Christoph Erb, Magda Mayas & Gerry Hemingway - Phyla music (Veto, 2025)

By Stef Gijssels

In the fragile lightness of the air, sounds drift into one another. They hesitate and whisper, moving in the same direction without weight or intention, slowly discovering each other, slowly intensifying. Like falling snow, they are visible yet fleeting against the vastness of the sky—until the wind stirs and their presence thickens into a storm: harsh, brutal, a relentless howl that takes command, a kind of dark reflection of the intimacy that preceded it. A vortex of sound sweeps everything along, only to unravel again into countless minute, delicate, and hushed tones.

Or perhaps they are small creatures, curling into one another, releasing tiny calls of recognition and belonging, until friction ignites and they turn on each other in anger—only to find, somewhere down the line, peace and understanding once more, and with it a deep and lasting friendship.

It is difficult to say. Perhaps these fragile, compelling sounds are not meant to evoke such spontaneous images of nature at all. Yet the name phyla itself comes from biology, where it denotes a broad category—bringing together animals of different species (as the tiger and the snail on the cover, possibly related to the story with the same name). In this context, it may suggest that the three musicians acknowledge the artists who shaped them, and draw sounds together from multiple angles and perspectives. 

The trio consists of Christoph Erb on tenor and soprano saxophones, Magda Mayas on clavinet, and Gerry Hemingway on drums, voice, and controlled feedback.

The result is impressive. And fascinating. They present two pieces: the first an extended work lasting forty-six minutes, followed by a brief two-minute piece. Unsurprisingly, the longer piece proves more engaging. As on several previous recordings, Mayas has set aside the piano in favour of the clavinet—an instrument whose raw, metallic timbre, not unlike that of an electric guitar, strongly shapes the overall sound of the music. Erb and Hemingway too are in excellent form, the experts of timbral explorations and inventive sonic creativity. The end result is as surprising as is astonishing and captivating. 

This is music meant for focused listening. Within its subtle interplay are unexpected turns and wonderful evolutions. An album you’ll want to revisit time and time again.

Listen and download from Bandcamp. 

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Roscoe Mitchell & Michele Rabbia – in 2 (RogueArt, 2025)

By Guido Montegrandi

In May 2024 Roscoe Mitchell (bass and sopranino saxophones, percussions) and  Michele Rabbia (percussions, electronic) played a series of concert in Italy (here is a fragment of the concert at the Angelica Festival in Bologna https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Icgq6ojsJIU ) and on the occasion, between May 9th and 11th they recorded this album.

The result is an exploration of sound in its most elemental traits – breath and noise resonances and echoes and silence. There is something quite organic and alarming in the opening piece A day in a Forest as my cat (who is used to a wide range of strange and unusual sounds) was restless and alert for the whole piece, the same atmosphere can be heard in the counterpart piece A night in the Forest, a sort of environmental collection of dripping noises, electronic echoes and deep percussion. It’s a raw sound that emerges from this album and the moments in which Mitchell plays the bass sax (Low answer as an example) seem to dive deep into sonic substance of the world itself. In Two starts as a more traditional free jazz sax piece but then the drumming opens a different horizon with deep drums and subtle cymbals. 

All through the record, the way in which Rabbia uses electronics and percussion perfectly draws a net of connections and disconnections (to quote the liner notes) for the two of them to make their statements, to dialogue or to go astray. Interaction is a powerful example of the way they think about music - every sound matters, every breath and every move are music until it all fades in the last second of Polyndrome (the closing piece).

in 2 is an emotional record, fragmented sounds and broken melodies and rhythmic textures that dissolve into 39 minutes and 06 seconds of good music.

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Tim Berne’s Snakoil - In Lieu Of (2025)

By Charlie Watkins

I have been a massive Tim Berne fan for years now. I’ve seen him play a handful of times and his composition technique has been a big influence on my own. He might be considered an auteur – you instantly know if you’re listening to a Berne album – and yet each of his ensembles manages to present something fresh.

This year Berne has released a couple of archive recordings from his band Snakeoil, with Matt Mitchell on piano (of course), Oscar Noriega on Bb and bass clarinets and Ches Smith on percussion. Both were briefly reviewed last month by Gary Chapin, who hits the nail on the head by describing Snakeoil as ‘knotty’. The complicated lines weave carefully in and out, and the compositions move between the compositional cells that have become so synonymous with his music. The complexity of the compositions gives this music a lot of momentum. The album was recorded at ‘Carnegie Hell’ (sic) in 2012, so it is relatively early Snakeoil material, but these musicians exude nothing but ease with each other.

