So, coupled with that tranquil vista along a smooth-as-glass lake’s surface, should we expect a soporific sequence of unruffled ambience? No, not a bit of it! Instead, this sanguine album of original, contemporary jazz-influenced, in part, by cinematic scores – glistens with a mostly rhythmic fervour. You, too, may wonder: ‘Gravy Boat?’ – but it’s not dressed up any more than a random, Yorkshire-inspired ruse to avoid band-name punnery or cliché, though apparently doesn’t escape gig introductions such as ‘Gravy Train’, ‘Groovy Boat’, even ‘Motor Boat’ (you get the picture).

Emma Johnson’s crew on this carefree cruise comprises electric guitarist Fergus Vickers, pianist Richard Jones, double bassist Angus Milne and drummer Steve Hanley – the latter’s full-kit resonance especially key to this quintet’s joyous spirit, and encountered in boisterous block-chord opener Setting Sail. Johnson is an eloquent melodicist, her themes often stated closely in tandem with guitarist Vickers before individual imaginings are seized by the gusts of improvisation; and her strong saxophonic style, minus vibrato, is consistently assured. Richard Jones is no passive pianist in this ensemble, frequently setting the groove alongside bassist Milne, as heard in Vertical Planes’ prominent dive-and-resurface figures and the vaguely folksong-imbued journeying of Fully Fledged.

The leader’s penchant for melody in Interlude perhaps points to her filmic interests – maybe a taste of more expansive, conceptual projects to come – before the alternating patterns of bass-buoyed Waterlogged (despair, then hope?) are played out with a blend of spice and sensitivity. Here, Jones’ searching pianism is reminiscent of the great Ivo Neame; and Johnson’s arrangement shines, her memorable, stated tune seamlessly folding out and then back in after extemporisation.

A beauteous serenity pervades the simply oscillating piano motion of Hold Me Tight, where sax and echoic, ascending guitar seemingly support each other with interwoven melodies and textures – and the azure-sky imagery of promise is reflected in its rippled calm. Picking up that theme, the zephyr of encouragement and expectation blows through title track Worry Not, heralded by Hanley’s satisfying opening fill and taken higher by Vickers’ crisp, soft-rock guitar tone – but at the heart, as always, is the purity of its tenor theme and subsequent improvisation.

Originally released as a single, closing track Sun Stones offers a jaunty, shuffling burst of ‘east coast cool’ (video shot on the glistening beach of Flamborough Head – see below), Johnson basking in her bountiful tenor explorations and Jones’ angular piano leading to its final, Balkan-tinted celebration.

Though the foundation of this zesty debut is a reassuring catharsis in the face of turmoil, it’s also both exciting and entirely possible to imagine Emma Johnson’s Gravy Boat (and, indeed, its leader’s own technique) progressing with harder-edged abandon into more challenging, wind-swept open seas. Collectively, the quintet demonstrates the required creative fortitude and finesse – no worries on that front!

Worry Not is released on Friday 2 July 2021.

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The Brazilian pianist, who hails from the slums of Recife, is a revelation. Inspired by Capiba, Moacir Santos, Hermeto Pascoal and Gismonti, as well as Thelonious Monk, Keith Jarrett and Chick Corea, his 2016 debut release Sangue Negro garnered critical acclaim, followed by 2018’s Rasif. This original music draws on the vibrant dance/carnival culture of Amaro Freitas’ homeland – frevo, baião, maracatu, ciranda, maxixe; and while it may tidily be categorised ‘Latin’, the mesmeric modern jazz produced with double bassist Jean Elton and drummer/percussionist Hugo Medeiros suggests myriad influences.

‘Sankofa’ is a mystical Adinkra symbol of a backward-facing bird which Amaro identifies with, explaining that it “teaches us the possibility of going back to our roots, in order to realize our potential to move forward”. Using it is a conceptual basis for this latest recording, he elucidates: “I worked to try to understand my ancestors, my place, my history, as a black man. Brazil didn’t tell us the truth about Brazil. The history of black people before slavery is rich with ancient philosophies. By understanding the history and the strength of our people, one can start to understand where our desires, dreams and wishes come from.”

