Moisés P. Sánchez – CNDM Jazz en el Auditorio – Review

Moisés P. Sánchez – CNDM Jazz en el Auditorio – Review

Moisés P. Sánchez

CNDM Jazz en el Auditorio

09

Abril, 2026

Text: Pedro Andrade

Photos: © Rafa Martín. CNDM

CONCERT REVIEW. In&OutJazz Magazine

Ciclo Fronteras. CNDM-INAEM. Madrid. Falla Imaginado. Moisés P. Sánchez, piano / Pablo Martín Caminero, contrabajo / Ana María Valderrama, violín.

Moisés P. Sánchez reinventa a Falla en un Auditorio Nacional de Madrid a rebosar

Dentro del ciclo Fronteras del Auditorio Nacional de Música, el pasado 21 de marzo ocurrió algo que no necesita cifras para explicarse: el lleno era, en realidad, una forma de fe. El público sabía a qué venía, o eso creía, aunque lo que iba a escuchar pertenecía más al terreno de la intuición que al de la certeza. Con “Falla Imaginado”, Moisés P. Sánchez no proponía revisitar, al uso, a Manuel de Falla, sino ponerlo en movimiento, como si su música aún no hubiera terminado de escribirse. Por cierto, el disco, que se grabó durante las pasadas navidades en Camaleon Estudio (Madrid) no se lanzará públicamente, según declaraciones del propio Sánchez, hasta el próximo verano.

La arquitectura del programa era, en sí misma, una declaración estética: un discurso cuidadosamente concebido y trabajado que evitaba caer en los clichés del Falla más conocido. La Mazurca inicial, pieza casi clandestina en este tipo de repertorio, funcionó como una puerta entreabierta: un gesto mínimo y contenido, donde el eco de Frédéric Chopin aparecía más como recuerdo que como cita. El tempo flexible, la respiración amplia, los arcos en sintonía y la economía de medios definieron una interpretación en la que nada sobraba. O, mejor dicho, nada se permitía el lujo de sobrar.

Desde ahí, la Suite Popular Española dejó de percibirse como una mera sucesión de piezas para convertirse en un espacio de exploración. Cada número, de la intimidad suspendida de la Nana a la energía casi terrenal de la Jota, pasando por la gravedad de la Asturiana, era tratado como una materia en transformación. No había voluntad de fijar un sentido definitivo, sino de habitar sus posibilidades. Y en ese terreno, el diálogo entre Pablo Martín Caminero y Sánchez resultó especialmente elocuente: el contrabajo no acompañaba, insinuaba; no sostenía, desviaba. Por momentos, daba la impresión de que la música avanzaba precisamente porque alguien optaba por no señalar el camino, aunque, como es evidente, todo estaba minuciosamente escrito: cada detalle, cada dinámica, cada espacio, cada corte y cada silencio cuidadosamente articulados en cada sección.

En medio de esa elasticidad, Ana María Valderrama cumplía una función casi filosófica: recordar que, incluso en la transformación, algo debe permanecer reconocible. Su línea mantenía la identidad de cada pieza sin congelarla, como si dijera: “sí, esto es Falla… pero no exactamente”. Un equilibrio delicado que evitó que la música se dispersara en su propia libertad.

El Nocturno introdujo un cambio de densidad, o quizá de temperatura. Menos discurso, más espacio. El silencio dejó de ser una pausa educada para convertirse en un elemento estructural. Allí, el tiempo no avanzaba: se dilataba. Y, curiosamente, nadie parecía tener prisa por salir de ese estado.

Con la Suite Imaginada, ya en territorio propio, Sánchez amplió el marco sin necesidad de levantar la voz. Cuatro movimientos donde la escritura se vuelve porosa, permeable, abierta a influencias que no necesitan ser nombradas para estar presentes. El trío, a esas alturas, ya no interpretaba: pensaba en común. Caminero alternaba entre sostener y proponer con una naturalidad casi sospechosa, Valderrama se movía con solidez en ese espacio híbrido, y Sánchez organizaba el conjunto con una lógica que no necesitaba imponerse. Todo fluía, sí, pero no por casualidad, aunque lo pareciera, que es una de las formas más sofisticadas del control.