The first track, Son of Socket, is the longest track at just under 29 minutes. It showcases some excellent interplay between all four musicians, who merge seamlessly between the cells and the improvisations, and about halfway through the intensity reaches a brief peak that is wonderfully furious, before opening up some space out of which another knotty compositional cell suddenly bursts forth. These kind of moments show the telepathic connection this ensemble has developed. But I think the band is at its strongest when it emerges from the improvisational chaos and settles deep into a groove, as it does towards the end of the track, when Smith swings hard whilst the other instrumentalists get their fingers round the difficult figures. Holding together improvisational chaos with avant-garde swing is what makes Snakeoil such an enjoyable group to listen to.

The second track, Spectacle, is the shortest of three tracks, and is the sparsest as well. It features Smith on various percussion instruments and then Noriega and Mitchell in a subtle and intimate duo together. When Berne finally swoops in, with Mitchell and Noriega introducing the next cell underneath, it all magically comes together, in a really special moment on the record.

The amusingly titled Sketches of Pain rounds off the album on a real high. Texturally, it is the most inventive of the three tracks, with Mitchell playing with a force that wasn’t so evident on the first two tracks, and Smith really pushing the band forward with his driving rhythms. There is also a good solo bass clarinet improvisation from Noriega, although he never quite reaches the same extremes that Berne manages across the record. The track has a delicate touch that demonstrates the full scope of Snakeoil’s musical range, and the last few minutes are a touching conclusion to an otherwise raucous record. This album really does manage to show all of Snakeoil, from their most complex and intense to their most sensitive and beautiful.

My only complaint about the record is that the piano sits a little too low in the mix. I was having to strain to hear Mitchell’s playing and the recording felt slightly hollowed out at points as a result. So I would recommend it for Berne fans rather than newcomers to his music; if you want an introduction to Snakeoil, I suggest The Fantastic Mrs 10 (Intakt Records, 2020). But as always with Berne, every subsequent listen of this record provides more and more to get your teeth into, and there really are some fantastic moments of inspiration throughout.

Available from Bandcamp:

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Makoto Kawashima - Arteria (Relative Pitch, 2025)

  

By William Rossi

A continuation of saxophonist Makoto Kawashima's exploratory journey that I loved in his previous solo works Homo Sacer and Zoe, Arteriais an album that requires patience and active participation from the listener. The two new pieces that constitute this record further highlight the importance that Kawashima places on silence and his penchant for meditative build-ups that give equal importance to the quietest of sounds, like the clacking of the keys or the buzzing of the reed and the loudest overtone blares, delivered with his signature theremin-like vibrato and unrelenting force.

There's a real flow to both tracks, they're deliberate and thorough in their development. The unexpected bluesy lines, the slowly and painfully ascending melody on the title track and the emotional bursts of energy feel even sweeter after the listener has been taken on a journey from an almost imperceptible hum to a single note, almost as if to show them how sound itself is created, painstakingly carving catharsis from a stone. 

 

The ability of an unaccompanied improvised performance, on a monophonic instrument no less, to conjure entire worlds the listener can get lost in is testament to how talented Kawashima is and how good his musical instincts are.

Like all great improvised music there's a sense of danger to the material on this record. Each daring leap and each strained altissimo note make me hold my breath. Will he make it? Will the next note even come out? This thrill makes the listener an active party in the music and the very tactile and raw recording, making every inhale, footstep or movement audible, contributes to the illusion of being in the room with Kawashima, turning this solo album into a moment for connection and collaboration in the same way that concerts are. I love music like this.

Available digitally and on CD from Relative Pitch , don't miss out on it. 

 

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Philipp Eden/ Frantz Loriot/Matina Tantanozi – And Raw, Lift My Eyes (Inexhaustible editions, 2025)

 

 

By Fotis Nikolakopoulos

The very latest release from Inexhaustible editions is another foray into the gap, the bridge maybe, between improvised sounds that are created in certain environmental surroundings and a certain cinematic atmosphere shaped by their interdisciplinary efforts. By the latter I’m trying to find connections between different audio excursions, more concentrated into “traditional” sound making, and this trio.

Eden plays prepared piano and utilizes several objects, Loriot plays his viola in many different ways, while Tantanozi is more responsible for the acute atmospheres of the CD with her flute and bass flute.

Ranging from the droney, melodic atmosphere of the opening 'Kaiki' (which in another, one of the many, turn in this CD it resolves into a request of the dynamic interplay between the instruments) up to the aggressively, but not in volume, experimental like the second track 'Curiosities,' or the fifth, Still Swirls, the glue that keeps all tracks together is their interplay.

Many times playful, quit a few times aggressive and full of energy, all the tracks in this CD are adventures into the unknown territories that border between experimentation and improvisation. There’s nothing to be said before hand and this CD needs a lot of listening, but if you are eager to find the aforementioned roots of their practice, you shall reap the fruits of another great release from the label. Only two hundred copies are made, so be quick.