The album’s eight tracks soon reveal Freitas’ pianistic distinction. He works the instrument as a democratic third of the whole, rather than soloist supported by rhythm section; and repetitive motifs and rhythms not only echo his Brazilian heritage but also suggest a nod to classical minimalism. The calmative undertow of opening title track Sankofa might easily have taken inspiration from the more reflective side of e.s.t.’s catalogue (at times, the comparison is striking) until the trio breaks into a momentum that showcases the leader’s character. In particular, he leans into high, broken-chord cerebration – imaginable as a personal meditation – while his left hand is closely aligned to Jean Elton’s bass phrases (the split-brain personality of Roland Kirk comes to mind).

In Ayeye, dominated by more top-end piano patterns, Medieros’ mercurial presence at the kit provides a slouchy yet intricate funk-soul groove reminiscent of Jamiroquai, enhanced by the beautifully vocal rasp of double bass. But Freitas’ jazz sensibilities also fill it with ardent soloing, thunderous glissandi and stomping clusters (the Monk connection is right there). Baquaqua – presumably referencing African-born Mahommah Gardo Baquaqua, enslaved in Brazil in the mid-19th century but who ultimately found freedom in New York – has a crashing urgency, Freitas seemingly marking time with his repeating tonic-and-dominant motif (which can initially feel a little overpowering, though comes to add weight to this story). Again, integrated into the busyness of this piece is the pianist’s impressive left-hand groundswell in conjunction with bassist Elton. 

Vila Bela offers a midway oasis, its simply-laid chords providing an easier appraisal of Amaro’s chromatic thoughts before angular, punkish Cázumba fizzes with bass-heavy riffs and hypnotic cross-rhythms, momentarily pausing amidst the echoic, percussive imagery of a forest glade; and snare-beaten Batacuda (samba on steroids) explodes with audicious, sputtering complexity, the pianist eventually turning full-time percussionist at his keyboard. Similarly fervid Malakoff is a stunner, crackling and popping like a Phronesis/Esbjörn Svensson tribute, an impression heightened by Freitas’ electronically-prepared pyrotechnics. To close, the unpredictable chord progressions of pensive Nascimento (birth) are elegantly shaped by the trio – a prayer, perhaps, for the strength of humanity on which this album is built.

The blend of integrity, passion and technical mastery in Sankofa is increasingly seductive. As Freitas himself states, regarding his trio: “We treasure the creative process. We know it takes time to reach a different place, and then it takes time to understand that place, to translate it. Let’s stop swimming in the surface, let’s dive.”

Sankofa is released on Far Out Recordings on Friday, 25 June 2021.

The post Amaro Freitas – ‘Sankofa’ first appeared on UK Jazz News.

London-based Spannocchi boasts a vibrant, big-name sextet for this latest album release – trumpeter Jay Phelps, tenorist Sylvie Leys, pianist Robert Mitchell, double bassist Michelangelo Scandroolio and drummer Tristan Banks – who collectively put the ‘wow’ into his ebullient collection of nine original numbers. To rummage through the altoist’s Bandcamp catalogue is fascinating, his previous recordings featuring names such as Tony Kofi and Jure Pukl; and his diverse creations (including a hymn or two) reveal an inquiring and exploratory musical mind. In Perihelion, however, he presents a straight-ahead sequence with a metaphorical sparkle in its eye; and Spannocchi, himself, has a distinctive embouchure characterised by an endearing, even unusual, rapid vibrato.

The foot-tapping jive of Uphill Blues offers an instant mood indicator for the album, Phelps and Spannocchi fronting its perky, lead melody and improvisations, while Sylvie Leys’ almost throwaway, casual tenor is a dream. Robert Mitchell is ideally partnered with the rhythm section of Scandroolio and Banks, his Wurlitzer intonation switching from the percussive soloing of this track to the chordal elegance of Key Drop, the latter producing a raft of beautiful solos. In swaggering Cafezinho, Phelps’ quickfire extemporisations (not unlike Freddie Hubbard’s) rise out of its grooving, pin-sharp horn arrangements; and the signature melody of Strutting in Six (listen for that quaint alto vibrato) sails blithely across Mitchell’s glistening, soulful wash.