El cierre con la Danza Ritual del Fuego evitó cualquier tentación de espectáculo fácil (lo cual, en una pieza así, tiene su mérito). La intensidad no se proclamó: se construyó. Poco a poco, con precisión, sin excesos. Como si el fuego, en lugar de estallar, decidiera pensar.

El resultado fue un concierto que operó en varios niveles a la vez: relectura, propuesta contemporánea y, sobre todo, ejercicio real de interacción musical. Aquí no había jerarquías cómodas ni homenajes previsibles. Moisés P. Sánchez no mira a Falla desde la distancia reverencial, sino desde un presente activo. Y lo hace junto a Pablo Martín Caminero y Ana María Valderrama, que no giran a su alrededor, sino que piensan con él.

Fue una maravilla, sí. Pero de esas que no se dejan explicar del todo, hay que verlas y escucharlas en vivo, quizá por eso funcionan.

09 de abril de 2026

William Parker Interview

William Parker Interview

William Parker

Interview

07

April, 2026

The first thing I ask William Parker about, as we sit down to speak, is about Universal Tonality. After all, the living titan of free jazz has been pursuing, sculpting and honing the concept for many decades. A musical and spiritual philosophy, it asserts that all people and all sounds share a common origin, something intangible and beatific, approaching the divine.

Over the years, Parker has written and spoken about it at length, explaining that, in his view, every sound, regardless of its geographical and personal origin, is something that exists as part of a colossal pre-existing whole, and as musicians press on the boundaries of music, whatever frequencies, tones and lyricisms they find aren’t inventions, but simply found aspects of that pulsing realm, which Parker has long since referred to as “The Tone World.”

This philosophy is what has driven Parker, and, aside from the poetic implications, its practical applications lend artists endless possibilities. Universal Tonality dictates that any combination of musicians can converge and play, without planning or preconception, and can create something beautiful, scraping at and tapping into the Tone World. It has become a crucial scaffold within free improvisation, and music at large, a fountain of creativity from which Parker and his peers have been drawing.

In&OutJazz Magazine: I wanted to ask about your conception of music in the aggregate. Has the definition of Universal Tonality changed for you, as you go in and out, and discover new Tone Worlds?

William Parker: In the beginning, we define music as anything that’s beautiful, that has music as it primary component. Poetry, painting, landscape, architecture – what makes it beautiful is the air vibration, that we call music. If you go down the list of everything that’s music, like mother’s apple pie, or a smile, whatever it is that vibrates that makes you feel good is music. And then sometimes, this music manifests as sound. Whereas we’re used to thinking about in the opposite way, that sound makes music.

[At this point, Parker gets up from his desk, and grabs a ruler. He taps it against a pen. Then, unsatisfied with the limitations of the two objects in the scope of what he is trying to describe, he gets up and begins retrieving small instruments and objects from around the room, inexhaustible at 74 years old. He then induces a series of vibrations and explains to me how these small, almost imperceptible progressions can plait together to make a sheet of noise, a symphony, an absolute manifestation of what we think of as music. It is intoxicating watching this William Parker, who has stood at the forefront of everything there is to love about music, explain what has been fueling him all these years.]

What is sound then? If you rub your hands together – you get sound. You snap your fingers – that’s sound. You tap this ruler on the pen, that’s sound. So how do you get this ruler to produce more sound, and how to turn that sound into tone? If you hit the ruler on a bell, you get a tone. And so, every day you practice with different ways of hitting the bell, you shape the bell, you turn the bell into a horn, into a flute. Eventually, you turn the bell into an instrument, or rather, a lever. You know how at a water pump, you press the lever, and water comes out? An instrument is simply a lever that, when you press it, sound comes out.

