Ilia Belorukov & Lauri Hyvärinen - Fix It If It Ain't Broken (Nunc, 2025)

By Nick Ostrum

Fix It If It Ain’t Broken documents the most recent meeting between Russian saxophonist and sound artist Ilia Belorukov (here on modular synthesizer) and Finnish guitarist Lauri Hyvärinen. Their relationship stretches back over a decade, though, given the musicians’ distance from each other (Hyvärinen in Helsinki and Belorukov in Saint Petersburg and, currently, Novi Sad, Serbia), it has been intermittent. According to the notes from Hyvärinen, Fix It If It Ain’t Broken is a reconciliation after several years separation (likely the result of Covid restrictions and Putin’s war on Ukraine).

The first cut, Static Pleasure, is slow-burner. A quavering ringing – evoking danger and alarm, or just something out of whack – provides its backbone, and Belorokuv and Hyvärinen lightly puncture, but really encase it with various sheaths of static, rumbling, and piercing sounds. After that, the duo settles into what must be their old rapport and engage in more open dialogs of pixelated plunks and tumbling thrums. Apart from the decomposed nature of all of this, it is playful. One imagines Belorukov and Hyvärinen frequently made eye contact, cracked smiles, feinted sounds before spitting out short scraps of noises, conducting each other to begin and stop. When they break out into louder and more continuous passages – halfway through Hair Trigger and Time After, for instance – this back-and-forth coalesces into the coarse and heavy noise that they so tantalizingly imply for most of the album. (Actually, a lot of this reminds me of the garage circuitry paste-up electronics circulating the internet and many a underground noise shows in the early 2010s, though with a more concerted balance between extremes.) They finally fill the spaces, fill the air with, well, shredding noise, before settling back into conversation mode, and the experimental minimalism (intermittent sections of rending steel, engine noises, and silence, for the most part) that characterizes the final track, God Contrast.

Fix It If It Ain’t Broken, thankfully, never gets fixed. It remains broken, and the duo embrace those shards, glitches, oscillations, gaps, redirections, detours, and (mis) communications beautifully. It is the contrasts, the imperfections, the clunkiness, and determination that make this work, or, to follow the spirit of the title, not work so well. In that, it is a wonderful success. Just turn it up loud.

Fix It If It Ain’t Broken is available as a download on Bandcamp:

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TL;DR and Peter Knight - Too Long; Didn't Read (EarshiftNusic, 2025)

By Irena Stevanovska

tl;dr is a new project on the Australian scene, led by the pretty well-known trumpeter on that scene Peter Knight, but this time he comes in a little bit different, because he arrives with a group of younger people. While Peter is on electronics, trumpet and live signal processing, there are Helen Svoboda on double bass and vocals, Theo Carbo on guitar and electronics, and Quinn Knight on drums.

This record sounds pretty different than the rest of what Peter Knight has. In their description it says that they’re inspired by music like Brian Eno, The Necks, and Jon Hassell. I agree that it can be noticed since the first track starts — it has the rhythm section of The Necks, the Jon Hassell trumpet, and the ambient of Brian Eno. I feel like many of us have already wanted to hear a combo of these types of sounds. The repetitiveness in the first track, combined with the ambient trumpet sounds with effects — I’d say that with the type of vocal and electronics it contains, it adds a flavor of the dreaminess that artists like Orbital or Future Sound of London bring. Like if you only get the dreamy part of them.

The second track carries a different vibe with it. It has a more contemporary and modern feel to it, it brings in the sound of Scandinavian jazz. It has a more free vibe, the guitar takes the lead more than in the previous track, and it has those intertwined sounds. The length of the tracks lets them flow into different types of sounds — even though the repetitiveness of certain instruments still stays, it’s not the typical rhythm section repetitiveness here. It’s more like string instrument loops that carry the track, while the drums and trumpet are more fluid.

The third track continues with the Orbital type of sound. I mentioned the length of the tracks earlier because on this one too it can be noticed — it builds up with a spiritual intro, similar to those ‘90s spiritual rave tracks where you have the sublime opening of a female vocal with an angelic voice. That happens here — Svoboda’s vocal just spreads around, with some of the instruments slowly coming in. This gives space to the track to have a very slow development, which makes it nice, because it gives room for experimenting with different effects. There is a great delay on the drums later as the song continues. Great experience for the calm listener.