Listen here:

@koultouranafigo

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Peter Evans & Petter Eldh – Jazz Fest (More is More Records, 2025)

By Don Phipps

Invigorating, like a splash of early morning cold water on one’s face, a wake-up call to get your mind and body moving, trumpeter Peter Evans and bassist Petter Eldh’s Jazz Fest is chock full of adventurous soundscapes that fascinate and amuse. Sunrise, sunset, traffic, road music, bluesy mornings, loneliness - the moods and shapes of the tunes run a gamut of feelings in unique and unusual fashion.

The duo is backed by a large array of musicians, led by free jazz luminary Dave Liebman (soprano saxophone). Contributors include Alice Teyssier (vocals, flute), Immanuel Wilkins (alto saxophone), Joel Ross (vibraphone), Andy Berman (guitar), Nick Joz (keyboards), Michael Shekwoaga Ode (drums), Mazz Swift (violin), and Ryan Muncy (saxophone). Given the various instruments used, one can quickly understand why the palette is so diverse.

“The Berm” is illustrative. Listen to the funk, guitar riffs, drum smacks, and Eldh’s roll abouts on electric bass. Evans plays high atop Ode’s funky, syncopated, and polyrhythmic beats, and Berman rips it on guitar – his fingers lightning fast. On “Waves,” Ode uses the trap set to generate a heartbeat effect and Evans paints a solitary figure with his trumpet. It’s amazing how he can slide so easily to the top of the trumpet register. Liebman contributes a bluesy trippy rejoinder over Ode’s pattern. The electronics are sci-fi, giving a weird other worldly feel to the vibe. And you can hear smacking and breathing above the guitar chords.

On “Tony Tony Tony,” Liebman opens with dreamy floating phrases over the keyboard chords. Ode plays loose and yet controlled. His rapid pacing contrasts with the lilting, graceful Liebman lines and the chordal abstractions. The piece continues this dichotomy – fast and quick underneath – agile and flowing overhead. Teyssier adds surreal vocals to the effort in the wind down. And the album’s last number, “HIME,” feels like travel music – spaceship or land vessel – creating a visual pattern out of rolling surprise as if transported across an audio multiverse.

What Jazz Fest adds up to is a robust and colorful experience - fascinating through its audacious creativity and entertaining voicings. This one will keep you smiling. Enjoy.

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Henri Herteman, Claude Parle, Michel Kristof, Makoto Sato - FISHEYE (s/r, 2025)

By Richard Blute 

“Music is about people for me…it’s about putting people into challenging situations. And for me, challenges are opportunities.”  
- John Zorn

I often think of this quote from John Zorn when I come across a surprising combination of instruments. It’s an opportunity to hear something genuinely new. On Fisheye, it was the combination of Henri Herteman’s trombone and Claude Parle’s accordion that I found so intriguing. (I was already familiar with Michel Kristof’s electric guitar and Makoto Sato’s drums. The two put out a very good duo album in 2022 called Wasabi Lullaby.)

I never thought much (honestly, at all) about the accordion as a viable jazz instrument until I happened to catch a duo concert with Michel Portal on saxes and clarinets and Richard Galliano on accordion, which produced a wonderfully rich, almost orchestral sound. Since then, I’ve always kept an eye out for the accordion occurring in free jazz, where it doesn’t seem to be very prominent. Rüdiger Carl used an accordion extensively both in his solo work and with his band, the COWWS Quintett. Sven-Åke Johansson used an accordion frequently as well. Much more recently, Charlie Watkins just published a review of Suzann Peeters album Cassotto, a very different (and exciting) take on free jazz accordion.

Part I of Fisheye is a textbook case of how good free improvisation can be. It begins with a rush of sound before the musicians settle into their respective roles and begin a conversation. Herteman’s trombone has an almost vocal quality to it, and he has some important things to say. Parle’s accordion is frequently laying down a drone, but will jump in with a flourish of notes at opportune moments. Sato’s drums propel the music forward but will slow things down as the situation warrants. There’s a moment in the middle of Part 1 where it’s just trombone and accordion with the drums only playing softly in the background and we’re listening to two musicians who know each other well. I suddenly realize Kristof is making quiet scraping sounds and then he and Sato come to the forefront. Kristof frequently has a rock-guitar quality to his playing but he is equally adept at doing Derek Bailey-style improvisation. This piece is 26 minutes long and not a moment is wasted, there’s no aimless noodling or repetition.

Part II is more frenzied. It begins with Kristof and Sato in duo covering some of the same ground as their duo album. And then there’s a pause. And then Herteman jumps in. And then Parle. The four musicians are all on the same page as they steadily build up the intensity of the piece. I’m always excited to hear this sort of energy coming out of free improvisation.

All four pieces are full of beautiful little moments. Some loud and intense, some quiet and simple. This is an album made by four master musicians and improvisors, highly recommended.