[Crucially, for Parker, music, sound and tone carry much more than simple perceptual beauty. They can become curative and pastoral forces, something that can make humans heal.]

Say, your brother is not feeling well today. You find that as you play a certain sound, they feel better. At that point, you realize that this sound can make people feel better. You investigate this, and a shaman is born. A shaman deals with vibrating sound that can heal. And a musician has a whole arsenal of sound. So you realize that you can be a musician who produces both rhythms that can make people dance, and rhythms that can heal people.

Was there a specific moment in your life when you realized that art and music weren’t just aesthetic or transactional pursuits, but something bigger, like the healing force you’re speaking of?

My father and I would watch Westerns on TV on Sundays. We’d watch this Western called High Noon, with Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly, where he’s the sheriff, and he’s supposed to get married, and then someone is coming into town, and they’re going to have a showdown. It has all these dramatic parts, but in between these dramatic parts, sometimes you’d see a mountain or a tree. They’re small details, but usually, you’re meant to be totally focused on the plot.

When it changed for me was when I started watching independent films, particularly Stan Brakhage. He talks about the peripheral vision. About correlations. That the part that we don’t focus is in fact the greater vision.

It was the same when I first began to listen to music. At first, it was pretty clear, there’s the main progression, then the solo, then something else, then something else. Those are the dramatic parts of it. But then I began to realize that it really isn’t. That there are other reasons for how we see and hear.

Then, I began to listen to music that wasn’t dramatic, but that was poetic. It may not necessarily have to have a plot running through it. It was poetic. And it was in the poetics that the beauty was found. And it was the beauty where the tone was, and it was the tone that was going to heal us. Now, that doesn’t mean that when you hear Johnny Hodges play that beautiful melody, it’s not healing you. It just means that there are many different ways to go somewhere. There’s something else in what Johnny Hodges was doing in between the sound that we all can relate to.

So you can have have that moment in music that is more traditionally arranged as well?

You know, I was playing with Cecil Taylor, and he was talking about Marvin Gaye. He loved Marvin Gaye. And so we grew up listening to Marvin Gaye and James Brown. But in all that music, there was something that was not immediately obvious that was maybe more beautiful. While still being connected to the roots of the music, to Africa, to Asia, to the blues,

And because it is hard for black musicians to let go of the blues. Even when you talk to musicians who do play with chords and numbers and systems and improvisations and lines with squiggles, the blues are there. You can’t run away from it.

This is also academic musicians versus street musicians. But street music is just another form of academia. Just a differently wired system of how we learn. The academic will always acknowledge John Cage. But I hope that John Cage acknowledges Sun Ra and Cecil Taylor. It’s all valid because we are all human beings. So whatever system we use, it becomes the keys to that great doorway to poetry that we’re trying to open up.

Music is a great force. And we have to get it out there. We have to. It’s not just about making money. We will continue to exist without the praise and the talk and the pay.

Do you think that in the age of computer-generated music, improvised notes become a safe haven? Because a computer can never replicate them with any degree of soul?

Yeah, I mean, so far it can’t replicate it. When someone plays music, it becomes their life force. They have to play for it to come alive. It’s not alive on paper, not until it’s played. So it is the life force of the musician that makes it come to life. No matter how skillful the machine is, it is never going to come up to the way musicians can play. Musicians can improvise, they can make mistakes. These variations are just another road to beauty. That’s why mistakes exist.

And it comes from truly loving something. In America, we play baseball. So a kid, when they get into baseball, they sleep with their baseball mitt right next to them. And they’re so happy. Everything is baseball. Everything is baseball. And that’s the way it is with music. Once I got into music, I could never get enough of it. I can’t stop talking about it. I can’t stop listening to it. I can’t because I really love it.

And there are people like you out there, who are interested in this, interested in music, in its poetry. That makes me so happy to find people who really love music, and are into it, and try to do anything to help the music get along. Once once it grabs you by the heart, you can never let go.