Then, when the last track starts, I can say the Jon Hassell influence can be felt from the beginning. In this one, the trumpet takes the lead — maybe that’s why the Jon Hassell influence stands out. While writing the review, I noticed that it seems like every track has its own main instrument that leads it, which is really nice for the flow of the album.

Apart from all the comparisons I made about what sounds like what, it’s just a refreshing combo to hear from people from the young generation of jazz. Beside all the energetic things happening, a calming sound like this, inspired by great musicians, is always a good thing to exist. The thing that made me stay with this album was the unrushed energy it carries — just that slow and foresty feeling of cleansing and peace.

And to honor the post-modern name of the album (which caught my eye to listen to in the first place), the tl;dr version of the review:

Great, calm album, with a noticeable influence from great artists that we all like, like Jon Hassell, Orbital, Brian Eno, and The Necks. Coming from young artists on the Australian jazz scene, together with the well-known Peter Knight.

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NODO – NODO (Self-Produced, 2025)

By Hrayr Attarian 

The stimulating NODO is a collaborative effort among three fast-rising improvisers on Montevideo’s burgeoning creative music scene. Guitarist Santiago Bogacz, clarinetist Emiliano Aires, and percussionist Mauricio Ramos, on their eponymous release, balance bold experimentation with subtlety. They also structure the album in a unique style.

Each artist starts by exploring the same theme in radically different ways. Aires, on his “NODO Es Clarinete,” mixes wistful tones with subtle whimsy, creating an absorbing, spontaneous melody that hints at pastoral elements even as it embraces a delightful dissonance. On “NODO Es Guitarra Eléctrica”, Bogacz alternates pensive passages with otherworldly phrases, creating a dramatic mood. Bogacz’s resonant strums and reverberating strings form a haunting song that seamlessly bleeds into Ramos’ solo. “NODO Es Percusion” features Ramos on a drum kit and other percussion instruments. His polyrhythmic flourishes and his crystalline thuds and thrums conjure up a provocative ambience much in the same vein as Bogacz and Aires do on the previous tracks.

Three duets follow that flesh out some of the motifs that were expressed earlier. For instance, “NODO Es Sintetizadores y Clarinet” pairs Aires with Bogacz’s synthesizers. Into a lush yet ominous soundscape, Aires weaves angsty lines that echo the electronics and maintain a shimmering path within them. The result is quite cinematic and sets the stage for the grand finale.

Despite the individuality of each musician, the session maintains its conceptual cohesion in great part thanks to the inner synergy within the group. This is most apparent on the fully realized “NODO Es Un Trio”.

Clear bells and blistering guitar mix with fiery clarinet drones for an energetic three-way conversation. The collective improvisation is simultaneously explosive and lyrical. Ramos’ percolating beats drive the piece with a march-like cadence. Bogacz, meanwhile, alternates between dense synth chords and textured guitar vamps. Aires chants and performs on his clarinet with equal abandon. A primal spirituality permeates both this tune and the entire record.

NODO, is a masterful work that rewards multiple “spins” and allows a glimpse of a musical scene that remains unknown to most listeners outside of Uruguay. It also whets the appetite of what is to come from these adventurous artists, both individually and as a group.

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Gerry Hemingway's How the Dust Falls Quartet

"How the Dust Falls Quartet" is an expanded version of pianist Izumi Kimura's and percussionist Gerry Hemingway's ongoing work, based on their second duo album by the same name. The duo was augmented two long-time collaborators of Hemingway's, video artist Beth Warshafsky and (surprise guest) synth and sax player Earl Howard. 

 

June 7, 2025 @ Vision Festival 2025, Roulette Intermedium, Brooklyn NY. 

 

  

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Camila Nebbia/Kit Downes/Andrew Lisle – Exhaust (Relative Pitch Records, 2025)

By Fotis Nikolakopoulos

I don’t think there are more nice words to add to the already said about Relative Pitch. The label, under Kevin Reilly, for some time now, has been a constant mainstay of great recordings and fresh ideas. It covers not just the, still marginalized though, free improvisation grounds, but many sides of what we just call adventurous music. Relative Pitch has become, this being the greatest achievement probably, a certainty. You know that if a recording comes out under this name, it will be good. Exhaust is one of those and much more than “good”.

