Within this context, the first major impact came from Dee Dee Bridgewater and her program “We Exist,” an artistic gesture that is also a political statement. Bridgewater shaped the repertoire with a presence that transcends the category of “great vocalist”: she acted as an active witness to a legacy that reaches back to Max Roach and Abbey Lincoln, yet is being urgently rewritten today. Her voice remains a vessel of memory and resistance, capable of sustaining a discourse that embraces both historical pain and communal strength. At her side, Carmen Staff anchored the piano with an admirable balance of leadership and sensitivity; Rosa Brunello brought a double bass full of intention, firm and attentive to space; and Julie Saury, on drums, contributed an elegant, sober, almost narrative pulse that rounded out a profoundly meaningful ensemble. The exclusively female lineup was not merely an aesthetic choice—it was a declaration of independence in a circuit still burdened by patriarchal inertia. At the BASF auditorium, filled to every seat I could see, the concert resonated like a conversation between generations: the critical tradition of jazz updated without nostalgia, delivered with an ethical clarity that one can only appreciate.

With The Young Mothers the following day, the terrain changed completely. There, structure revealed itself within apparent devastation. What may seem chaotic is crafted with meticulous design: tensions that accumulate, explosions that morph into new forms, energy that transforms rather than dissipates. Ingebrigt Håker Flaten—whom I had the chance to interview—leads the sextet with an almost physical intuition, sustaining a project integrating free jazz, hip-hop, noise, hardcore, and groove as if all belonged to the same ancestral code. Jawwaad Taylor opened poetic fissures within the turbulence; Horne pushed the guitar into abrasive zones; Rosaly and González generated a rhythmic topography that was unpredictable yet rigorous. In the Betriebswerk, that former railway workshop with its raw industrial aesthetic, the music took on an almost ritualistic power. It was a concert for listeners willing to lower their defenses: those who did found a fierce coherence within the excess.

On Sunday, November 2, in a morning slot, I attended the first of two performances by Shai Maestro — a concert that offered respite, yes, but never intellectual rest. Maestro plays with a disarming sincerity: every phrase seems to search for an inner truth rather than a technical solution. His trajectory — from classical piano to the revelation of Jarrett, from competitions to his refusal to enter Berklee, from studying with Avishai Cohen to his consolidation with ECM — is evident in the way he breathes music, how he lets ideas articulate themselves with an almost organic naturalness.

Jorge Roeder provided a warm, rounded double bass sound, full of intention; Ofri Nehemya offered drumming of extraordinary sensitivity, attentive to even the slightest detail; and Agdy Lehavi added layers of synthesizer that expanded the quartet’s emotional universe without displacing its acoustic core. In a world where music is cleaned, edited, and quantized until it loses its soul, hearing Shai Maestro is a reminder that the human — the imperfect, the uncertain, the revealing — remains the true substance of jazz.

That same day, in the late afternoon and evening, I attended a concert that was entirely new to me. Kruder & Dorfmeister activated memories of an era when electronic music became an emotional and urban language. Their return with K&D Sessions Live is not merely nostalgia but a reaffirmation of an aesthetic that shaped the sensibility of the 1990s. Their blend of downbeat, dub, trip-hop, and nu-jazz remains elegant, atmospheric, crafted with timbral precision. It is not the kind of risk I personally seek in a festival concert, but the influence and magnetism they exert on their audience — their audience — is undeniable; the crowd lived the night as a generational rite, giving themselves over to an aesthetic that appeals not to euphoria but to immersion. There were moments of diffuse, almost cinematic beauty.

Three days at Enjoy Jazz were enough to confirm that the festival is not just a brilliant program: it is a cultural ecosystem where music is lived as thought and as action. I am deeply grateful for the invitation and the care received, especially thanks to the impeccable work of Michael Braun. At a time when culture needs arguments, support, and vision, Enjoy Jazz shows that coordination, commitment, and collective effort can turn a territory into a true laboratory of sensitivity. Where music is listened to in order to understand the world, society becomes a little more lucid.

The festival I can see opened with Anima, the Dresden-based quintet that crafted a sonic landscape seemingly born from the earth itself. Joel Ferrando (trumpet), Arthur Clees (vibraphone), Lorenz Glöckner (guitar), Kevin Knödler (bass), and Samuel Dietze (drums) built a delicate, almost ritualistic balance where silence mattered as much as sound. Their music, reminiscent of ECM’s lyricism, carried the rawness of youth and the sincerity of discovery, transforming introspection into a collective act. The way the quintet wove tension and release, landscape and inner space, made it clear that silence, too, can be music.

The energy shifted later with Àbáse, led by Szabolcs Bognár (keyboards & production). With Fanni Zahár (flute), Ori Jacobson (saxophone), Giacomo Tagliavia (bass), Ziggy Zeitgeist (drums), and additional percussion, their set fused jazz, Afrobeat, Brazilian rhythms, and electronic textures. Each passage pulsed with hypnotic movement—a lesson in how music can be ritual and dance at once. Their message felt almost philosophical: spirituality can groove.