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Paul Rogers - Abbaye de l'Épau (Self-Released, 2025)

By Stef Gijssels

We're always in high expectation for a new solo release by British bassist Paul Rogers, and when we get two new albums in one year, we can only rejoyce. Not surprisingly, all his solo albums since the creation of this blog were reviewed: "Heron Moon" (1995), "Listen" (2002), "Being" (2007), "An Invitation" (2010), "This Is Where I Find Myself" (2021). Rogers has of course released many more albums with his follow countrymen Paul Dunmall, Phil Gibbs, Mark Sanders, Tony Levin, or with free jazz icons such as Ivo Perelman, Frode Gjerstad or Joe McPhee. 

Yet each solo album is a treat. The sound he produces on his custom-made seven-string bass is unique. My favourite this year is this wonderful concert in the Abbaye de l'Épeau on the outskirts of the city of Le Mans, where Rogers resides. "Founded in 1230 by Berengaria of Navarre, widow of Richard the Lionheart, it is one of the most beautiful Cistercian gems in France. It was acquired by the Department of Sarthe in 1959."

This performance ranks among his finest—grand, majestic, and magnificent. Perhaps it’s the venue, the acoustics of the room, or the presence of the audience, but everything about the sound feels perfectly aligned. His deep tones resonate and linger in the open space of the chapel. You can hear the audience itself—the occasional cough, a shifting chair—adding to a powerful sense of unity and responsiveness, of shared concentration between the artist and every listener.

I greatly admired his 2007 album Being, released on the sadly defunct Amor Fati label, and this performance reaches the same remarkable level. At times, the music recalls Bach, with repeated phrases subtly altered to avoid exact repetition; elsewhere, raw improvisation emerges, followed by passages of delicate, sensitive bowing or jazzy plucking. Despite these shifts and eclectic influences, the whole remains coherent and fluid.

The performance unfolds as a single, uninterrupted piece lasting more than fifty minutes—after all, why divide it into separate works when everything is improvised? The audience’s enthusiasm is well deserved, and they reward him with a standing ovation and a five-minute encore.

It's one of those albums that you listen to again and again. And that's a real feat for a solo bass album. 

Listen and download from Bandcamp. 

Paul Rogers – Peace And Happiness (Fundacja Słuchaj!, 2025)

Recorded by in the summer of 2023 in his garage at Le Mans, "Peace and Happiness", is a more composed, structured and controlled album, yet as virtuosic. 

Most tracks have a pre-conceived voice and structure, with recurring themes interlaced with improvisations. Despite the power of his playing, this album is more intimate, more restrained, with British folksy melodies. Some pieces sound as if they were dubbed, but that is the result of his incredible skills on the seven-string bass, including plucking the strings beyond the bridge. 

It's excellent, but my preference still goes to the live performance reviewed above. 

Listen and download from Bandcamp.

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Gayle Young and Robert Wheeler – From Grimsby to Milan (Fairpoint Recordings, 2025)

By Nick Ostrum

A mysterious bass hum slithers into a series of fluttering beeps and stutters and creaks. Twangy strings, resembling a muted and detuned sitar, then chimes pierce the background, a long with a choice selection of swipes, beeps, and tweaked nobs, or tuning keys. Sine tones, echoed pixilations, a heavy buzz join for a while. It turns out, this delicious computerized nature walk all comes from two musicians: Robert Wheeler on EML ElectroComp 101 and Gayle Young on her own invention, the amaranth .

From Grimsby to Milan captures the duo on six compositions like that described above. The density runs from sparse to moderate and the elements remain discrete, evoking tightly angled collage-work. It begs and rewards close listening. Rarely do the pieces fall into anything resembling a groove or melody, or even clear movements. Still, the cuts cohere, even as they wander from incidental and acousmatic sounds to glitchy electro ambience and string-entangled-ring tones and scratches of various haptic and synthetic origin. This makes those moments when semblances and hints at melodic progression, frequently derived from the amaranth, develop for a few seconds to, in the 16-minute finale Constant Harmony, several minutes. In places like this one can hear the best of Young and Wheeler’s playful rapport. Young seems intent on drawing out more “music” from the collaboration. Wheeler seems intent on making her stumble, but in the process feints toward, then embraces stretches of rhythmic scratching and tonal dispatches from his ElectroComp. They even fall in (and out of) line, flirting with a sort of harmony toward the middle of the piece, before Young leans into a droning rhythm and Wheeler returns to his role of agitator.

What is remarkable about this duo is the fine line they walk between cacophony and quiet. From Grimsby is neither. Noises rarely overwhelm, leaving them open to textural listening. They also persist at moderate levels. Never does this dip too far into lowercase territory. But the energy is harnessed and, in all its curiosity and exploration, the duo never really break that energy in either direction. Young and Wheeler clearly were on the same aesthetic page on this one and exercise considerable self-restraint to remain there.

From Grimsby to Milan is available as a CD and download here.

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Ivo Perelman and Wadado Leo Smith - Duologues 5 (Ibeji, 2026)

By Sammy Stein 

Ivo Perelman continues his ‘Duologue’ series, this time teaming up with trumpet player Wadada Leo Smith, who needs little introduction to readers of this column. These are players with contrasting voices, and instruments with which either player could dominate, but that never happens in this recording, because, as ever, Perelman chooses those with whom he communicates carefully.