Being a fan of small labels around Europe that bridge the gaps between modern free jazz and improvisation, I’ve stumbled upon, with great joy, various recordings of drummer and percussionist Andrew Lisle. His work on the drum set manages to stay on a permanent red level of energy, while not resolving, most of the times, to classic free jazz blow outs. Argentinian saxophonist Camila Nebbia has been one to watch for the past years. Slowly but steadily she puts out music (and contributes with many other great players) that is both joyful and energetic. Her playing is standing on the verge of the free jazz tradition, taking this as a point of departure. I haven’t been in touch (this is how it goes: the sounds touch me as a listener, a situation much preferable than just “listening”…) with the music of Kit Downes. Maybe, even, I had mistaken him as someone who plays more conventionally. As Exhaust proves, I have been wrong.

Exhaust is a recording clocking in around forty minutes of tight playing collective playing. Their music is performed on the spot by interactions and active listening. Nebbia’s tenor saxophone might seem, sometimes at least, to lead the way, but on a second level (and attentive listening) you, the listener, will hear the piano sharing aggressive notes and passages and the drums being the basis –but not a rhythmic one. Each of the six tracks progresses in an almost linear way, giving you the feeling that they follow each other as they race, providing more energy as time goes by.

The trio produces wonderful, raw, joyful music that leave you with smile, after you listen. Those are the fruits when each musician listens before playing. The common denominator is the energy and pathos that music has to offer to all of us.

Listen:

 

@koultouranafigo

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When the Sun Becomes a Bird: the 44th Konfrontationen in Nickelsdorf

Photo by author

By Andrew Choate 

As the geopolitical world continues to reach new depths of shallowness in terms of respect for humanity, my appreciation for the art that transpired at the 44th Konfrontationen in Nickesldorf last July has only grown. Dedicated to the phenomenal Swiss pianist Irène Schweizer, who had recently passed, the music this year now seems like a utopian counterpoint to the global tragedies increasing and accelerating. In some ways, I’ve always thought of improvised music as a model for living, an ethics-in-action, a real-time negotiation with the material world, an attempt to create something beautiful while wrestling with the myriad shifting social conditions involved.

The trio of Sylvia Bruckner (piano), Tony Buck (drums, percussion) and Martin Siewert (electric guitar, lap steel, electronics) embodied this spirit with understated precision. Siewert opened by groping the electrobuzz, kindling a delicate heartfelt piano twinkle harmonic resonance from Bruckner. Her melodies crinkled—somber and assured—using    the dampening of the strings to bring mellifluous connections to the fore. Siewert added a few ghostly isolated acoustic strums on his guitar before zooming in on an essential psychedelic crux. (I know I always note his psych moments. Martin, dm me when you start a new-wave Flower Travellin’ Band; I’ll drop everything I’m doing and work for you.) This full band rose in waves, quickening their pace and amplifying the decibels before receding and rising again, multiple times – but each time finding surprisingly perpendicular routes to the halting and quietizing.

Green verdure from the music with the late night blue sky. Buck pulled out a scrape as harsh as pulling the skin off a bee, but verdure has that side too. Their second piece started swirlier, an invitation to the maelstrom, Bruckner bowing the piano leg, then a solid crosshatching by Buck to shade in the full picture: look! animals in a landscape!

Photo by Karl Wendelin

Akira Sakata (vocals, clarinet, alto saxophone, bells) & Entasis: Giovanni di Domenico (piano)/ Giotis Damianides (electric guitar)/ Petros Damianides (doublebass)/ Aleksander Škorić (drums, percussion)

The air was so blue, the light so piercingly blue, in the sky, on my lap, Bogdana started dancing, and then a weird howl that wasn’t coming from any visible instrument tornadoed through the garden. A piano vs. guitar warble-off broke loose, so Sakata got inchwormy, in the Coltrane sense. The grounding force of di Domenico’s piano in this ensemble cannot be overstated: his centeredness allowed the band to follow their wildest whims, and his precise accents made each wildness sound wilder, more beloved for being so.

