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| Jazz (c) David Monaghan |
Guido Montegrandi
Stef Gijssels
Eyal Hareuveni
Lee Rice Epstein
Paul Acquaro
Historic/Archival Releases:
The recording was done in one day at Bonello Studio in Berlin after a series of European shows where the trio worked on and developed the music. Rather than striving for the best takes of every piece, this session is meant to capture a snapshot of the live experience and energy of the band. Musically, they go deep into the tradition of free and jazz improvising whilst also pushing the physical and sonic limits of their instruments...
by Gary Chapin
Free Country is a Phil Haynes (drums) project, with Drew Gress (bass), Jim Yanda (guitar), and Hank Roberts (cello). They’ve been doing their thing for a few years with four recordings preceding this one. According to Haynes in the notes, it seemed to them that the Free Country Project had run its course, but history and the present moment sometimes make demands of us and the quartet felt the calling to regather.
The Americana subset of what once used to be called the downtown set (Bill Frisell is the most prominent example) is a peculiar thing, but one of my favorite side quests. Free Country is a through-a-glass-darkly version of an old-timey string band (new-timey?), except with unconventional arrangements of Americana and out/jazz soloing throughout.
It’s no surprise that the playing throughout is extraordinary. These are seriously accomplished musicians, and Robert’s elastic vocals serve the project excellently. What is surprising is the repertoire, what the band thinks of as Americana. Yes, there are the usual (and beloved) suspects (dressed unusually) like “She’ll Be Coming ‘Round the Mountain’,” “What a Wonderful World,” and “Simple Gifts.” But also included are Motown (”RESPECT” and “What’s Going On?”), spirituals (“Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho”), and a Beatles song (Americana?). It’s a cool repertoire which, along with the originals, gives what-ya-know vs. what-ya-don’t-know an appealing tension.
It’s not an explicit protest album, but it also is. Context is everything. Repertoire means something. Along with the new recordings, they threw in especially relevant tracks from earlier recordings making a 26 track behemoth that is all weird, spark, and joy.
Using the voice as a main instrument is not something new obviously. Using three voices (here by Gaelle Debra, Patrick Guionnet and Maryline Pruvost) and a drum set (here by Peter Orins who runs Circum-Disc) is, even today that everything has been done and experimented with, still a choice that differentiates this cd from the experimental milieu, one that could even be described as radical.
The voice of course still is the primary and easiest way for any human (and non human) being to express itself. Modern pop culture and the eagerness of the society of the spectacle for myths have created a clean cut version of what the human voice should sound. Trying to overcome all this is not an easy task. Quite the contrary I believe, such a choice of instrumentation still raises many eye brows within the field of experimental music.
While listening to Master of Disorder it easily came to my mind Themroc, and anarchic French movie from the early 70’s by director Claude Faraldo. There the great Michel Piccoli plays a modern caveman who, rebelling against modern society never talks, but only makes noises. Listening to this CD, the listener can certainly and easily make comparisons.
But apart from the labeling of the music my aforementioned comparison creates, all eight tracks of the cd are excursions into the unknown guts of the human voice, with big doses of humor, laughter, joy and anger. Peter Orins with his drumset play the role of the glue that holds this fragile collision together, while, at the same time, he seems like the shaman that initiates the ritual.
The music, if you want to call it like that, on Master of Disorder, is far away from almost everything that is considered experimental nowadays, but heavily incorporates magic words like freedom and improvisation. In each track I had the cathartic feeling of being totally unable to comprehend where this would go next. The combination of the sheer power by the three vocalists and their willingness to experiment in every second of the cd make it a joyous but also so urgently needed recording that goes against any kind of mannerism.
The CD came out really late in 2024 (bad for me I didn’t review it earlier) and I listened to it in 2025. So, it has every right to fit in my best of for 2025. And it will.
Listen here:
@koultouranafigo
Five minutes to midnight but thanks to a record like this, the game of the 2025 Top Ten is still up, clear evidence of another blasting year for our music. Born in Buenos Aires, based in Berlin, Camila Nebbia is a saxophone player, composer, improviser, visual artist and curator. As described on her website, the multidisciplinary artist layers her practice through the creation and destruction of archival memory, exploring the concept of identity, migration and memory. Her work includes improvised and composed music, film creation and audiovisual performances, forming a constellation of interconnected practices. She played and recorded with many artists of the international scene, such as Marilyn Crispell, Michael Formanek, Angelica Sanchez, Randy Peterson, Tom Rainey, Patrick Shiroishi, Vinnie Sperrazza, Katt Hernandez, Kenneth Jimenez, Lesley Mok, Susana Santos Silva, Elsa Bergman, l’Arfi collective of Lyon, Joanna Mattrey, Vincent Dromoski’s Flow Regulator, Kit Downes, among others. Co-founder together with Maria Grand and Marta Sanchez of the independent record label label Lilaila, curator of the concert series “A door in the mountain”, “Disfigured Rivers” in Berlin and “Future bash reloaded”, Camila is definitely showing the difference between a player and a musician.