This recording is a statement of intent from the opening with Perelman ringing out repeated, then varied phrases, over which Smith enters with trumpet, adding a subtle, then less subtle voice into the mix. Perelman may have set the tone, but Smith changes it, as only he can, and Perelman willingly changes his take to suit. Gone is the melodic tone, and Perelman replaces it with breathy tones reflecting the intonations of the trumpet. The track is spacey in that each musician has room to develop lines, and the texture remains light and conversational.

The second track sees each musician entering the flow of the music, as full-throttle improvisational sequences segue into occasional melody, largely from the sax but also from the trumpet. Smith creates the path toward intentional musical mayhem, and Perelman slots his sax melodics and harmonies in. At times, there is a competitive air, but at others, there evolves that wonderful sense of two musicians entranced by and listening to each other. The dynamism is intense, with both instrumentalists finding space to free solo, and support – the intensity can be almost tangibly felt.

Track 3 sets off at a pace, with Perelman introducing melodic phrases, under which Smith trips off reflective phrases in response to Perelman’s voice. Later, the roles swap, and Perelman is reacting to Smith. Toward the final phrases, Smith excels and raises his trumpet sounds in melodic triumph – well, almost melodic.

Track 4 is a different kind of beast, with lashings of sonic texture provided by both musicians, with an energy that increases as the track progresses. The art of listening is aptly demonstrated here, as Perelman's musical motifs are picked up, changed, and thrown back at him by Smith, who seems to relish the changes Perelman introduces and adds some of his own. Perelman's gentleness in the midsection is tempered by the delicacy of Smith’s delivery, and when Perelman develops a thematic section, Smith simply drops out and lets him have the space.

Track 5 is a wonderful conversation between sax and trumpet, each instrument's tone and range explored and developed, with the topsy-turvy nature of the sonic landscape further tilted as Smith leads Perelman along musical pathways not explored before, which Perelman gleefully follows. Track 6 is lively and energetic with a dancing mode created first by Smith, then Perelman, who picks up the theme, not in phrases but insertions of notes perfectly placed to intercept the rise and fall of Smith’s phrasing with uncanny accuracy. Like a magician producing yet more magical delights from his pockets, Perelman just keeps delivering, and Smith responds. Noisy, full- on improvisation at its best.

The final track celebrates both instruments from the trumpet’s opening blast to the final harmonics. One recording, two instruments, two masters. You really can’t ask for more than that.

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GoGo Penguin – Necessary Fictions (XXIM Records, 2025)

By Don Phipps

What is it about GoGo Penguin? While neither art, sound experiment, nor cerebral exercise, the music of Necessary Fictions is enjoyable. Call it a guilty pleasure - like popcorn while watching a movie – a comfort food for the ears – delivering a sense of wellbeing inside grounded reality (structure). The trio of Chris Illingworth (piano, synth), Nick Blacka (double bass, bass guitar, synth), and Jon Scott on drums are backed on some numbers by a small string ensemble and guitar, and guest vocals courtesy of violinist Rakhi Singh and guitarist Daudi Matsiko.

The tunes on Necessary Fictions do not generate heat. Instead, they lollygag along – more akin to giant blossoms in a pond responding to the day’s elements – wind blowing them about, rain pouring down, and on sunny days with slight breezes, floating gently on the water. There’s a subtle head nodding vibe to many of the numbers – propelled by syncopated rhythms, delicate synth patterns, and minimalism.

None of the pieces feature piano virtuosity. Illingworth prefers to dwell on single notes and avoid tonal clusters, notes that present a unassuming lyrical odyssey that rotate around a center. And he’s not afraid of repetition. Listen to his piano on “The Turn Within,” “Naga Ghost,” and “State of Flux” for textbook examples.

Scott’s drums provide a galloping yet grounded push to the effort. And he works in some variation. For example, he uses his hands to tap on the drums on “Luminous Giants” and his use of the tom tom provides a bounce on “Silence Speaks.” There’s also his tap-filled brushwork on “Fallowfield Loops” and the interesting syncopation he employs on “Living Bricks In Dead Mortar” and “Naga Ghost.”

Like his bandmates, Blacka’s bass work lays down straightforward lines. There’s nothing free form –just a solid bottom with enough emotional heft to keep the music flowing. Listen to his counterpoint on “Fallowfield Loops.” Or the select fingerings he chooses for his bass solo on “Naga Ghost.” Or the foundation he provides on “The Turn Within.”

The album might have a miss or two. For example, the poppish “Forgive the Damages” might have been omitted. This same poppish approach is evidenced in “What We Are And What We Are Meant To Be.” But in the latter, the piece is planted more firmly in its ethereal effects -the synths providing a drifting background behind the development while Scott’s scattered drumbeat delivers.