That’s what it is about. It is never about money. I mean, the only reason I think about money is how to help people and get rid of it. How much it is to have an apartment here in New York? It’s $3,000 a month for the lowest apartment. If I had money, I would just be buying up buildings and putting up low-income housing. That would help people.

You are right, William. Art was always the be-all and end-all. It’s the first and the last thing to push against tyranny.

Yeah! It’s quite amazing. But you are right, the frequency of the world has changed. I feel like there’s less people now who find that frequency and that tone early in their lives. They get written into this kind of circle of like, have to work, have to make rent, you know, have to watch something on TV and then have to go to bed. And it doesn’t leave a lot of room for beautiful things and healing things.

And even when you watch TV, you watch Netflix, there are new movies every week. But they use it all to control what is beautiful. They control what is important in life. They put out there in these movies. They control the tonalities that we hear.

But then, hopefully, you hear something like Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue, and BAM! It changes your life. All of this other stuff is still going on around you, but you hear Miles Davis and Cannonball Adderley, and John Coltrane. And you follow that path to A Love Supreme. You find your tone.

Tone is the answer. Tone leads you to the Tone World. There’s no rent in the Tone World. There’s no global warming, no war. It’s beautiful there. That’s why once you stop playing, you want to play again as soon as possible.

April 07th, 2026

Janning Trumann – Cologne Jazzweek Director – Interview

Janning Trumann – Cologne Jazzweek Director – Interview

Janning Trumann

Cologne Jazzweek Director

Interview

06

April, 2026

During our stay in Cologne we got the amazing chance to meet Janning Trumann, manager and director of the Cologne Jazzweek. Being also a musician makes him have a real and truthful taste for the task of programming and promoting artists for the festival. In this interview you will get an insight of the work that Janning puts into the festival and how he approaches each and every aspect of it. He shared valuable information that could be interesting for both artists and jazz critics. We hope you enjoy both the podcast and the written interview.

In&OutJazz Magazine: So, Janning, director of the Cologne Jazz Week Festival. We’re really honored to have been invited. Thank you so much, firstly. We’re a journal based in Madrid, with a lot of collaborators working around the globe to really give a shout-out to all the artists out there that are doing cool stuff. We like to cover all kinds of music, but it’s true that our main focus draws its attention from the avant-garde jazz scene, from the newest and coolest things happening in the free jazz scene. That’s also one of the reasons why we were so, so pleased and excited to come to this Cologne Jazz Week, because the program seemed really, really, really touchful to us.

I did want to ask you how you’re feeling so far about the festival. Is it going well? Are you excited, too?

Janning Trumann: Absolutely. We started yesterday and there are another five days ahead, so in total there are six days to go through. It’s a little marathon. Last year we did eight concerts, so this was too much. In the end, we were all burned out in a way, so that’s shortened up a bit. But yesterday was a really beautiful start.

We started always with a free entrance series here around Stadtgarten. People just come in the afternoon and start listening to the music. In the end of the day, we had around 2000 to 2500 visitors just listening to that music.

We did the whole area of Stadtgarten for concerts outside and inside and the churches nearby, just to gain interest in what we do. It’s always a really heavy start, let’s say, because most concerts are happening on the first day, entrance-free. A lot of people are coming, so that means a lot of attention.

Of course, all the media attention to it is quite nice this year. It was a good but also stressful start, but it looks very nice. Tickets are selling good and all in all, I’m more and more relaxed.

All right, all right. That sounds like a very, very interesting start indeed. It’s cool and there are a lot of venues around with music going on and on during the festival.

That’s one of the things that makes it feel so alive. Tell us, how are the bands and musicians selected?

What’s the criteria you guys follow?