We started to track her down after the wonderful, hugely overlooked record “Colapesce” by Gabriele Mitelli with John Edwards and Mark Sanders, enriched by her reeds as a key feature. Then 3 records in a row bewitched us mercilessly: “in another land, another dream" along with Angelica Sanchez; “Exhaust” with Kit Downes, Andrew Lisle and “Hypomaniac” where she teamed up with Goncalo Almeida and Sylvain Darrifourcq, turned on a spotlight on the South American musician, carving her name in the stone as one of 2025’s most shining key figures. But given that it’s not over until it’s over (to quote the Homeric Poets), at the very tail end of the year, to complete such a bonanza, here we have a brand new record, “A reflection distorts over water”, an astonishing combo with pianist Marilyn Crispell and drummer Lesley Mok.
Crispell lent her piano to the likes of Sanchez, Braxton, Lovano, Evan Parker, Motian and Tyshawn Sorey and met Nebbia in 2016 when the pianist was in Buenos Aires for a residency, an encounter the saxophonist describes as a “transformational and deeply meaningful experience”. Three years later, in 2019, Nebbia met Mok at the Banff Centre in Canada, where they immediately began to collaborate, initiating a partnership that has evolved through a variety of shifting projects such as the collectives “Yo no sè de pajaros” and “La permanencia de los ecos”. In recent years Mok, an essential member of bands led by Myra Melford and Anna Webber, has emerged as one of the most creative percussionists on the New York scene, whether leading a tentet or sharing the duties with pianist Philip Golub in the improvising duo “Dream Brigade”.
The making of this record is the perfect epitome of an approach to the music that finds nothing comparable with: the ladies meet up in Woodstock for dinner and the following day the new born trio set up at Nevessa Studio without any prior rehearsal. Just one composition provided by Mok (“Longing”), a few open sketches by Nebbia, the rest fully improvised and that’s it, 45 minutes of free gourmandise ready to be served on the table. As soon as the first notes start floating in the space, the sound of Nebbia’s sax is affirming itself as her own signature: breathy, warm, extroverted, intriguing and melodic, granting a mutual, enjoyable and captivating tension among the trio. The music unroll syncopated fragments, interchanged with semi-circular textures, everything is essential, smoothly balanced the tasks of piano and percussion, never self-indulgent, not a single sequence is wasted, stripped down but not algid and aseptic, on the contrary warm, emotional and ardent: call it a labour of love. “The whole trip felt like a dream, between the jet lag and the immense happiness I was feeling, everything seemed surreal. Beyond the musical experience, it left me with a deep sense of how vital true human connection is in what we do”, said Nebbia about this project. Buenos Aires calling, leave the line free!
By Don Phipps
When one thinks of great sax-bass collaborations, a few albums stand out:
And now, The Depression Tapes, where the talent and mastery of Jim Hobbs and Timo Shanko are on full display. Hobbs alternates between Lee Konitz cool, Ornette bluesy wails, and his own personal gritty style – a style that uses delicate riffs to produce piercing lines that feel contained and open at the same time. Shanko provides Hobbs with a rollicky foundation that encourages exploration while laying down his own monstrous roller coaster runs and hard bop plucks, revealing a technical virtuosity at the highest level.
One need look no further than the improvisatory masterpiece “Trials and Temptations” to grasp the excellence of this album. Here the sound of Shanko’s bass – meaty, wooden Hadenesque - shines through. As the number progresses, Shanko attacks the strings of his instrument with extreme precision. And towards the end, he is constantly on the move up and down the neck, playing inside and outside – his fingers always moving. Hobbs lets Shanko carry the piece, choosing to play above the raging river of Shanko’s sound. However, Hobbs’ wailing phrases, while melancholy, embody grace. Together, the two musicians create stunning musical poetry.