In jazz terms, Spannocchi’s numbers can be tantalisingly succinct – often just three to four minutes in duration – yet one never feels shortchanged, the feel-good perpetuated throughout the album. Das Ist Die Frage (That is the question) suggests all the balmy, romantic smoothness of a Sade hit, until Scandrooli’s bass drives it towards shrill sax exchanges and crunchy, ‘70s-style Wurlitzer invention. The simplicity of unison horns can be so effective, and is exemplified in A Walk in Yoyogi Park (Tokyo’s go-to hub for artists, performers and musicians – and often a jazz inspiration). It’s a delightfully floaty number with many facets, said to pay homage to Délibes’ ‘The Flower Duet’; and Leys’ sumptuous, misty tenor lines, in particular, bask in this spacious environment.

Unashamedly boppy 187 South is carried on Banks’ slouchy but solid rhythm, its hint of US TV theme amplified by agile Wurlitzer and another strong, unison sax theme. Midweek 3:30am Club Theme, though sonically a tad incongruous within the overall shape of the album, does indeed intimate the weary emptiness following an after-hours basement gig, emphasised by Mitchell’s upright piano timbre. A swooning, alternative take of Das Ist Die Frage shares something of that ambience, too, with Phelps’ tone tangibly softer; but neon-glowing Night Time in Soho displays again the overriding joy of this recording as glissando-inflected horn phrases accentuate its unwavering confidence.

Guido Spannocchi’s cover art doesn’t give much (anything) away. But behind the orange, Perihelion’s satisfying, uplifting jazz blazes brightly.

The post Guido Spannocchi – ‘Perihelion’ first appeared on UK Jazz News.

Experimental composer Woodhead, a graduate of Birmingham Conservatoire, has sought to connect the familiar strains of pealing church bells with a close-knit sextet of paired horns – trumpeters Sam Wooster and Charlotte Keeffe, alto saxophonists Sam Andreae and Lee Griffiths, baritonists Helen Pappioannou and Alicia Gardener-Trejo – alongside his own electronics/field recordings, exploring the relationships that might exist between them. As if to illustrate Edgar Allan Poe’s observation of ‘the tintinnabulation that so musically wells from the bells, bells, bells, bells’, they weave an unlikely soundscape that is both extraordinary and compelling – often mesmerically so. However, that ‘unlikely’ tag soon wanes as the synergies between these usually disparate sources are creatively forged, and then as we come to assimilate and acknowledge them.

The accomplished bellringers (as can sometimes be pointed out, not necessarily campanologists) of St Paul’s Church, Birmingham, are Tony Daw, Jonathan Thorne, Matthew King, Alex Frye, Graham Kelly, Ros Martin, Angie Wakefield and Richard Grimmett. Andrew Woodhead’s own precis of this project, a concept developed from his daily walks past the church, is enlightening: “Some of it involves musicians pretending to be bells, other parts involve bellringers pretending to be metronomes”, while also proposing that bellringing embraces many contradictions in that it is “simultaneously extrovert and introvert, ritual and recreational, music and non-music”. The visually alluring, modernist, stained glass-suggested cover art of Tom Chapman appears to cleverly echo ringers’ method diagrams.

For well over an hour, this sequence of eleven tracks, commissioned by the Ideas of Noise 2020 festival and recorded at St Paul’s, finds the gathered musicians integrating Woodhead’s compositions with free improvisation. Ring Up/Plain Hunt I, the art of assembling the bells’ eventual, downward sequences, also finds the sextet vying for attention, their freeform rasps and sputters seemingly attempting to emulate the iron pattern. In Sideways, a Janáček-style trumpet motif heralds its deep, saxophonic mesh before near-ten-minute Changes is announced with BBC Radiophonic-style electronic manipulation which mingles with a full peal and horn improvisation.

Over Plain Hunt IV’s nostalgic, reedy waveforms rides a fascinating trumpet-duo conversation. Contrasting Plain Hunt II melds all manner of other ‘bells’ whose sounds Woodhead has collected (said to be from ice cream vans, bicycles, pedestrian crossings, ambulances) into a computer-game melange which heralds the sextet’s own impressions of the bell chamber’s sonorous delights; and its concluding monody tolls solemnly – ‘For every sound that floats from the rust within their throats is a groan’ (Poe, again).