Sakata went trilling toward heaven on alto before switching to clarinet, just as the guitarist switched to another more suited for congliptious underpinnings and thick washes of thrum. Škorić played a scrappy brand of workhorse drums, using leverage and balance to keep the music improbably afloat. Once Sakata opened his mouth for poetry, the full guttural grist and gumption came pouring out. It felt like a blessing, direct and primal. I remember sensing his vocal sounds emerging cone-shaped, spreading like seeds across the space, popping in everyone’s ears at slightly different moments. Edi said it felt like Sakata was narrating the final two episodes of Samurai Jack – bittersweet and oddly fulfilling.

Akira Sakata. Photo by Karl Wendelin

It was free jazz blue, and it blew – but not without a loping melody in the zone of Synopsis’ classic “Mehr Aus Teutschen Landen” from Auf Der Elbe Schwimmt Ein Rosa Krokodil. The band ended on a rumble. Magda D. likened the set to “a wind of energy that comes through the soul and undusts it, sweeping out bad stuff. Calming. After the storm of music, the storm inside is calmer.”

Martin Brandlmayr (drums, percussion)/ Elisabeth Harnik (piano)/ Didi Kern (drums, percussion)

What struck me most was how effective it was that the two drummers couldn’t really see what each other were doing; they just listened and worked together to elevate Harnik. All three launched in with force and never let up. There was density—trebly density—with huffed cymbals rising mountainous into thinner air. At moments it felt like three drummers; at other times, five pianists. We’re talking real cymbal delicacy here – shimmers in tune. That mountaineering feeling never left me: this was music as adventure – climbing, rappelling, gasping for breath, struggling and loving it (what exquisite views!)

Harnik Trio. Photo by Karl Wendelin

Harnik can play skyrocketing harmonies because she lifts her hands and fingers so far off the keys: we have ignition! we have exclamation points!! Brandlmayr channelled jungle jangles, kids kicked a soccer ball in the alley during the second piece, and Kern coralled the rollingness of constantly shifting downbeats. I watched his reflection in the piano lid, which gave the music an added layer of connectedness. The whole thing felt like winning the world’s most non-competetive race: the only way to win was together.

Flights of Motherless Birds

John Butcher (saxophones)/ Chris Corsano (drums, percussion)/ Flo Stoffner (guitar)

On the second day at the Jazzgalerie, I noticed how satisfying the new chairs are: cushy in two places! Perfect for sinking into while aborbing an interlacing of densities from three improvisors prone to prod the microclimates. They micro-processed air (Butcher), land (Corsano) and sea (Stoffner), each shaping a zone with exacting detail. There was something ladder-like about the performance – not in the sense of ups and downs, but in the regular intervallic shifting, like rungs you trace with your ears. I heard the theme song for a really twisted detective show – one with no crimes, but an overwhelming number of clues.

John Butcher. Photo by Karl Wendelin

Insect-style improv, yes, but with a rhapsody corrector. They had the guts to stop when it was right, not dragging an idea past its peak: sweet conclusions discovered were honored, not inflated. It didn’t seem like they had a lot of different things to say, but sometimes saying one thing clearly, tenderly and fluidly from multiple angles is more than enough.

Luís Vicente (trumpet)/ John Dikeman (tenor saxophone)/ Luke Stewart (doublebass)/ Onno Govaert (drums, percussion)

This set felt like announcement music – declarative and insistent. Bogdana responded with a dance that felt like prayer through movement. Govaert was new to me, and I loved how he meshed with Stewart; the two built a thick, flexible web of bass and drums. At times, Dikeman’s overblown tenor made me wonder whether it’s the right horn for him, like maybe he would be better off figuring out new ways to freak a flute. Similar to Brötzmann, when he slows down, he can carve out a really fine sequence of notes, as he did while undergirding Vicente’s fast solo with a solid, descending motif.

John Dikeman. Photo by Karl Wendelin

An intricate and fascinating staccato puzzle began forming in the rhythm section, until Dikeman burst in with vocalic exclamations that sent the whole thing in another direction. Stewart’s bass solo was all too brief – especially given the layered, detailed groundwork he was laying throughout, to anchor the wind instruments’ fervor. Playing bass in this band felt like trying to slow down a racecar: how can you get the driver to honor both the car and the track, the holistic totality of speed and terrain? If a bird’s flight is a message to be deciphered and then obeyed, the sunrise glory rays cast by a frog preparing to leap are pure command.