I mean, there’s no right or wrong criteria about choosing an artist. It’s more about where we come from. This festival celebrates its fifth anniversary. It’s a very young festival. It started in 2021. What’s special about this festival is that the majority stakeholder of this festival is the scene of musicians itself. There is a Cologne professional jazz musician scene organized by the Cologne Jazz Conference. That’s their name and they founded this festival in 2021. Back then, I was the head of this institution, let’s say, and then I switched over to do the festival. What we always have in mind is that it’s a festival from musicians for musicians. This is, I think, a special perspective on how to curate. In the end, it’s also our members in the organization. There are around 300 who choose the greatest board. We have a board of five curators. Every year, there’s an election to elect two people in the jury for two years, meaning our board is five people big. At the moment, it’s Line Juul from the Oslo Jazz Festival, Frank van Berkel from the Bimhuis in Amsterdam, Alfred Vogel from Bezau Beatz and Boomslang Records, and Rio Sakairi from the Jazz Gallery in New York and me. So we five create this program. And they are always elected or selected, let’s say, by the Cologne Jazz Conference members in a democratic election. So, in every year, there are two people changing. So, this is the concept. I stay, of course, because in the end, it’s me as a manager, of course, who’s keeping it together and also in doing negotiations and the final decisions are going to be done by me. But this is how we do it, the technical side of it.

Sounds super cool.

It’s been a process to find that way and also the process of how to choose. So, what we say is like we’re a festival of musicians, of course, but in the end, we want to show the artists who do their type of current jazz, improvised music scene. So, it’s all about their content. We’re not a commercial festival. So yes, we need to sell tickets in the end, of course. Tonight there’s a Philharmonic hall, 1800 seats. It’s big, so we better have also a guest who’s selling it. So, we think about it, but it’s not our first priority. Our first priority in order to choose this program is to choose an artist who does whatever he or she does and it’s really something we think needs to be heard. So, it’s individual, there’s not just one genre, but in the end, it’s a venue and this venue has special characteristics and we try to find a suitable artist for that kind of room and stage. So, in the end, it’s very bright.

Right. It’s super cool. Do you guys try to find a balance between you guys’ artists, meaning the artists that come from Cologne and from all around the German scene and the abroad scene?

Yeah, we try to have a balance. In the end, I always say it’s 33% Cologne scene, 33% international scene and 33% German-European. So we want to mix up and give the Cologne musicians a chance, but it’s not our first priority to bring Cologne musicians on the stage because it’s an international setting. We want to show them in combination ways, or we want to curate a new ensemble or we give some funded pieces and commissioned works. We, in fact, do a lot of commissioned works and premieres. And then we think about how to interact Cologne musicians with others.

How to mix them up.

It’s a festival that’s not happening every day here in the city because in the city we have around 1000 concerts of jazz and British music every year.

I know, yeah. There’s a big scene here.

And we always say this festival is one week, it’s a little bit more special, so make your project special.

Yeah, there you go.

And if you want to play, it needs to be something that cannot be seen in everyday world.

Do you guys try to also take care of the new talents?

Yeah, absolutely. I mean, we’re not a festival for old guys. I mean, I think Kurt Rosenwinkel is the oldest in this line-up, and he’s not that old.

Yeah, yeah, I got it.

But we say, like, so this is a musician’s festival, so we think about what’s up and coming. And let’s say up and coming is always coming from the young ones.

The young ones.

So, I think 50% at least is below 35 or something. So, it’s just my guessing. I’m not sure, but of course it is coming from the young ones.

That’s cool. A little personal question. What’s your contact with music? How did it start? Do you play any instrument? What’s your relationship with music?

So, I mean, I started playing violin when I was five. And the household I come from is very musical. My mother is a music and geography teacher in school, she was, actually. And then my brothers and I, we started having a house band together, whatever. And with 10 years of age, I switched to trombone because my mother also had a trombone at home. Played in churches. She’s a church organ player.

Cool.

Yeah, and then being 14 or 15, I started playing trombone in a youth jazz orchestra.

Look at that.