The chromatic saxophone figure of Partials II broadens to a semblance of New Orleans marching band, replete with flamboyant flutter tonguing and a richly grooving baritone foundation, while slowly tremulant Formation suggests the melancholy of a soon-to-retire colliery band. Tolls/Waves is an expansive, cacophonous triumph, the sextet’s laboured torque mimicking the changing metrical intervals of a ‘ring up’ – until the unadorned, eight-minute splendour of the St. Paul’s bells plays out across the landscape.

Free-jazz Diagrams is peppered with mouthpiece breaths, squeaks and swoons, alongside some wonderfully braggadocious baritone riffs; and electronic clangs and chimes prelude Partials I’s canonic forms. In conclusion, the sextet appears to finally master and align with the ringers’ mathematical sequences, Plain Hunt III/Ring Down gloriously accelerating towards a unified climax – and then the final, echoic purity of the bells reaching their rest.

Strongly improvised music can sometimes risk being branded ‘niche’ (or worse) and only suitable for the novelty of a one-off live performance. But the manifold merits of Pendulums, as a recording, engender a desire to return again and again to appreciate its inner workings, absorbing Andrew Woodhead’s ingenious instrumental blend of repetition, shifting figures and gutsy jazz riffs. At its core are the acoustic wonders of the bell tower – which might just help us, next time, to home in more readily on that most traditional and evocative heartbeat of village, town and city.

Pendulums is released on Leker on Friday, 11 June 2021.

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After The Real Thing sees the pianist exploring several of his original compositions – influenced by the people, places and experiences he has encountered in NYC, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv – plus interpretations of classics by names such as Kurt Weill and Hoagy Carmichael. While seemingly a variable piano trio setting with bassists Myles Sloniker, Martin Kenney or Joel Kruzic, and drummers Itay Morchi, Peter Traunmueller or Jeremy Dutton, Mor significantly configures timbres of oud, electric guitar (Amos Hoffman) and flugelhorn (Davy Lazar) to illuminate these eleven numbers, fashioning an engaging sequence of swinging, hard-grooving and Middle East-inflected interest.

Perhaps least representative of Mor’s bop-founded jazz credentials is his opening arrangement of the late Israeli vocalist Rika Zaraï’s The Echo Song, written by her husband Yohanan – a simple yet enchanting folk-pop melody brought to life by those beautifully pliant oud sonorities and the pianist’s clear, sunny articulation. Similar in outlook is Efraim Shamir’s Do You Know The Way, whose breezy oud tune (quite the earworm) is freely improvised across by Mor. But alongside these relative ‘lollipops’ is resounding evidence of the pianist’s immersion in the intensive jazz venues of New York, presenting his own writing with impressive zeal. Jerusalem Mezcla – inspired by the capital’s multicultural Mahne Yehuda market – fizzes with rhythm and atmosphere, and key to this bustling propulsion is Itay Morchi’s prominent, clattering percussion, as well as Mor’s own high-flying improvisations.

Chirpy, bluesy After The Real Thing is a charmer of a piano-trio title track, infectiously swinging; and Playground’s brisk blitheness is accentuated by Mor’s deft, acciaccatura-detailed runs. Shuffling Nikanor features the agile though still mellow extemporisations of flugelhornist Davy Lazar (alas, his only appearance), proving how adaptable the leader’s colourful compositions can be. Indeed, such a chameleonic shift can also be heard in ebullient Solar Reimagined (preluded by piano miniature Daybreak) and the balladic piano elegance of The Follower as oud player Hoffman switches to both bubbling and luxuriant electric guitar expressions. The familiar and wistful lushness of Kurt Weill’s Speak Low is exchanged for something increasingly more vivacious, while the closing interpretation of Hoagy Carmichael’s The Nearness of You pulls into focus Mor’s sensitive romanticism at the keyboard in a live trio performance which coruscates with his characterful, improvisational swerves.