Another cut that deserves the label masterpiece is “Departure.” The sorrow expressed suggests loss – the loss of a friendship, the death of a loved one, or other goodbyes that stick in one’s gut as much as one’s head. Sorrowful in mood, Hobbs’ notes blend beautifully above Shanko’s bowing, almost like a wounded bird. The improv possesses a dignity - a perseverance despite the odds. Hobbs takes it out towards the end – an overwhelming wail of anguish. This is surely a lament for the ages.
In 1989, Hobbs and Shanko helped form the Fully Celebrated Orchestra, but this is their first duo record. The album provides a testament to their long-lived collaboration. Engaging with the present – seeing the complete and utter lunacy that governs our current world – the madness - it’s important for one’s sanity to have the music of The Depression Tapes . The duo proves that there is always a creative spark – a subtle but distinct light - in the darkness. Highly recommended.
By Don Phipps
Clarinetist and composer Christer Bothen’s L’INVISIBLE (in English - the hidden, unseen, or invisible) is a fascinating bluesy abstraction, music that suggests David Lynch’s Red Room – a dreamscape where things feel both oddly in and out of place – like wearing a wrong size shirt that’s still presentable. This enigmatic kaleidoscopic endeavor is sustained by Kansan Zetterberg’s expressive bass and Kjell Nordeson’s cool vibraphone and hot drums.
The music, recorded as two parts, seems maze-like. The labyrinth is deep and navigating it hints at a journey to the unknown parts of the human psyche. In “Partie 1,” Bothen quotes Ornette Coleman’s classic “Lonely Woman,” an unexpected curve ball in what feels like a cat on the prowl in some dark alley. There’s a film noir aspect to the composition – a grayness of black & white. Zetterberg alternates between individual note plucks and staggered strumming across the strings. Bothen’s clarinet rips at time but mostly its full voiced and spatial, providing an interesting counterpart to Nordeson’s abstract vibraphone phrases, phrases replete with pedal work that imparts an ethereal quality.
In “Partie 2,” Bothen begins with a repeating motif in the clarinet’s lower register while Nordeson develops his vibraphone dissonance and harmonics. Midway all hell breaks loose, as Nordeson moves to the drums and the trio pushes forward like a space vehicle launch – accelerating with rapid intensity. Bothen squeals out his stratospheric lines and the tune darts here and there like some kind of high-speed chase down a darkened freeway. Bothen then moves inside the piano, where he rummages about as Zetterberg uses his bow to create a sonic platform. Nordeson’s drums are hot here but under control. The bottom drops out –Nordeson resumes his work on the vibraphone and the trio evokes the bluesy dreaminess of a dark foggy evening.
Albums like these are to be savored. They bring one closer to mortal thoughts and beliefs, and how they all jumble together to create reality within one’s mind. Just what is a dream anyway? Where does it go and why is it many times beyond recall? Is this what Huxley meant by the doors of perception? Perhaps Bothen means none of this with these ruminations. Still, in this music one cannot escape the hidden and unseen.
By Nick Ostrum
Cursed Month is the first release by guitarist Lingyuan Yang’s trio with pianist Shinya Lin and drummer Asher Herzog. From the first notes of the opener Ritual Fire, one gets the sense the rest of the album is going to big and tortuous, but also structured. Think heavy prog with idiosyncratic elements. Parts of it draw on hard rock, parts on Second Viennese School dizzying atonality (Schoenberg’s Op. 33a comes to mind), Zappa-esque warped time signatures and tempos, and Tzadik-leaning tightness and rapid-fire genre-blending. The problem is that that description makes this album sound like a muddle; it is anything but.
Cursed Month has clarity despite the bucket of techniques and styles it flings at the listener. That clarity lies in Yang’s vision, and his frequent use of pointillistic guitar cascades. Where other guitarists would fall into dense and dissonant chords, Yang doubles-down on tight staccato plinking and prismatic sound refractions. He punctures rather than threads his way through the thorny overgrowth that Lin and Herzog lay for him. For its part, the rhythm section is tight and heavy. Lin can go on tears and lay catchy melodies, but he more frequently takes over the backing role of the absent bass. Then again, I am not sure this is really missing that bass between Herzog and Lin’s pulsing clunk. Yang and Lin also entangle in tight torrents and swoops. Amidst the cacophony. Cursed Monthalso has its shimmery, brittle, and just plain beautiful moments. The beginnings of Spring Snow and The Song of the Mist are among them. However, even in these tracks, that warped prog drive inevitably takes over, and Yang stomps his pedal to unleash a stream of clicks and computer-bug stutters over Lin’s more delicate scales.
