Skopje Jazz Festival 2025 (16.10 – 19.10)

By Irena Stevanovska and Filip Bukrshliev

Introduction (by Filip)

Lets face it, right off the gate – Skopje Jazz Festival is one of those miraculous misfires of civilisation. In a country bent on slow and methodical self-destruction, a place where the State's grand machinery of subsidized mediocrity hums day-in-day-out, fueling the Orgy of Bad Taste that keeps the whole place from simply disintegrating – every October, like some shaggy cosmic loophole, something beautiful happens. A Rupture. A few nights of celebration and unhindered insight into the Realm of Sound. It's as if the universe itself briefly comes to its senses and says: "Alright... there you go, you can have this one good thing."

As a jazz musician – or, to make things even worse, as a jazz musician with a predominant affinity for improvised music – I've never paid a single denar to enter this festival. None of my fellow colleagues have. All. These. Years. And not only that: while the local emissaries of criminal power, the countless shady ambassadors, opportunistic benefactors of the fine arts, overly enthusiastic owners of used-car lots and the few misplaced ornaments of the jet-set stay put in their regular, paid-for seats, the festival always ushers us, the penniless free-jazz weirdoes, into the VIP lounge. You know, they've got us Covered. There we get to witness the festival from a superior, elevated perspective – meet Wadada Leo-Smith, Hamid Drake or Mary Halvorson – while some cultural attaché stands outside in the drizzle, chain-smoking in quiet diplomatic despair. It's a total inversion of the natural order. A small rebellion.

Exactly this is the biggest virtue of Skopje Jazz Festival: the educational value that it has for everyone who wants to produce sound with an instrument. Every year you get to hear and meet someone like Anthony Braxton or Ken Vandermark, and when you come home after that, something fundamental in you refuses to obey. You will not play as they instructed you in school, as you were taught that there is only one, the right way to do this. It is so liberating, so vital to have that on a regular basis, and it is no wonder why Skopje now has such a strong core of musicians who dabble in jazz and improvisational music.

This year it was the 44th edition of the festival, with a wildly eclectic but masterfully curated line up that ebbed and flowed across its four nights. The first night was opened with the piano trio of Andrzej Jagodziński; the second night paired the ecstatic genious of Marc Ribot in a solo format with the Kahir El'Zabar's Ethnic Heritage Ensemble. The third night we got to witness the scandinavian pairing of After the Wildfire Quarter with Arve Henriksen and Jan Bang, followed by Goran Kajfeš Tropiques. The closing night, the explosive ending was reserved for the duet of Sylvie Courvoisier and Wadada Leo-Smith, followed by the fiery James Brandon Lewis Molecular Quartet.

Together with Irena we'll try to bring the impressions, sounds and ghosts of this year's festival.

Day One (16.10.25) (Irena)

The first day of the Jazz Festival in Skopje is always a great delight to be part of, the familiar excitement of knowing that you will enjoy four days of great music. For many of us jazz lovers, it means listening to some of our favorite artists live, and even discovering new ones. The atmosphere before the concerts is always special. We are a nation that loves to drink and talk outside before concerts. But also, for some reason, one that loves openings of events, everyone treats it as some sort of ceremony. The program on the first day often tries to please a broader audience, which is understandable. The opening night usually feels more mainstream, more accessible, before things start to unfold toward the avant-garde side of the Skopje Jazz Festival as we know it. 

Andrzej Jagodzinski Trio. Photo by Zdenko Zdepe Petrovski 

 The performance of Andrzej Jagodzinski Trio was exactly that, a calm, respectful opening carried by the brilliance of all three musicians. They played jazz interpretations of Bach, Chopin, and other classical composers, and it was clear that Andrzej’s piano was part of him. The way he played was so fluid, so natural, that it looked almost effortless, the kind of ease that only comes from years of becoming one with your instrument. The younger crowd seemed less impressed, maybe because it didn’t feel fully new or experimental. We’re always craving sounds that twist things, that surprise us, that bring energy. But a big part of the audience loved it, and I can understand why. It was beautiful in its own way — elegant and calm. As an opening act, it worked perfectly. It slowly eased us into the rhythm of the festival. No madness yet, just a soft, confident sound. 