In an album overflowing with a warm, eclectic blend of jazz joie de vivre and Israeli spirit, Roy Mor has unequivocally arrived at his ‘real thing’ – for now. As he tantalisingly confirms, “The journey continues”; and with such an open heart and mind for artistic connectivity and collaboration, of that there seem little doubt.

After The Real Thing is released on Ubuntu Music today, 21 May 2021.

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Farmer is perhaps best known for his role in vibrant, progressive UK quartet Empirical, while Rossy’s international reputation comes from his work with artists including Brad Mehldau, Ethan Iverson, Joshua Redman and Steve Swallow. Braysher, a graduate of the Guildhall School of Music, cites Sonny Rollins and Lee Konitz amongst his influences and has performed with John Warren, Barry Green, Elaine Delmar and Sara Dowling, as well as the London Jazz Orchestra and Jorge Rossy’s REBOP quintet. This is the follow-up to his 2017 duo album, Golden Earrings, with pianist Michael Kanan.

Recorded at Rossy’s studio in Begues, Spain, Braysher’s selection of ten numbers – amongst them, familiar movie/stage-show melodies from the likes of Rodgers & Hammerstein and George & Ira Gershwin – is complemented by an original of his own. The programme, on the whole, paints an image of an intimate, sun-warmed amble through the saxophonist’s favourite tunes, opening with a rendition of Dexter Gordon’s For Regulars Only that ripples with imaginative alto lines. And while the beginning of Carmichael/Loesser evergreen Heart and Soul may feel a little pedestrian, again it’s Braysher’s improvisatory flair which shines, as it does in the development of Jobim’s One Note Samba (Samba de uma Nota Só).

Farmer and Rossy are choice collaborators, the latter laying aqueous vibraphone below the lazy-Sunday-afternoon phrases of Irene Kitching’s Some Other Spring; and Farmer’s buoyant bass is integral to Richard Rodgers’ The Sweetest Sounds. Braysher’s easygoing soloing features in Walter Donaldson’s Little White Lies (though missing the usual fluidity of the lyric) and gambols to the perky swing and cheeky, percussive interjections of the Gershwins’ Shall We Dance – one of its lines provides the album title. Two miniatures – George Gershwin’s Walking the Dog and a Reflection from Disney movie ‘Mulan’ – are also included, alongside Rodgers & Hammerstein’s This Nearly Was Was Mine (‘South Pacific’) in quite different guise, its slow waltz reimagined with marimba and arco bass.

Making the greatest impression is Sam Braysher’s sparky composition, Pintxos – based on the chord sequence of Cole Porter’s ‘From This Moment On’ – which turns out to be a tasty little number, mostly for the following assessment. Throughout this recording’s interpretations of much-loved and lesser-known repertoire classics – which, due to the pandemic, are yet to be explored in a live setting – are signs that the saxophonist’s creativity may occasionally be constrained (the liner notes speak of “consulting the original sheet music where possible and learning the lyrics”, along with the challenge to “not feel boxed in by the harmony and the form”). This might also account for a sometimes straight melodic delivery, as in Jobim’s repeated ‘one note’ figure or the familiar theme of This Nearly Was Mine, where a lyrical shaping or vibrato could reveal more of his artistic personality. The most exciting takeaway, then, is that Braysher really can craft and revel in a tune/arrangement of his own. Pintxos is a delight, brimming with confidence and joie de vivre as he rolls through its strutting swing, quirky intervals and slick ornamentation – those balmy alto improvisations even have echoes of Paul Desmond. More than anything, it offers the tantalising notion of how engaging an album filled with his original music could be – an appetising prospect, indeed.

Dance Little Lady, Dance Little Man is released on 22 April 2021.

The post Sam Braysher Trio – ‘Dance Little Lady, Dance Little Man’ first appeared on UK Jazz News.

That connection is not least down to the sextet being fronted by Johnson’s bountiful tenor improvisations and including the cascading iridescence of harpist Michelle Velvin, while completing the line-up are vibraphonist John Bell, double bassist Tom Callwood, drummer Cory Champion and percussionist Riki Piripi. In contemporary terms, the sound may be likened to Matthew Halsall’s Gondwana Orchestra as grooves are settled into and explored – but there’s something different at play, here. Firstly, what emerges is an effect which appears to mimic the degraded-tape crumble of analogue recordings, heard especially through the sustained colour of harp and vibes – and that cleverly seems to place Johnson’s six original numbers in the studios of yesteryear. Secondly, while this ensemble can coolly vamp and expand on a relatively simple sequence, there are moments when a luxuriant, composed figure begins to move forward, its resolution anticipated; but then it attractively retreats, unrealised, into the general sway.