Red Desert Experience: Eve Risser (piano)/ Matthias Müller (trombone)/ Grégoire Tirtiaux (baritone saxophone)/ Tatiana Paris (guitar)/ David Merlo (bass)/ Melisse Hié (balafon, djembe)/ Ophélia Hié (balafon), Oumarou Bambara (djembe, bara)/ Emmanuel Scarpa (drums, percussion)

This was the set I had most anticipated all weekend, and I was not disappointed. When it began with a balafon solo, which soon became a duo by the Hié sisters, the first thing I noted was that even the musicians not yet playing were smiling, nodding and dancing with their heads. That’s what you want! I was trying to brush away the goosebumps on my arm—I was so full of anticipation for the full ensemble’s sound, I even cried a little imagining what was to come—but the goosebumps stayed, and I stayed riveted, perched on the edge of my seat for the whole performance (though I couldn’t help wishing some space had been cleared for us to dance). [I know the photos are all of djembes, but different moments in text can be illustrated by different images]

Red Desert Experience. Photo by Karl Wendelin

Risser was already dancing on her piano bench before even touching the keys, which amped me up even more. As each instrumentalist joined in, it felt like they were adding colors we hadn’t known were missing – each entry making the picture richer and more vibrant. Merlo’s electric bass locked into perfect synchrony with Risser’s spectral scrapes from beyond the veil. I became totally enamored with her physicality at the piano: standing, throbbing over the keys, through the keys, throbbing through the music. She leads this orchestra not by dominance, but by sheer love for the sound – and that love is infectious. The interplay between piano and balafons was both sophisticated and tactile, harmonic and endearing.

Photo by Karl Wendelin

We basked in polyrhythms, then Risser raised her hand and signaled: 1, 2, 3, 4 BANG – an abrupt, thrilling stop to open onto an abstract trombone solo from Müller, utterly enchanting. Later, Risser added flute, and suddenly we were in Conference of the Birds territory – especially as Tirtiaux played his baritone saxophone with the mouthpiece removed, sculpting soft, breathy reverberations. I’ve written before about how much I admire Risser, and this performance opened up a new dimension to that admiration: her ability to extend the traditions I love by infusing them with sound worlds that haven’t historically shared space. Dark waves of tone clusters and gorgeously exorbitant major chords meshed wondrously with traditional African percussion instruments. Michael said the performance felt like an homage to Schweizer; even if it was unconscious, Irène was certainly in the air. And I have no doubt she was flying on plumes of radiance.

Hamid Drake (drums, percussion)/ Georg Graewe (piano)/ Brad Jones (doublebass)

By the time this set began, I was wiped out – wishing it had been placed anywhere else in the program. (Why make anything follow Red Desert Experience?) But such is the largesse of the Konfrontationen: outrageous highs follow outrageous highs, and it’s the audience’s job to keep pace. Alas, even with musicians I’m practically obsessed with, I could barely focus in the moment. At the time, Jones’ bass didn’t seem to add much to the several-decade rapport between Graewe and Drake. But now that the recording has been released, I hear it differently. There’s a lot of strong, responsive pivoting in his playing – grounding the dialogue and giving it shape. Sometimes we need a little hindsight to hear what was really there.

Brad Jones. Photo by Karl Wendelin

What Do You Want from a Bird?

José Lencastre (alto saxophone)/ Vinicius Cajado (doublebass)

Sitting in the shade of the stone arena at the Kleylehof to start the third day was just what the body needed. This pleasant afternoon wake-up set was perfectly embodied by the image of Lencastre, barefoot in the grass, playing alto saxophone. At one point, he even paused mid-phrase to let a breeze pass. His Desmond-like clarity and warmth couldn’t have been gentler, or more attuned to the moment.

Cajado & Lencastre. Photo by Karl Wendelin

Cajado, too, leaned into tenderness – using the bass’s glorious low-end to soften and lubricate the lightness in the air, never perturb it. From the performances I’ve seen and the recordings I’ve heard, his wide range is clear – but today it was his restraint and generosity that stood out. This was an afternoon duo of subtle gestures, gracious pacing and attunement to the setting.

