Here to There is an apt title for an album that is just as interested in exploration as it is in returning home to tradition and continuing the canon of creative jazz music. Though clarinetist Ben Goldberg, bassist Todd Sickafoose and drummer Scott Amendola have played together in many forms over the years, there was still an ulterior, germinating idea that brought this particular album together: using extracted melodic bits from Thelonious Monk compositions as fuel for new extrapolations. Monk was known for many things, one of them being his ability to get so much mileage out of melodies that appeared simple, yet whose underlying oddities would always leave room to expand. This trio picks up where he left off, using these bits (from pieces such as “Epistrophy” and “In Walked Bud”) to create variations that are all their own.
Despite this concept, there is no hint of imitation on this album. All three musicians bring their own voices and ideas to each of the pieces, which are all original compositions—the Monk bits are sewn into the fabric of the music like quilt squares. To be frank, I didn't notice the Monk connection until I was researching the album. The trio's goal of adding to the tradition by being openly creative and musically honest is easily through this approach.
Goldberg's clarinet investigations are as clear as ever. His sound is as idiosyncratic as Sonny Rollins’ the tenor saxophone. Expressive, vibrant, and as clear as a bell, his playing is the heart of this record. At times it’s fluid, at others articulate and speech-like. Amendola's drumming is equally compelling, providing the backbone as well as tasteful electronic textures that add significant depth. His "Lion Heart" series, appearing in three iterations across the album, showcases his versatility, from a sparse clarinet-and-drums duet to a more ritualistic, layered soundscape.
Something truly amazing happens on this record: you can literally hear the musicians listening to each other. The effect of their close listening is palpable to a jaw-dropping extent. This trio setting is ideal for their Monk concept and these compositions. It gives them the freedom to do what the Ornette Coleman Trio did so beautifully: make the listener forget where the writing ends and the improvising begins. With all three musicians engaged nearly constantly, rather than taking turns laying out for solos, the performances evoke the spirit of the classic Air trio recordings.
This album radiates a quiet peace. The compositions do wander and explore, but with a calm confidence that washes away the restless energy that defines so much of modern jazz. Even at their most adventurous, the players seem to breathe together, like a single organism moving through a dream. There are moments that drift close to silence, not out of restraint, but out of trust—trust in space, in tone, in the listener’s willingness to lean in. It’s the kind of record that feels like it was recorded in a room with soft morning light, where time slows down just enough to hear every intention behind each note.
Aside from the achievements in musicianship, this album also sounds fantastic. The mixing matches the playing, with nothing being pushed to the sidelines and no instrument or sound taking ultimate precedence over anything else. A gentle dollop of echo is added to help this blend occur—just enough to add space, but not enough to blur the articulations or the truly organic feeling of this record. Even the sparse electronics fit into this puzzle with ease, as if the wiring from the machines contained their very own resonance.
Through their deep interplay, compositional curiosity, and unique sense of space, Goldberg, Sickafoose, and Amendola offer a record that feels both grounded and searching. It’s a rare kind of album: thoughtful without being cerebral, and adventurous without being chaotic. Its approachability allows multiple listens, and its quality demands it.
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