Such a progression can be heard in the opener, Magnificent Moon – perhaps the most nostalgically evocative of all – suggesting an after-dark view across a bespangled, rippling lake, where Johnson’s low smoothness and higher, broken tones are a mesmeric delight, as is the bassist’s prominent, melodic pliancy. Conceivably the sextet is consciously representing the album’s lunar-cycle theme, as Dawn then interprets the awakening sounds of nature amidst soft hues of milky sunlight. In this aubade, the tenorist’s calming tones become more and more appealing, imaginably leading to a clearing and the onset of invigorating Blue Rain (or Train?). The Coltrane aura is, indeed, especially pronounced in this track’s momentum as drums, percussion and harp emphasise its splashing celebration. Johnson’s saxophonic style can be lively, even gently rasping, but remains unflappable throughout the elegant, uplifting chordal changes of these ‘jazz ragas’, whose foundational repetition and occasional non-resolving patterns never outstay their welcome.

In Forest Rendezvous, a sprightly, sparkling dance is summoned with some lovely phrases, one sequence in particular resembling the lyrical atmospheres of easy-listening songs of the 1960s; and Johnson’s free-flowing lines also bow to a central, sunlit meditation between his colleagues. More urgent Rubicon might be construed as a passage into the unknown – maybe the band’s next project or reincarnation – with much more of that impetuously searching tenor. To close, Awa’s airy oscillation is illuminated by vibes and harp, buoyed by cantabile double bass, as Johnson meanders through different key centres in his confident yet unshowy display.

Wax///Wane is a subtly enigmatic experience – as if we need to discover more, or have vaguely been here in our long-lost youth, but the spectacle is observed through a veil and not quite tangible. That certainly contributes to its feel-good magnetism.

Wax///Wane is released on 1 April 2021 as a digital album.

The post Lucien Johnson – ‘Wax///Wane’ first appeared on UK Jazz News.

2014 release ‘Think of Two’ refashioned Thelonious Monk and Hermeto Pascoal; 2016’s ‘Tour de Horizon’ saw him take on Joe Zawinul, e.s.t., Duke Ellington; and more recently, a solo piano album focused on the movie works of John Williams (Star Wars, Harry Potter et al.). But the Austrian-born artist says that for new trio album The New Cool, with trumpeter Sebastian Studnitzky and electric guitarist Arne Jansen, he decided to pare things down: “It is more about emotions … the most important thing in music”.

It’s his abiding eclectism which appeals throughout a recording in which Helbock, alongside his own compositions, again cherry-picks whatever he feels is ripe for exploration, including the music of Benny Golson, Frédéric Chopin, Jack Bruce (Cream) and Cyndi Lauper. The trio’s examination of such a range, involving subtle use of electronics, delivers an enticing and often dramatically atmospheric programme that freely drifts between jazz, rock … and, yes, a strong semblance of TV/movie soundtrack.

The arrangements can steer far from the originals’ recognised paths, as with pop classic Time After Time. Here, the pianist buries those usually distinctive semitonal phrases in a murky, subdued minor-key landscape as breathy, intervallic trumpet and misty textures descend, Escher-like, into Helbock’s throbbing bass-piano prelude, and towards a rock-heavy climax. Cream’s anthem I Feel Free, too, is shrouded in mystery, its Sixties bop replaced with slow, sinisterly shade, Studnitzky’s wandering trumpet only vaguely quoting the vocal line. Even Benny Golson’s smooth jazz classic, I Remember Clifford, is punctuated with pools of dramatic uncertainty – all the while, it feels like Helbock is working with imagery, creating a screenplay.