Egg Shaped Orbit: Almut Schlichting (baritone saxophone)/ Els Vandeweyer (vibraphone, balafon)/ Keisuke Matsuno (electric guitar)

I had to catch up on a meal during this set, so I listened from a little farther away than usual, which may have accounted for my inability to fully submerge into it. Strange, since I’m a longtime fan of Vandeweyer’s luscious, quavering vibraphone tone. Matsuno’s    guitar playing leaned spaceward, pushing the vibe into slightly psychy territory before Vandeweyer scattered detritus on the vibes and plunked at the objects with a slightly madcap frenzy. Schlichting’s baritone came across a bit bonky, in the Vandermarkian way—repeated one-note blasts—and it didn’t quite land for me, though it may have been a case of schnitzel brain. Distance, digestion and sonic subtlety don’t always align, but I’d gladly revisit a recording of this set if it ever emerges.

Phil Minton (voice)/ Carl Ludwig Hübsch (tuba, voice)

If the voice is the most human instrument, is the tuba the most non-human? Nah, probably French horn (which could explain its scarcity in jazz and improvised music). Anyway, this set was an audience favorite: full of super-dramatic vocal exchanges (sometimes through the tuba, sometimes direct) that conjured hilarious scenes of kids playing, parents arguing, animals cavorting. Lots of whistling too. Hübsch’s stage presence was pure jokester – a perfect compliment to Minton’s impeccable timing and split-second shifts of tone and emotion.

Hübsch & Minton.  Photo by Karl Wendelin

They leaned into the silliness in a way that deepened its natural, true profundity, and I couldn’t help thinking what a great intoduction to improvisation this would be for children. Hübsch danced with his face, further amplifying the set’s mini-dramas. Minton doesn’t do things with his voice that you couldn’t do, making the experience of watching him feel accessible, even communal. They touched on multiple registers, from faux military chant to quasi-religious sanctimony – and everything came off as an invitation: to enjoy, to laugh, to delight in awe. The invitations were accepted by all.

Turquoise Dream: Carlos “Zingaro” (violin)/ Marta Warelis (piano/ Marcelo dos Reis (acoustic guitar)/ Helena Espvall (cello)

Between sets at the Jazzgalerie, things feel casual—people chatting, drinking, stretching and carrying on—but once the music begins, the atmosphere snaps into place. Focus tightens the stage with a kind of reverent immediacy: you can hear a bar glass clink from 50 meters away. The first sound that struck me in this final set was Espvall’s cello – echoey, but not hollow; open, ringing. Later she played a flamenco-inflected solo that became the highlight of the set for me; it was full of all the flair and constrained madness that characterizes the rhythmic complexity and tension of that music for me. Compelling.

At one point someone’s empty glass rolled on the stone ground; Warelis heard it and mimicked the rolling with a few churns through a high-end piano ramble – playful, uncanny. Attacking two corks placed wedged in his guitar strings with mallets, dos Reis was significantly more vicious with his guitar than I had ever heard him. He strummed it the way a dog barks. After one particularly manic onslaught, he picked up both legs and rolled back in his seat. Espvall watched, wide-eyed, with the same combination of encouraging esteem and total captivation that the audience seemed to share. (Her glorious solo followed soon after.) [Wow, it’s pretty amazing to write things and then get sent photos that perfectly encapsulate what you’ve already written]

Espvall & dos Reis.  Photo by Karl Wendelin

Overall, this was an odd set to close the festival—it felt a little fierce and eerie—but what else can you expect from a legend of textural expansiveness like “Zingaro” in a band with a bunch of young sonic form-twisters? When the final tones drifted away, I was struck by the sheer skill on display throughout the weekend: that ability to create sensitive, brand-new music, at any moment, at the drop of a hat. It’s honestly still astonishing to me, after many decades of listening.

The dance party that followed was particularly memorable, Risser on flute and Stewart playing shot-glass percussion along with the DJs for quite some time. The 45th incarnation is right around the corner. You can have this dance.

Photo by author

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Ivo Perelman, Nate Wooley, Mark Helias, Tom Rainey - A Modicum of the Blues (Fundacja Sluchaj, 2025)

By Sammy Stein

The blues – turned inside out, expunged, explored, and exploded – is this what this album is? The title would hint at this, so, given the reputations of Ivo Perelman and his collaborators - Nate Wooley on trumpet, Mark Helias on bass, and Tom Rainey on drums, might we expect some blues riffs?