Still, despite the highly structured arrangements, many of the rotating motifs create a dancing, hovering aura – an embrace of the beautiful aspects of our world – wind in hair, warm ocean spray on skin, distant vistas, and circular rainbows. Who can begrudge happiness? And, maybe, these are necessary fictions. Enjoy.

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Tom Varner, Joe Morris, Stephen Haynes, Kenny Warren, Josh Roseman – A New Planet (self-released, 2025)

By Dan Sorrells

Tom Varner has had a long career asserting the French horn as a jazz instrument, both as a pioneering hornist and an engaging composer. In recent years he’s leaned into small groups and more open forms, bringing the radical loosening of improvisation back into the chamber along with his horn. On A New Planet he convenes an unorthodox group, setting up a series of encounters in which steadfast guitarist Joe Morris ventures into the breathy and buzzing milieu of a brass quartet.

There’s a strong sense across these 16 tracks of five musicians arriving on an autumn day with shared sympathies, working toward a shared understanding through a process that’s easy to imagine as a genial dialogue. The quartet (Varner plus Haynes on cornet and flugelhorn, Warren on trumpet, and Roseman on trombone) softly converses in sounds that remind how near these instruments are to breath and voice. Murmurs and low whispers that barely set lips vibrating; friendly recountings in long, slurring lines; declamations of hope and melancholy that at times louden in enthusiasm. Morris’s instrument understandably sets him apart. His fleet runs are often the most direct and melodic statements, but he deploys subtle effects to soften his attack or even steps back altogether, one moment the focus of attention, the next receding into the group.

But the conversational metaphor extends only so far. Is that warm, low drone Roseman or Varner? Which thread of that rising whorl is Warren and which Haynes? The boundaries between individual voices slip, and as the fluid brass forms intermix, their density thickening and thinning, metaphors of environment and terrain begin to stir. In his notes on the session Varner portrays Morris’s guitar as “an observer interacting with a shifting new landscape, the landscape created by the brass,” an image conjured most vividly as Morris winds through the undulating uplands in “Have We Arrived?” Gleaming tracks like “A Reflective Rest” and “For the Many That We’ve Lost” edge towards the powerful harmonic luster one might expect with a brass ensemble, but the horns are concerned less with tonal harmony than with a harmony of timbre: viscous, gold, and glowing, a kindred meld of sound. Consonance here is not the agreement of notes but instead a quality of tone, and equally a quality of engagement.

The question posed with “Have We Arrived?” and the journeying image within it strongly resonate with Morris’s own thinking about free music and the “perpetual frontier.” Varner remarks upon how drastically the world seemed to change in the short time between entering the studio in October 2024 and releasing the music the following September. A darkness has set in and the wilderness sprawled out ahead evokes fear and not promise. But to arrive implies you’ve reached the place you intend to stop. The question holds uncertainty, but also an opening. The kind of music-making on A New Planet is a model—foolhardy and utopian, perhaps—of coming together in good faith to negotiate the uncertainty, to keep changing the frame, working the details out as you go until that opening appears and you step through into somewhere new.

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Karl Bjorå Trio - The Essence (Sonic Transmissions, 2025)

By Brian Earley

 The whimsical asides and tumbling surprises of Karl Bjora and his trio on The Essence, his latest 2025 release for Sonic Transmissions Records, delightfully plays with listener expectations. A tune, for example, that opens with an acoustic bass solo may soon become more video game soundtrack than jazz guitar trio. An established moderate tempo may pivot laughably to Keystone Cops by song’s end. Ticklingly silly plucked guitar strings open swiftly to a soundscape as wide as the dawn.

Without knowing Bjora’s discography, then, what would come as the craziest surprise of all is his deep connection to composition. However, the guitarist has built a career, albeit short (he was born in 1991), working in ensembles using compositions that are so much fun to listen to they hardly feel complex at root, though painstakingly complicated they are. Just listen, for example, to Signe Emmeluth’s Spacemusic Ensemble, or to his own rich compositions on 2021’s Whimsical Giant.

For this date, Bjora has assembled fellow Norwegian Ole Mofjell on drums and Norway born and Texas transplant polymath Ingebrigt Haker Flaten as the man with the bass. The trio works, or rather plays, seamlessly, as though successful navigation through these snaking songs were inevitable. Joy glows immediately from the album’s opener, “Consider Yourself Encouraged.” After laughing at the dry irony of the song’s title, one hears Bjora and company cruising swiftly out of the gate. “FOMO” is Wes Montgomery laughing in a child’s toy sailboat as it bounces on ripples and tumbles over waterfalls until the composition opens to broad and deep waters of a soundscape so beautiful I almost cried listening to it for the first time.