Original compositions complement such divergent impressions, Helbock’s Pandemic of Ignorance impressionistically suggesting rising alarm through a measured, syncopated piano groove which periodically ascends, though seemingly reaches a nebulous resolution; and continuing this topical theme, the prepared (muted) piano and subtle trumpet reverie of Studnitzky’s Korona Solitude #1 appears to reflect on the global situation with sorrow. Pitch-bent lead guitar and echoic trumpet in Helbock’s key-slamming Truth is interspersed with more jazz-intoned meanderings, a mood shared by the ‘opening-title’ anticipation of his Solidarity Rock, while tranquil Hymn for Sophie Scholl (commemorating the young anti-Nazi activist executed in World War II) sensitively pairs reverberant trumpet and piano.

An especially creative reimagining of Chopin’s Prelude in E Minor, Op. 24, No. 4 sees Helbock retaining its forlornness, yet basing it around a quiet, muted-string piano pulse over which smoky trumpet and pedalled guitar enhance its melodic beauty. Jansen’s dreamy On the Shore – a feature for the guitarist and the trumpet of Studnitzky – is also moved along by Helbock’s percussive bottom-end piano, while crooning Matt Dennis’s Angel Eyes, from the late 1950s, becomes an engaging funk/soundtrack fusion which momentarily pauses to reference the original’s jazz-bar aura. Finally, Peter Madsen’s Surrounded by the Night (from saxophonist John Tank’s ‘Canadian Sunset’ album on which he appears) is painted in Helbock’s typically dusky colours, dull-thudding to low piano and whispering with vaporous trumpet and guitar.

The New Cool is an atmospheric, often ruminative trove whose pictorial edginess points in particular to an appreciation of rock, pop, jazz and filmic storytelling. Lauper, Chopin, Bruce and Dennis (now, there’s a collaborative image!) are particular highlights.

Released on 26 March 2021 through ACT Music.

The post David Helbock – ‘The New Cool’ first appeared on UK Jazz News.

A sultry sun silhouetting Badshahi Mosque and the Samadhi of Ranjit Singh in the cosmopolitan city of Lahore, Punjab, signals a quite different project from Wirral-born, London-based electric bassist Shez Raja.

Over the past few years, Raja has won hearts and minds with his dynamic stage shows of ‘Indojazzfunk’, he and his band welcoming guest appearances by, amongst others, Dennis Rollins, Shabaka Hutchings, Soweto Kinch and guitar hero John Etheridge (Soft Machine). A sense of that energy was captured in 2014’s Soho Live and subsequent studio albums including Gurutopia (with contributions from Mike Stern and Randy Brecker). But early in 2020, travelling some 5,000 miles east of the UK, he returned to the Punjab, the South Asian homeland of his father. During visits there in his formative years, Raja would become immersed in its musical culture, learning to play the tabla. But this time, his mission was to further explore his own identity, which included the recording of material for this album with young virtuosos and veteran Indian classical musicians at the Lahore studio of guitarist and bandleader Mekaal Hasan.

The result is Tales from the Punjab, documenting the bassist’s week-long spiritual collaboration with Fiza Haider (vocals), Ahsan Papu (bansuri), Zohaib Hassan (sarangi), Kashif Ali Dani (tabla) and Qamar Abbas (cajon), in which his own compositions are explored and programmed alongside improvisatory ragas and vocalisations steeped in the exotic traditions of the province. Amidst this melting pot of creativity, the timbres of Raja’s custom-built, five-string Fodera are instantly recognisable, as is the customary fervency of his musicianship. Central to these six pieces is the establishment of his bassline grounds and riffs, from which blossom a fragrant, sometimes rock-grooving thread of democratically evolving ideas.For example, Raja’s rising chordal slope marks out the pathway for Angel’s Tears, as Fiza Haider’s progressively soaring vocal leads to the bassist’s deft, sitar-like improvisations.

From there, the traditional sounds of the Punjab begin to weave mesmerically in and out of view, sarangi and bansuri dancing to a glinting, percussive current of cajon and tabla. An evocative drone, combined with extended vocal and sarangi strains, aromatically announce Adventures in the city of wonders, Raja portraying the hustle with a hard-edged, syncopated figure to spark this genuine and vibrant east/west coalescence.In that vein, it’s intriguing to hear how two numbers from his Gurutopia album sessions are interpreted by these musicians, in this location. Previously pop/jazz-styled Mantra is painted in humid, twilit hues, the pacier metre lending itself to fiery, improvisational exchanges; and original power-funk groove Maharaja is infused with the dusky drama of Zohaib Hussain’s breathless, echoic sarangi (a piece whose shared zeal would happily have been listened to for much longer).