One thing is sure. The group sounds as if they are having the time of their lives. Deep conversations, some arch playing over each other, and uplifting, playful interludes make this a Perelman-led album that has managed to find another niche within free jazz music.

Normally, Perelman’s tenor sax playing in the lower registers is beautifully ferocious, and so energetic, you could dry paint with the remaining force, but here there is a tempering of the music, a honing down and diving deep into rhythms, patterns, and gestures enveloped by the quartet of musicians with a good dose of free form. Musical conversations are shared as instruments pick up, deliver, challenge, and at times, decisively take back musical ideas.

Let’s not get carried away by the title and lean towards the blues in our expectations. Modicum is the word to keep in mind, and while there are subtle and clever nods to blues patterns and tempos, especially in the gesturing towards holler and response, this remains an album of spontaneous, free music.

Track 02’s introduction briefly has overtures of a big band sound, but this lasts four bars before the free-range exploration begins with Wooley’s trumpet leading the others in a wonderful, looping track, with melodies that arise like wisps before they vanish. But some are captured by Perelman, who translates them from misty essence into gorgeous, sensual tenor sax moodiness, the others dropping back for a while to leave percussion bells and Perelman in conversation. Until, that is, they tire of observing and rush in as one to take an active, and riotous part. Track 03 has an inherent sadness about it, the buzzy sax line sounding like a soft wail at times, and the play on the minor key changes adds to the deep, emotive atmosphere. On this track, imagery is ramped up to the full. You can imagine fields, workers, chants, and hollers – and not just because the title inspires it. Helias’s bass work is impressive, subtle, delivering a chuntering, powerful conduit, powering the others, and presenting a solid line for them to hang their contributions on.

Not the feisty, fearless Perelman of many recordings, but here now and then, there is a reflective, more sensitive design to his playing. There is so much room on this album – room for solos, room for conversations between instruments, and room for free-for-all sections where each instrument struggles to be heard, held together by the sax delivered by Perelman in tempered, controlled ways.

Track 04 has outstanding bass as an introduction, Wooley’s imperious trumpet adds layers across the top, and Perelman delivers sweet, mellifluous lines, interspersed with equally emotive free explorations.

On track 05, the instrumance between Helias’s bass and Perelman’s tenor is beautiful to hear in the opening, and Perelman then sprints off into a playful mode with the bass. The track then develops into a wonderful, layered debate with each instrument adding its voice, considering, listening, and coming back for more interaction. Just beautiful.

As ever with Perelman at the helm, each track is a story, the stories told in different ways, about different subjects, times, and images are conjured from pictorial meadows to the darkest recesses of the human soul by this magician of music but on this album, there is little of the dark side and a lot of the fun, explorative, playing with sound. Perelman, on other recordings, has stayed in the altissimo register, but here he travels the full range of his sax, switching into altissimo only for brief passages and largely remaining at the ground level. A lot less squeaking and a lot more speaking, you might say. But speak he does, and there is emotion in his playing too, as he explores yet another niche of music, clearing out the corners and revealing what is hidden. Perelman is prolific and produces albums on a regular basis. It might be expected that by this point in his illustrious career, he is nearing the point of exhausting free playing, there can’t be more to find, but Perelman finds those hidden treasure, winkles them out and, with the help of superb musicians who understand his intentions, throws these musical gems at the feet of the listener to gather in if they wish.

Releases in August 2025

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Ed Jones/Emil Karlsen – Liminal Spaces (Confront Recordings, 2025) *****

By Fotis Nikolakopoulos

Four years after their first release together, which was reviewed here, Emil Karlsen (drums and percussion) and Ed Jones on the saxophones produce another great recording for the sax and drums tradition. And one of the best for 2025, I dare to comment.

Confront has built an eclectic and open to new sounds catalogue of improvisational musics, having cut most ties with what we call (or I do) free jazz. Not that this juicy, clocking in over an hour, CD is “just” free jazz. A more accurate description, hoping that I don’t get to label the music, would be that Liminal Spaces bridges the gap between free jazz and free improvisation with absolute success.

