This sophomore effort by the Who Trio -- pianist Michel Wintsch with drummer Gerry Hemingway and bassist B„nz Oester -- is a rambling, startling exercise in textures, layered dynamics, and process. Certainly it is a jazz record, rife with beautifully studied compositions and carefully articulated improvisations; as such, it is a nocturnal, silky, wonderfully wrought piece of understated mastery. The opener, "Quartier Lointain," a collective improvisation, offers a bird's-eye view of the intimacy of these proceedings. Wintsch's pianism shimmers around two different melodic ideas as Hemingway double-times his way into near silence, underlining only the briefest of phrases. Oester falls in on separate measures, collating his way through the harmonics. Eventually, the tension increases just enough to bring the band together in a taut percussive exchange before Wintsch brings back his skeletal melody to break it. It's stunning. On Wintsch's "Swantra," bopped-up piano blues and swing are offered up as ghost figures for a new kind of knotty interchange as both Oester and Hemingway syncopate the already syncopated and turn harmonics around on one another in the process. The reading of "Jerusalem" here is one of the most elegant, emotionally beautiful, and challenging ever recorded. Its deep lyricism reflects the traditionally based folk melody the tune is composed on as a jazz construct, and offers the sheerest shade of the blues as an anchor to its exoticism. And so it goes -- until the last track as Ray Anderson's trombone is added to the mix. Oester's bowed bass and Hemingway's whispering cymbals introduce the tune. "J'Irai" seems to come from the desert itself. Its slowly unfolding melody and mode reflect the spirits of ancient musics and film noir jazz before becoming a tough, slightly out post-bop swing fest. It is arresting, deep, mysterious, and profound in its subtlety. This is a provocative way to end a recording where so much has already been introduced, but when it's the Who Trio, anything and everything is possible. Awesome. ~ Thom Jurek

This CD presents Atipico Trio's third lineup in three albums; then again, since the group releases an album every six to eight years, that's something you come to expect. And as long as Carlo Actis Dato stays on board, the wild experiments and entertaining zaniness will remain key features. This time around, the mighty baritone sax and bass clarinet player joins forces with Piero Ponzo (alto sax and clarinet) and Beppe Di Filippo (soprano, alto, and tenor sax) -- Ponzo is a regular member of Dato's enduring quartet and was featured on Atipico Trio's first opus, while Di Filippo has often teamed up with both. All three musicians contribute pieces on this album, but Dato and Ponzo are the most prolific. The music is gloriously irreverent, skipping styles as if it were skipping rope: Mediterranean folk, swing-era jazz, South American grooves, and avant-garde jazz recipes are deconstructed and reassembled into an extravagant vaudeville in which wolves dance the tango, Klezmer melodies are heard at Baghdad parties, love songs are meant to make you howl in laughter ("Chantant l'Amour Bucolique"), and music and language lessons are delivered over the phone. All three musicians occasionally sing, talk, shout, and growl. The best feature of the music is found in the fact that all this craziness is very precisely scored, yet sounds genuinely spontaneous. From the mock-bombastic intentions of "Wolf Symphony N. 37" to the Balkan-like dance tunes "Slavinia" and "Balkanian Getchuppa," Atipico Trio never drop the ball. The tight track sequence concentrates the energy even more, making for an exhilarating listening experience. Either you love or hate the joie de vivre in Dato's music, and this album will not change your opinion. ~ Fran‡ois Couture

To say that Simon Nabatov's music is adventurous would be an understatement. His music, which mixes together written-out sections with free improvising, is eccentric and sometimes demented, particularly when Phil Minton is singing. Nabatov sought to pay tribute to Russian poets and writers, but one wonders what they would think of these very abstract interpretations. While most of the instruments utilized are conventional, Cor Fuhler's electronics frequently give the instrumental sections an otherworldly atmosphere. The overall results are intriguing and often absolutely crazy. ~ Scott Yanow

The Russian pianist Kuryokhin -- while not particularly influential in America -- was nevertheless one of the most astoundingly gifted and original players to have ever played jazz, in any country. Read elsewhere about his life story (he died a tragically premature death in 1996 at a young age); our concern here is a review of this, a reissue of his remarkable first album. A relic from 1981, when Russia was still the Soviet Union and playing free jazz in that country was almost literally a crime, this solo recording was paradoxically first released by Melodia, the state's official record label. The record documents an amazing talent, who, had he been born in America, would probably have been widely considered one of the greatest free jazz pianists ever (he is anyway, regardless of perception). Kuryokhin had an almost supernatural technique, his lines are played as quickly and are as sharply articulated as those of any pianist this side of Art Tatum. Reminiscent of Cecil Taylor (as ultimately it seems all free jazz pianists must be, to an extent) and perhaps Glenn Gould (in terms of touch), Kuryokhin nevertheless sounds like no one but himself. Occasionally he plays so fast with such clarity, one is tempted to believe that the tape's been sped up. He's an obsessive pianist, worrying over and embellishing small motives until they've given all there is to give. He has a marvelously percussive attack and a bracing sense of rhythm; the piano is a set of 81 tuned drums in his hands, played with great subtlety and depth of feeling. Kuryokhin extends conventional technique as well -- he's not afraid to go inside and pluck and strum the instrument's innards, or tap and bang, drum-like, on its various surfaces. This album is rather strangely recorded -- the piano sounds a bit like a toy, as if the mics were positioned a bit off-axis. Kuryokhin renders the odd sound irrelevant. The album isn't perfect; the artist's formal sense was not very sophisticated, at least at this early stage of his development. His idea of form was mainly to explore one idea until its possibilities were exhausted, then move on to the next. Nevertheless, his profound imagination and skills as a pianist win the day. This is an incredible document and shouldn't be missed by any serious student of avant-garde piano. ~ Chris Kelsey