If there is a storm in “Maelstrom,” the date’s third piece, it is the electronic surprises the song has in store for its listeners. The trinkling of “Smokes” leads to the album’s closer and title track, “The Essence,” which encounters listeners with layered polyrhythms as it fights its way upstream to the silence that remains as the collection ends and the listener stands on shore again now encouraged to play with sandcastles and children’s toy buckets rather than contemplate the meaning of life at sunset.

None of this is to say this isn’t serious music. It is powerful and deeply moving at times, but the trio performs with such freedom within Bjora’s structures that the whole journey feels like a game to them. And what power it is to help others know the essence of wisdom is finding the humor in the maelstrom.

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Sakina Abdou & Daunik Lazro

For the 25th anniversary of her radio program "A l'improviste" on public service station France Musique, Anne Montaron invited musicians to perform at Carreau du Temple in Paris on November 17. The players included Yuko Oshima/Olivier Lété, Alexandra Grimal/Christiane Bopp/Benjamin Duboc, solos by Joëlle Léandre and Michael Nick, a quintet of students and an inter-generational tenor saxophone duo of Sakina Abdou & Daunik Lazro. The idea stemmed from Lazro having expressed his admiration for the younger player. A video was made of the 20 minute encounter.

The full program is available to listen on replay.

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سماع [Ahmed] - [Sama'a] (Audition) (Otoroku, 2025)

By Fotis Nikolakopoulos

Ahmed, with their new double LP, made it on my top two for another year. That’s certainly the least important thing, fact or whatever that you will read in the following words. The quartet, consisting of the same line-up over a decade now, defies firstly categorization and, secondly, the short-lived nature of groupings and collectives around improvisational music.

But should Ahmed be labeled or tagged under improvisation? I think not. Not because their music lacks the magic of this practice. Not at all. It’s probably (and I want to use this word a lot as many elements of their music lie in grey zones that, many times, are difficult to pin down or, even, identify) because what they try to achieve is far more interesting, intriguing and difficult.

And what that is exactly? Well, here is another grey zone, while I’m entangled by my own subjectivity and fondness of their music – all at the same time. I liked Ahmed’s music right from the start, I’m proud to say that I have been a champion of their music from the very beginning. Apart from being proud, I’m happy because I see (or feel, it seems more fitting) that the vision of four individuals, that is four musicians, can still infiltrate into a collective summary.The music of Ahmed. And that is, certainly, not an easy task. As someone who finds it hard and difficult to share his image and hope for this world, I must (we all must) acknowledge those who struggle, share, and succeed to present their image as a collective force and exchange of ideas. Those people are, among of the few as the trajectory of modern societies moves rapidly into creating solitary beings, the four musicians, from all over Europe, that construct the music of Ahmed.

Someone would comment that Ahmed’s music is not new by definition. Yes, the easy answer would be that it is a re-working of Ahmed Abdul Malik’s music. This preoccupation with “newness” and all this faux progress is what modern capitalism is selling us in order to keep us happy, while the planet is collapsing. Some, rhetorical maybe, questions about the aforementioned thought: how can someone distinguish between old and new? Is anything really new, so, per se, totally freed from the past? Should, anything, be totally freed from the past? Is the present and, subsequently, the future a continuation of the past? Is it better? And what “better” exactly is? I could go on like this, as those questions are at the core of this reviewer’s thoughts (and so is Ahmed’s music, ha!), but you get the idea I believe.

Where Ahmed’s music stands in all this? Well, if you ask me (or listen to the music and its ideas and decide on your own) it doesn’t answer any of the above in particular and it does, very passionately, at the same time. Malik’s music, any music of importance, comes from the past and continues into the future. The present is the medium, the place where the two (past, future) collide. But they are not for sale; they have nothing to do with the mythology of the great past, or the capitalistic orthodoxy of the optimistic, “better”, “progressive” future.

Ahmed’s music is totally into the three dimensions (past, present, future) because it is uncontrollably avoiding time categories. So, in a way, it is so against the amenities of the society of the spectacle (capitalism, again, that is) where everything is defined so to be tagged with a price. It is also aggressive, passionate, full of energy, maybe a little bit free jazz, also consisting of fragments of collective improvisation. Drums, double bass, alto sax and a piano.

Not that it matters to you dear reader, but I surpassed the five hundred word limit that I have on my writings for this site. The only reason for this, is that Ahmed’s music is important. A rare occasion, idea and feeling indeed.

Listen:

@koultouranafigo

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Tomas Fujiwara - Dream Up (Out of Your Head Records 2025) *****

By Gary Chapin

I went through a phase, decades ago, when I had a deep fascination with like-instrument groupings. The World Sax Quartet, the Clarinet Summit, Rasputina, the League of Crafty Guitarists, ROVA, et many cetera. Among these was Max Roach’s M’boom , a septet that set expectations for jazz percussion ensembles. They included trap sets AND every other thing you can imagine that makes a pleasing sound when you hit it. Part of M’boom’s charm was its outre quality, but part was its connections to traditions from the Caribbean and other places. (The Balafon Marimba Ensemble was a rabbit hole that I well and truly went down.)