National Jazz Orchestra. Photo by Zdenko Zdepe Petrovski

The second concert of the first night was the National Jazz Orchestra, joined by the great trombone player Luis Bonilla and conducted by Sigi Fiegl. The National Orchestra is still pretty new on the scene, but they’ve already played a number of concerts with musicians from different countries. Every year, the Jazz Festival gives an award for the best young jazz musician in Macedonia, and this year it went to the orchestra’s pianist, Gordan Spasovski. 

When all nineteen musicians came out on stage, the atmosphere completely shifted from the previous concert. They started with an orchestral piece (of course), gradually building up the energy. Having so many people on stage completely changed the setup from what we’re used to seeing at the festival. I’m not so much into big bands, for me personally, it often just feels like too much. But the audience seemed to enjoy it, because, as I mentioned, the first night usually carries the more “normal” kind of music.
There was one track led by Luis Bonilla that stood out. Slow and atmospheric, with that Scandinavian jazz vibe in the brass section. At moments, the trombone even sounded like something out of Japanese jazz. The slowness of the piece felt right, connecting back a bit to the calmness of the previous concert, giving a sense of peace and a very autumn-like mood. After that, they continued with orchestral jazz. It seemed like Sigi Fiegl truly enjoyed working with the orchestra, and it’s not his first time collaborating with them, after all.

Day Two (17.10.25) (Filip) 

Marc Ribot. Photo by Zdenko Zdepe Petrovski

The second evening started with Mr. Marc Ribot, planted dead center of the stage, looking like a man who, against his will, was dragged through the back door, mumbling an apology to the audience for being new to the sensitive-white-male-with-guitar shtick. I'll be honest, I’m not a big fan of his latest record – the reason he is hopping around the continent and playing in front of us. Let’s just say that I was a bit skeptical about the possibility for a particularly high level of aural enjoyment on my behalf. But this kind of entrance flipped the script right away and ensured me that I was in good hands, that I was going to be expertly handled by a seasoned albeit reluctant troubadour. He started the concert with a slightly overgrown ukulele that in the hands of Mr. Ribot convulsed, yelped and shimmered – from cowboy chords to fractured Derek Bailey spasms. And this was the modus operandi of the whole concert. No matter if he picked up the acoustic guitar, the perversely oversaturated electric one or the strange uke – the gospel of the evening was in this unusual dichotomy: the Folk Singer meets the Free Jazz Exorcist. Borrowing few Ginsberg poems here and there, some dry-humored story for the audience, the usual laughs about the current administration – I’ve never enjoyed being serenaded by a "sensitive white male" this much. Marc Ribot has a future as a troubadour. 

Kahil El’Zabar and his Ethnic Heritage Ensemble. Photo by Zdenko Zdepe Petrovski

Then – BOOM! – part two. Kahil El’Zabar and his Ethnic Heritage Ensemble appear on the stage like some elemental force conjured by the collective unconscious. You could feel the tectonic shift, and how the empty platitudes from their promo material, those usually barren marketing buzzwords like Hypnotic and Spiritual - suddenly begin to bite you. El'Zabar plays the Mbira and occasionally the drums, Corey Wilkes on trumpet, Alex Harding on baritone sax and Ishmael Ali on cello. They didn't perform compositions, they summoned weather. The air changed viscosity to something glue-like, sound flew like a tired bird through a heat haze. Every hit on the various percussions, every moan on the baritone sax, every vail of the trumpet – felt ancient and deliberate. I could swear that the mics were turned off, but the fairly large hall belonged just to them. The stage seemed like a diorama of four suave alley cats expertly wagging their tails and busking in their collective banter. At one time Lonely Woman was intonated. Maybe one Wayne Shorter composition. Couple of originals. Who knows? That is unimportant. What is important is that this is how jazz performances that dabble with the tradition should be - after they are done the listener is left to mumble like a deranged tik-tok mystic, alone into the void. Exceptional concert.

Day Three (18.10.25) (Irena) 

After the Wildfire Quartet. Photo by Zdenko Zdepe Petrovski

The third night opened with After the Wildfire Quartet. The Scandinavian quartet stepped on stage and immediately dissolved into the sound. Even the name hinted at what was to come, music that feels like the quiet after destruction. 

It began with a slow, melancholic piece — the air heavy and hollow. Arve Henriksen’s trumpet carried all the weight of sadness, every tone soaked in silence. The opening felt like the death of nature itself: everything stripped bare, emptied out.  