The beatific vocal of Maye Ni Main Kinu Akhan (a traditional melody with lyrics by poet Shah Hussain) introduces Raja’s simple yet effective rock-bass figure, whose soft-grooving semblance of early-‘70s fusion invites rhapsodic solo extemporisations. Such elevation can also be heard in closing Enlightenment, a delicate, sometimes intricate passage sustained by a subtle sarangi flow.Describing the significance of his journey, Shez Raja explains that “from deep within the music, something else emerged – a passionate expression of the musicians’ own lives, stories, struggles and hopes”. Confirmation, indeed, that our trials and joys are universal; and throughout Tales from the Punjab – a transcendental sequence in which to ‘lose’ oneself – that vital and beautiful oneness is palpable.

Tales from the Punjab is released on Ubuntu Music on 19 March 2021. 

The post Shez Raja – ‘Tales from the Punjab’ first appeared on UK Jazz News.

His first solo album in a decade, 2015’s Days of Blue, delivered original music in a pleasing array of jazz and other styles. Now, latest release Winter Dream suggests a greater cohesion of ideas with a largely unchanged quintet – saxophonist Ian East, pianist David Beebee, bassist Jakub Cywinski and drummer Milo Fell – plus appearances from saxophonist Julian Costello. Here are nine numbers which possess richness in melody and ensemble articulation – all part of an incisively crafted sound. As leader, Naylor’s playing is authoritative and varied, but always remains integral to the overall sound – and that’s the key, rather than falling to predictable, upfront showboating.

Easy-going Where are my Glasses?, rhythmically drifting between bars of three and five, belies the middle-aged frustration vented in its title with a smooth, memorable theme and the aerial improv of Ian East’s sax. Shady Do I Know You? points to Naylor’s soundtracking experience, his bluesy, swooning guitar licks beautifully measured across David Beebee’s inflected electric piano grooves as they switch from mellow tone to subtle Santana-like fuzz. Both the intricacy and solidity of Milo Fell‘s percussion is apparent here, too.

Inspired by “the bizarre spectacle of Tory leadership candidates vying to outdo each other in admitting to drug-taking in 2019”, the album’s biggest rock-out, Tory Drug Off, becomes a swirling maelstrom; and if ever there was a vehicle for Julian Costello’s distinctive spiralling soprano – in hypnotic, raga-like contest with Naylor’s fretboard rapidity – this it. The guest saxophonist also adds floaty colour to Satori, a buoyant, free-spirited dedication to a guitar student of Naylor’s who passed away at a young age. Its melodic signature could easily invite a vocal line. That lyricism can also be found in Winter Dream, an elegantly waltzing ballad with space for tranquil extemporisations; and Winter Space’s ambient, reverse-loop haze suggests a frosty aurora, enhanced by Naylor’s sensitive, sustained phrases and Beebee’s softly chiming chords.

Almost Through intimates a wistful, prog-like mystery through its intertwined guitar and sax lines, Naylor’s full, lofty tone reminiscent of Mark Knopfler. David Beebee’s B for Blues, displaying an “affection for ‘60s Blue Note”, is indeed the album’s most direct expression of jazz, the pianist’s solos responding to the swing of Cywinski and Fell, while East’s sax rolls with abandon. Finally, recalling an old London address of Naylor’s, Rugby Street is a peppy, sax-led, theme-tune promenade of skittering guitar and blithe piano.

As we escape the weightier gloom of this particular meteorological season, Patrick Naylor‘s Winter Dream provides a reminder of the certainty of darkness to light, and the seasons’ inevitable cycle towards brighter days, with this amiable, enjoyable set. Claire Astruc’s hallucinatory cover art perhaps dissuades overindulgence in Stargazy pie before slumber!

Winter Dream is released on BeeBoss Records on 5 March 2021.

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