So, I’m a trombonist. And my first teacher was Nils Landgren, finally. And then I was a youth student in Hamburg. I studied jazz and professional music here in Cologne and in New York. And in the end, I’m making money with, of course, being head of this festival. But on the other side, I have a professorship for trombone in Maastritch.

Yeah, you’re a complete musician.

Yeah, I’m a musician.

That’s so cool, man. You know, I would say, maybe it’s a little bold bet, but I would say it’s cool to have on the head of the festivals, people that do have a real relationship with music. And at the end, you being a musician, I think it’s something that really, really, really informs all in all sensation of the festival.

In the end, I think, of course, I make maybe different decisions to people who are not on stage. So, my whole life I’ve been on stage and touring, still have my projects and so on. So, I know how it is to play on these stages, bigger halls and smaller halls. I know what is important to me on a festival, like how to arrive, where to sleep, what to eat, which setting you are, how you get paid.

All things to take care of.

Yeah, all this stuff, the really practical stuff. And sometimes, I mean, I’m a guy who always thinks this can be done so much better with some easy stuff, you know. And like, starting at the travel, offering people like another night in the hotel, just arrive one day, chill out, then play on the second day. Maybe meet another musicians in here, whatever. And then also think about payment, what’s the fair pay, whatever. So, of course, practical background helps.

Cool, man. It really touches me, because I feel like we do have things in common. I also love music. I’m also, you know, involved in different musical projects. But at the same time, I’m really trying to push forward the musical scene in however ways I can. And, you know, my collaboration with the journal is one of the signs of that. And, you know, I feel pleased and thankful that you are, you know, occupying the place and the spot that you are occupying.

I think it’s very important to make ourselves comfortable with what we want to do. So, it’s about to have a goal, set a goal, and to think about how to achieve a goal. And also be okay with that, that there are different hats on. So, you don’t necessarily need to be just the musician or just the festival organizer or just the press journalist, whatever. So, for me, it never worked, because I knew I wanted to change some stuff. I can’t change something like a festival by just playing. In the end, it’s always me. I mean, it’s also got to do with, like, responsibility and also a lot of stress and whatever. But, in the end, if I get the opportunity to change something, I try to use this opportunity. And, of course, this means that I can’t maybe be 100% in everything, like playing, whatever

Totally, totally.

But, in the end, I’m okay with that.

Sure. And you’re still building up the scene.

Yes, in the end, yes. And I think there’s a good payback as well. I mean, of course, it’s a lot of invisible work and always not the best paying work. But, in the end, something’s out of it. And it’s maybe bigger than, I don’t know, just one thing.

Yeah. Really inspiring, the words that you’re sharing. Two last questions, really, really fast. Maybe it’s a really compromised question, so you can totally choose not to answer. But what’s the artist or the band or the artist that you’re most looking forward to listen to?

In the festival?

Yeah!

I mean, in the end, of course, I have some preferences, of course. I mean, I’m just a human being. I try to, I mean, disclaimer, I try to see as many concerts as possible in the festival. But it’s a more strategic thing, like checking out if everything works well. Everyone does their job good. But there’s some highlights. Of course, I was looking forward yesterday. I mean, I look forward to a lot to this Gard Nilssen – Supersonic Orchestra because I really am a fan of this band and of Gard. They played yesterday. Also, yesterday there was one quartet from Cologne, Mumble Jazz, Big Breeezy. It’s his name. It’s a young Cologne saxophone player, also playing with a mask all the time. So, he’s got a character himself. But of course, also like emotionally, I mean, playing in the Cologne Cathedral is something that’s also special for us as a festival. I mean, in Cologne, this church means a lot to the people. And obviously, it’s been very much in the focus of media attention as well. But still, it’s like I love Kit’s playing, how he’s playing organ. I listened a lot to his Ovidian record 2019, I think. So, I’m looking forward to that. And on Thursday, there’s a concert of a local artist, Annie Bloch is her name. She does like singer-songwriter, independent, jazzy, large ensemble-y stuff. And a club in Ehrenfeld. So, this is also something I’m looking forward to

That’s awesome, man. Well, that was all. I was just wanting to invite you to Spain whenever you want.