Then came Jazzanova ft. Wayne Snow, veterans of Berlin’s nu-jazz scene, unfolding a universe where soul, electronics, and house interlaced. Christoph Adams (piano, vocals), Wayne Snow (vocals), Christoph Bernewitz (guitar), Stefan Ulrich (trombone, electronics), Sebastian Borkowski (sax, flute), Florian Menzel (trumpet), Paul Kleber (bass), and SJan Burkamp (drums) offered elegance without solemnity. Wayne Snow led the session to near-mystical territory with his airy, sensual voice, while the collective deconstructed jazz with the reverence of a cubist painter dismantling reality without destroying it.

And then came Embryo, the moment that left an indelible mark. Led by Marja Burchard (vibraphone, organ, synth, vocals, santur), daughter of the band’s founder, alongside Johannes Schleiermacher (sax, flute, synth), Maasl Maier (bass), and Jakob Thun (drums), the group embarked on a hypnotic journey through psychedelia, free jazz, and world music. Embryo doesn’t sound nostalgic—it sounds alive, a dialogue between generations where every musical phrase feels both ancient and futuristic. Each improvisation, each interlude, pulses with risk and precision. The band blends cultures and eras effortlessly, reminding us that jazz can be cosmopolitan, experimental, and deeply human all at once. It’s not just something you hear—it’s something you feel, as if the music expanded the Z-Bau’s very walls.

Between concerts, DJs Allynx & Sean Steinfeger spun atmospheric sets, keeping the audience suspended between contemplation and movement—not filler, but emotional choreography.

The second day opened with the Andromeda Mega Express Orchestra (AMEO), a collective beast led by Daniel Glatzel (composition, sax). With Laure Mourot and Sonja Horlacher on flute, Taiko Saito on vibraphone and percussion, Arne Braun and Kalle Zeier on electric guitars, Anna Viechtl on harp, Matthias Pichler on bass, and Marius Wankel on drums, the orchestra showed how symphonic and experimental forces can coexist naturally. Each musician listened and responded, transforming the ensemble into a living organism: phrases intersected, riffs intertwined with percussion, and silences created tension before release. AMEO embodies collective risk turned into sound—where composition and improvisation melt seamlessly.

Singer Enji (Enkhjargal Erkhembayar) offered the festival’s most intimate moment. I arrived near the end of her concert, but her voice—laden with melancholy and serenity—filled the Roter Salon with an almost sacred atmosphere, proving that emotion and restraint can coexist in perfect harmony. She will soon perform in Madrid, where I’ll make sure to attend with more space for deep listening.

Jelena Kuljić & Fundamental Interactions ft. Olga Reznichenko went for political intensity and sonic provocation: Yugoslav poetry, fractured electronics, and improvisation without a safety net. With Kalle Kalima (guitar, electronics), Tim Dahl (bass), and Christian Lillinger (drums), they reminded us that jazz isn’t always meant to please—it can also unsettle, offering beauty and conceptual breadth through irony.

The Peter Gall Quintet delivered an exquisite balance of virtuosity and restraint. With Wanja Slavin (alto sax, synth), Carl Morgan (guitar), Rainer Böhm (piano, synth), Matthias Pichler (bass), and Peter Gall (drums), they proved that music can be profound, elegant, and moving without being ostentatious—a reminder that sophistication can also be subtle.

The Nebbia / Downes / Lisle trio performed as a single organism. Camila Nebbia, on saxophone, didn’t just play notes—she turned them into whispers, laments, or contained explosions, shaping timbre until every phrase felt like it emerged from the audience’s own breath. Kit Downes, on piano, acted not as accompanist but as an architect of sonic space—constructing harmonies that could be ethereal, dense, or abrupt, often using silence as material as vital as the keys themselves. Andrew Lisle, on drums, didn’t simply keep time—he added texture, tension, and surprise, transforming percussion into an emotional landscape.

What fascinates about this trio is their coherence amid freedom. Improvisation here isn’t chaos—it’s continuous conversation, where each musician listens, breathes, and responds in real time, creating moments of absolute suspension, when the listener feels both on the edge of an abyss and somehow safely held. Their performance became a metaphor for mutual trust in improvised music: shared risk transformed into pure beauty.

The festival closed the day with Sera Kalo, joined by Igor Osypov (guitar, synth), Sofia Eftychidou (electronic bass), and Dylan Greene (drums). Blending soul, jazz, and electronics, her vocal energy and stage presence showed that jazz can remain both political and poetic when it moves you.

The success of NUEJAZZ 2025 also owes much to the flawless coordination of the agents behind it: the Nuremberg Office of Tourism and Culture, with Nora Hefny and Franzisca Steyer welcoming guests, and Judith Kobus of cubus-music, whose strategic work in PR, artistic communication, and overall management strengthened the festival’s visibility and that of its artists.

Leaving the Z-Bau at the end of the night felt like waking from an urban dream: the cold air on the way to the tram smelled of history, gingerbread, and suspended chords. The city shimmered under the golden light of its walls, reminding us that here, the past doesn’t weigh—it resonates. And one can’t help but think, with irony, that perhaps jazz itself is precisely that: a way of rebuilding the world, note by note, after every catastrophe.