The duo’s playing is free, low key but full of energy and concentrated. Their interaction allows them to hear and play, with that order. All tracks are full of possibilities, never quite ending the way they started. They play almost in unison, as if their music derives only from collective thinking and not from individual approaches. They never resolve to high levels of volume, apart from very short joyful passages. The mastering by Chris Sharkey allows the listener to get a grasp of their two way struggle: communication between them and a will to continue playing together, never resolving to any kind of solo playing tradition.

Jones is always a joy to listen to his sax, be it tenor or soprano, and has become a favorite of mine. I bet that his willingness to interact makes his and ideal partner for any musician who is eager to improvise. Surely he seems ideal for Emil Karlsen who has, repeatedly, for some years now been playing and interacting the hard way –the way of collective free improvisation.

After repeated listening, considering that this music last for over an hour, you get to listen to many short phrases and melodies that pop-up for seconds, only to leave their space to the next ideas. What a fruitful, thrilling recording this is.

Listen:

@koultouranafigo

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Otomo Yoshihide, Emilie Škrijelj & Tom Malmendier - Weird Morning Meeting (Eux Sæm, 2025)

By Nick Ostrum

Weird Morning Meeting is a strange album. On the one hand, the configuration of instrumentalists is unique. The trio includes drummer Tom Malmendier and turntablists and electronicists Otomo Yoshihide and Emilie Škrijelj. I can think of a few drum-turntable and many more drum-electronics releases that have caught my ear in the past – many with drummers Paal Nilssen-Love and Christian Lillinger, who seem drawn to those combos – but I cannot recall a trio outing with this constitution. On the other hand, the product is fantastic, in both the superlative (superb) and unconventional (the stuff of fantasy) senses of the word.

I am not sure I am ever prepared for what any given Yoshihide release will sound like. He has already cast such a wide net, from full-on freak out music to minimalissimus near-silence to pop tunes. On Weird Morning Meeting, he abandons his guitar for a vinyl set-up. Tom Malmendier has been quite active, as of late, in the Creative Sources circle and various combinations with Dutch artists such as Dirk Serries and Colin Webster, as well as with Emilie Škrijelj. For his part, Škrijelj has chalked up collaborations with everyone from Mike Ladd to Lê Quan Ninh to Michael Thieke.

From the first rat-a-tat of the drum and the ricocheting shrieks of electric sound, Weird Morning Meeting had me. The first few minutes comprise various combinations of fire, brimstone, and pounding. Malmendier and Yoshihide hurl out squeaky shards and rumbling tremors, while Škrijelj shows an unconventional level of endurance in his stilted and stuttered beats. Malmendier and Yoshihide engage in a dialog, with one responding to, mimicking, and anticipating the other, as Škrijelj lays a jittery foundation. About 12 minutes in, what sounds like a skipping and distorted Ayler tune enter the fray for a half-minute.

The shock of the initial blast does wear off, but before the listener’s mind can wander too much, the trio slows about 17 minutes in. The density lightens and various scrapes, ringing tones, and what sounds like a motor on a cymbal take over. Texture replaces energy as the driving force. The nuances foreground. This is where the meeting becomes weird rather than explosive. It sounds very much in the electroacoustic vein, with the turntables serving as a unique bridge between the two poles. Malmendier and Yoshihide turn their turntables into some semblance of a closed-circuit board, though some of the textures sound just too raw and vibrative to be solely electronic.

The relative calm lasts about ten minutes before the potential energy the musicians have been building converts to kinetic (and electric). After an extended build-up, the trio expels another eruptive and exhausting release that persists with surprising fervor until the whole tangle unravels to an enthusiastic and merited applause.

Weird Morning Meeting is available as a download and CD on Bandcamp: 

PS: In case you are not convinced, you can watch a live performance from March 25 of last year here:

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Lisa Mezzacappa

Bassist Lisa Mezzcappa has been a strong presence on the west coast experimental music scene. Recently her label, Queen Bee Records, has begun series she calls 12/12, which is 12 recordings from creative music composers in the Bay Area being released over the next 12 months. So far, the series is quite strong and we have reasonable expectations that it will remain so in the coming months. You can see more here. Mezzacappa will also be in residency at the Stone in NYC this week with a number of her close musical colleagues.. 

For today's video, we present you with the Lisa Mezzacappa 5(ish): 

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