the AACM composers Roscoe Mitchell, Anthony Braxton, Muhal Richard Abramas, and Leo Smith was planned for the Konfrontationen 1984. But in the end, only Mitchell and Braxton came.

[2] These friends also included many Austrian musicians, for whom the Jazzgalerie provided impetus and let them think bigger and determine their own musics and careers, for instance Christian Fennesz and Franz Hautzinger, who both come from the Nickelsdorf region, Susanna Gartmayer, Christof Kurzmann, Didi Kern, and many more.

[3] For an attempt at describing the Konfrontationen see the text On Ghosts and Colours : https://thefuckle.wordpress.com/2019/07/12/uber-geister-und-farben-vierzig-jahre-konfrontationen/

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Philipp Schmickl is a scholar working in the fields of improvisation and festival studies. He received his PhD from the Institute for Jazz and Popular Music Studies at the University of Music and Performing Arts Graz with a dissertation on the Konfrontationen festival organized by the Jazzgalerie Nickelsdorf, Austria. He is founder and editor of the oral music histories book series THEORAL (currently dormant).

Alan Niblock, John Butcher, Mark Sanders - Tectonic Plates (577 Records, 2025)

noreply@blogger.com (Stef Gijssels) — Sat, 18 Apr 2026 04:00:00 +0000

By Stef Gijssels

How often can you listen to the same music of free improvisation before you can almost anticipate what's coming? The answer is: a lot! And maybe that's the great fun of improvised music: its total unpredictability and inventiveness. We are in the company of three masters: Alan Niblock as the 'leader' on double bass, John Butcher on saxophones and Mark Sanders on drums and percussion.

It is clear from the title that the trio will offer some seismic music, and actually all five tracks make references to tectonic plates, the geological gigantic slabs of stone that slowly move against each other with friction, themselves floating on a semi-fluid asthenosphere below them, and occasionally leading to earth quakes and volcanic eruptions, and basically to all the mountains we know. The image is accurate: the music is inherently slow, precise, crisp, intense and organic, gradually moving forward together until the whole piece erupts in a sonic volcano - brutal, raw, harsh, powerful - only to fall back on its defaults position of minute progress. The first and longest track is called "Mountains", a wonderfully balanced piece full of fascinating duo and trio interactions. Despite its length, the tension is maintained throughout.

The second track, "Divergent Plate Boundaries (DPB)" refers to the opposite effect, when tectonic plates do not collide to create mountains, but rather when they move apart, creating gaps filled by magma that cools to form new crust. It starts with faint whistling sounds from the sax, minuscule sounds from bass and drums, barely audible, resulting in a strange effect of almost natural ambient sounds, until the bowed bass starts producing some volume, encouraging the other instruments to equally raise their voice. The interaction remains cautious, prudent even, avoiding collision, gradually growing together into a more joyful interplay.

I will not try to describe each piece: the effort is futile considering the abstract and indescribable nature of the trio's sounds, but trust me that it is great throughout, fresh and intense, creative and captivating. For readers interested in the geological foundations of this music, here are some Wikipedia links to the other titles: "Mantel Plume", "Olympus Mons" and "Faultline", and I leave it to you to make the links between the titles and the music itself.

I have listened every night to this album, several times even, for more than a month, neglecting so much other music that is coming our way - apologies for this - but it is worth it. That's what 'captivating' means, literally, to have become imprisoned by totally free music. What a paradox!

The album was recorded live at The Black Box, in Belfast, Northern Ireland.

Listen and download from Bandcamp.