All to say there is solid ground in my mind for Thomas Fujiwara’s Percussion Quartet to build from and excel upon—not to mention his own long experiences and collaborations, such as the brilliant Pith (reviewed here). Let’s thank whatever stars (or granting organizations) had to align for Roulette to commission this work.

I’m tempted to just say “there are a lot of drums!” But quantity, in this case, has a quality all its own. Fujiwara does “drums and compositions;” while Tim Keiper comes with “donso ngoni, kamale ngoni, calabash, temple blocks, timbale, djembe, castanets, balafon, found objects, and other percussion.” Kaoru Watanabe wields “o-jimedaiko, uchiwadaiko, shimedaiko, and shinobue.” Patricia Brennan brings her sublime vibes to the mix.

You can hear Brennan shimmer in the opening piece, a haunting reflective number that leans into the disquieting, intentional imperfection of the vibe’s timbre. From this beginning we are reminded that the usual rules don’t apply, that slow-slow and fast-fast can play in the same space together, and that the absence of melodic information from many of these instruments (though there are also many pitched percussion) leaves an opening for other types of information.

One of those types of info would be the ritualistic, spiritual, and uncanny. “Mobilize,” for example, brings to mind New Orleans parade beats, but also the Dr. John voodoo vibe of Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya-Ya(“dance ka-lin-da-ba-doom!”), and “Blue Pickup” comes at us with a martial urgency. Prayer, war, and mating are the most ritualized activities of the human creature, and all have historically required the services of the drummer in order to achieve transcendence—for good or ill.

As the record progresses, Fujiwara uses the drums and their possibilities, stacking up little instruments and large—and again, Brennan’s vibes—in ways that feel impossibly complex but also inevitable. It’s the sort of paradox one expects of a great composer—it’s kinda their job—and the inclusion of rock solid improvisers adds generative chaos to the mix. Dream Up is an extraordinary act of emergence. It’s like water. Neither oxygen nor hydrogen are wet, but bring them together and they sustain all life on the planet. Dream Up’s quality of sustaining—life? soul? spirit? joy?--is equally a function of the quality that arises between the individual percussionists. Five stars.

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Album of the Year 2025

To kick off the New Year, we are happy to announce the Free Jazz Collective's top album of 2025. Last week, we presented our collective top recordings, drawn from the top 10 lists of participating Free Jazz Collective reviewers and then held an internal vote for the top album of the year.

And the results are ... 

#1, Anna Högberg Attack - Ensammseglaren (Fonstret)

After a brief public hiatus from music, in which our 2025 top album winner Anna Högberg worked as a nurse and on her music, the Swedish saxophonist is back with her group, albeit with a refreshed line-up and a bunch of new ideas. Ensammseglaren is a moody masterpiece, steeped in the mourning of her father's passing, Högberg digs deep. Here is what Ferruccio Martinotti writes:

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.

Read the full review here.

#2, Wadada Leo Smith & Sylvie Courvoisier - Angel Falls (Intakt Records) 

Coming in second place in our vote is the excellent duo recording from trumpeter Wadada Leo Smith and pianist Sylvie Courvoisier. It is such a stuning album that we had not one but three reviews of it! Writer Don Phipps describes it well:

Dissonance. Abstraction. Tonal clusters. Flurries. Rolling ostinatos. Ornate and defiant piercings. These are some of the various musical elements of Angel Falls, a striking masterpiece of space and sound generated by two of the best – the legendary Mississippi-born Wadada Leo Smith on trumpet (now 83) and the always fascinating Swiss pianist Sylvie Courvoisier. The duo draws on a range of influences and idioms to construct their tone poems. From the formal classical side, one can hear degrees of impressionism, Messiaen abstractions, and Charles Ives. Then there are bouncy, jagged blues passages (the ending of “Naomi’s Peak”) and of course plenty of improvisatory and experimental jazz.

Check out what Don, Stef and Ferruccio said about the album.

#3, Rodrigo Amado The Bridge - Further Beyond (Trost) 

In 2023 the top spot went to saxophonist Rodrigo Amado for his recording with his then new quartet "The Bridge." Beyond the Margins captured the collective's ears then and now, two years later, a second recording from the group has again hit the spot...

 Eyal Hareuveni, in his review, writes:

The quartet itself is a collective platform for creating free music that has a rare, ever-expanding, and uplifting spiritual power, with a rich perspective of the past and the present, bound in tradition while breaking free of it.  

Read the rest here.

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And so now entering 2026 ... it’s clear that the 2020s remain as unsettled as when they began, but the music we’ve been hearing—and the releases coming soon—suggest that the creative music community is still strong, inventive, and ready to find new sounds. As always, "a big hand" to our readers, writers, and, of course, all the musicians, for your engagement and your trust. You all are the reason we keep talking about the music that matters so much.

Thank you from us at the Free Jazz Collective!

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