Having listened to this album on repeat over the last couple months, I am still not sure exactly what to make of it. It is dark and disorienting. It is playful and unpredictable. It fuses unlike elements in convincing ways. It is a contemporary, postmodern form of fusion in the best and least restrictive senses of the term. Through it all, one hears the haunt of the cursed month, but this trio has found a way to deconstruct, reconfigure, and redeploy what made that month, whenever and wherever it was, so cursed, and, in the end, has made a damn fine album.
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Emerged from the Viking Cauldron of the Fire! Orchestra, Anna Högberg was one the most exhilarating potions we’ve had the chance to swallow along the last 10 years: two excellent records along with her group Attack (the self titled of 2016 and the sophomore, Lena, 2020) granted her fully deserved international attention, while lateral projects such as Doglife (Fresh from the ruins, 2017) and Se och Hor (Se mig, hor mig, kann mig, 2017) confirmed the status of a real top-notch musician. Given that, as you surely know, the writers of this Blog are working hard, they, like “16 Tons” miners, dug out the 4 records as above and the concerned reviews are filed at the disposal of the readers.
To describe Anna’s most famous patrol, Attack, what’s better than Maestro Mats Gustafsson’s words:
“Anna Högberg as a modern free jazz standard bearer, keeping it all together, her rich alto sax leading the ensemble into layers of high octane outburst and sensational melodic variations. Her tone being able to cut landscapes open, to melt your brain as we know it. Check the two tenor sax axes out! Elin Forkelid Larsson and Malin Wattring know how to attack matters, how to structure solos and ensemble work with intense warmth and melodic beauty. Drummer Anna Lund punctuating the flow, laying fundaments of possibilities for the others. Pianist Lisa Ullen adding her thorny but detailed phrases to the picture. And then the deep sounding bass maestro Elsa Bergman with an unusual imagination of how to position her own language and bass lines into a collective of attacking free jazz”.
It was enough, more than enough, to fall in love and become addicted to Högberg's music, however and wherever declined. Then, after the highly celebrated album Lena, Anna disappeared from the radar and what we just read/heard was that she was working as a nurse, whilst continuing to practice her instrument and seldom playing with other musicians. Bad, too bad but we kept looking over the horizon, searching for any sign of musical life. At last the news of a forthcoming album was confirmed and the fever pitch finally began to decrease: Ensamseglaren found its place in our shelves. Two pieces (“Ensamseglaren/Inte Ensam” and “Gnistran/Ematopoesi/Emlodi”) played with a brand new outfit (just Elin Forkelid as an appreciated return on tenor sax): Niklas Barno, trumpet; Maria Bertel, trombone; Per Ake Homlander, tuba; Dieb13, turntables; Alex Zethson, piano; Finn Loxbo, guitar and saw; Gus Loxbo, double bass and saw; Kansan Zetterberg, double bass; Anton Jonsson, drums; Dennis Egberth, drums. Anna, alto saxophone, as a rule.
The mood that informs the record is of grief and sorrow for the loss of her father, the “Lonely Sailor” of the title, pictured on the record’s cover as a young boy, as she, in a very touching way, expressed in the liner notes:
”You had already put away all the nautical charts, loosened the moorings and steered out among the skerries. Mum stood waving from the jetty. You were alone, you wanted in that way. It was to be just you in the boat this time. I called out to you. I think you heard me and felt less lonely. We couldn’t carry each other anymore, no matter how hard we tried. We washed our wounds on the shore and scattered tears and rose petals in the bay”.
The music can’t avoid these feelings and apparently does nothing to do so. Heavy clouds are incumbent, waters are grey, rotten seaweed all over, the air smells of storm: haunted atmosphere, shows the picture; amazing, jaw dropping sounds, shows the Attack. The distorted, infectious drone guitars, the atonal piano interventions don’t leave any doubt, the boat is at the mercy of the streams, peace turning into chaos and the other way around, a very few and foggy landmarks. But when the band unfolds all the sails and set a large ensemble route, even delivering almost fanfare-esque texture, here it really seems that such a collective dimension could be powerfully helpful to ease the mourning: not yet a flat sea, still some malevolent, sinister waves but the navigation became more secure and some rays of sun is now able to pierce the leaden sky. Music as the healing force of the universe, we’d dare to say, shouldn’t it sound too poorly banal and derivative. A true masterpiece, we firmly state.
Free = liberated from social, historical, psychological and musical constraints
Jazz = improvised music for heart, body and mind