But as the concert unfolded, something subtle began to shift. Little by little, sounds returned, like nature learning to breathe again after the burn. Fragments of life reemerged, tentative but alive. In the middle of the set, it all opened into a landscape that felt like the steppes, vast, empty, but awakening. The music moved through that space with a strange kind of tenderness, as if the healing of nature was happening inside the listener too. When it ended, many said they had never heard anything like it live. It was one of those rare experiences that touches something deep — the soul’s quiet renewal after a storm. 

Goran Kajfeš Tropiques. Photo by Zdenko Zdepe Petrovski

And then, a bigger band — Goran Kajfeš Tropiques, a nine-piece ensemble stepping onto the stage. The setup looked beautiful: two violins, a viola, a cello, drums, bass, piano, a mysterious synth I couldn’t quite see, and Kajfeš himself on trumpet and Moog. At first, the music felt a bit scholarly, precise, almost academic. But then the Moog came in, and everything shifted. Its tone was mesmerizing, adding a vivid color that lifted the whole performance to another level. The string section at times echoed Steve Reich, repetitive but alive, while the bass held a steady, rich line underneath. The pianist might have been my favorite, fluid and intuitive, shaping beautiful textures both on piano and synth. It was a genuinely strong performance. The violinists were local Macedonian artists joining the band for the first time, they added a special warmth to the sound. A fitting way to close the third night, letting the energy dissolve naturally into the mood of what was to come the next day.

Day five (19.10.25) (Filip)

The final evening of the festival was... something else entirely. Sunday, the day of the local elections in Macedonia. Out in front of the hall the air crackled with the sound of cheap fireworks and the various meaty thuds of gunshot-adjacent KAPOWs ricocheting out in the distance – the feral soundtrack of miscellaneous criminal gangs celebrating another 4 years of free range demoncracy – a fitting aural prelude to the historic night this festival is about to experience. 

Sylvie Courvoisie and Wadada Leo-Smith. Photo by Zdenko Zdepe Petrovski

And then – they appear. Sylvie Courvoisie and Wadada Leo-Smith, two familiar figures emerging from the dim lights on the stage, ready to baptize everyone in attendance. Their latest duo album, Angel Falls [Intakt] quickly established as the favourite holy scripture for me this year. There is an interesting sensation with this pairing: even though they play in many similar formats, and Wadada has those exceptional ECM releases with Vijay Iyer – they somehow manage to bring out their definitive form when they play together, as if I've never heard of a better Wadada or better Sylvie than this combination. Live, they are a completely different creature. More kinetic... shifting, stirring, elbows flying, hitting the piano, various devices rumble in his insights, the trumpet soars, glides and floats, a sudden stop, and we are off again – then a brief intermission because the election celebration outside intensifies and pierces the hall sound insulation, a huge BANG! BANG! briefly rattles the object – Sylvie starts an unusually delicate and melodic motif, Wadada slides in, the unbearable poignancy of the moment grows, expands, swells, almost like an out-of-body experience, maybe they will replicate the explosion indoors, then they share a sudden nod – tiny, wordless – and they are done. Exquisite! 

James Brandon Lewis Molecular Quintet. Photo by Zdenko Zdepe Petrovski

The last concert will be the shortest impression. James Brandon Lewis Molecular Quintet. You know them. I know them. Everyone within a radius of 2 km felt them. Not much left to add. The man doesn't just blow the horn, he moves air and re-arranges atoms into an instantly commanding presence. You just... surrender. And then, there is Aruán Ortiz on the piano with his ability to carve intricate geometry out of the craziest combinations of sounds imaginable. There is something in that Brandon Lewis/Ortiz axis thar instantly evokes the legendary chemistry and aura of the Coltrane/Tyner two-headed screaming monster. We are, nonetheless, groomed through the years like pavlovian dogs to drool on such stimulus. Drool I say. And yes, the concert was Fantastic. They played mostly the material from their latest album, Abstraction is Deliverance [Intakt], but the live setting annuled the only-ballads mission statement of the record. No gentle meditation, only absolution through combustion. James screamed and burned through the set, everyone took extended solos, the intensity was beyond MAX... I just really hope that someone recorded the performance, so in 50 years from now some kid would sit in front of the music stand, trying to chase those impossible transcriptions, with the teacher standing next to him, desperately screaming: "No, no... this is the right way to do it!"