Yeah, I’ve never been to Madrid.

The local scene is actually real, real alive too. But we do need to build bridges between each other to know all the, you know, all the cool stuff that is going on. Because I really believe that the musical scene in Spain, out there, the young people are making cool stuff. They’re cooking up real cool stuff.

Actually, I’ve never been so much in contact with the Spanish scene. So, you need to send me something over.

We’re going to try to invite you.

Send me something over.

There you go. Man, it was such a pleasure. Again, Janning, the director of Cologne Jazz Week Festival with us. It was a pleasure and we are looking forward to keep going with this relationship, thank you so much.

April 06th, 2026

Álvaro Torres Trío feat. Masa Kamaguchi & Kresten Osgood – Mairena (Fresh Sound Records) – Review

Álvaro Torres Trío feat. Masa Kamaguchi & Kresten Osgood – Mairena (Fresh Sound Records) – Review

Álvaro Torres Trío
Feat. Masa Kamagushi & Kresten Osgood

Mairena, Fresh Sound Recods

Review

03

Abril, 2026

Por: Enrique Turpin

Foto: Carlos Linero

 

“Mairena” Review, from In&OutJazz Magazine. (Fresh Sound Records, 2026). Álvaro Torres Trío. Álvaro Torres, piano – Masa Kamaguchi, contrabajo – Kresten Osgood, batería.

RECORDED Live at Café Berlín, Madrid, August 7th, 2025 (#1, 2 & 5); and Assejazz at Centro Andaluz de Arte Contemporáneo, Sevilla, August 12th, 2025 (#3, 4 & 6). TRACKLIST: 1. LLUM VERDA 6:59. 2. MAIRENA 7:03. 3. CALABOSITO 7:34. 4. EVERYTHING I LOVE 9:11. 5. LISBON MOOD 8:25. 6. THE GOOD LIFE 5:1

 

IMPROVISAR DESDE EL APÓCRIFO

Duele decirlo, pero cada segundo nace tras la muerte del instante precedente, a una velocidad paradójica siempre menor que ese mismo segundo que va cobrando vida. En el camino se da una suerte de negociación con la genética, la tradición, el pasado que se hace eco en el futuro inmediato mientras vive en forma de iluminaciones creativas y, especialmente, gracias a la asimilación de la historia propia, la ajena y la circundante. Con todas esas elecciones momentáneas que sabe dios de dónde llegan, se fragua la construcción del discurso jazzístico improvisado, ese que tanto se parece al vivir. Qué ingenuidad tildarlo de improvisado con todos los resortes que han de ponerse en marcha para darle forma, y aun así, cuánta razón para no llamarlo ensayo. No cabe ensayar cuando se crea sin solución de continuidad, abriéndose en canal a la honestidad del ser y perpetuando un espíritu que en el mejor de los casos será compartido con el resto de creadores en un lapso de inspiración que deviene eterno si las circunstancias son propicias.

 

Lo dicho anteriormente vale para las aspiraciones diarias, entre las que cabe destacar el intercambio energético que se dio en la noche sevillana del 12 de agosto de 2025 en el Centro Andaluz de Arte Contemporáneo. En aquella ocasión se dio cita el trío del pianista Álvaro Torres, con Masa Kamaguchi al contrabajo y Kresten Osgood a la batería. En ocasiones precedentes, la formación había contado con Tony Malaby (véase su Live in Barcelona, FSNT, 2024), pero en los nueve conciertos veraniegos del año pasado, el grupo giró en trío. De esa noche se conserva en Mairena (FSNT, 2026) un manojo de composiciones muy cercanas al vuelo improvisatorio: “Calabosito”, “Everything I Love” y “The Good Life”. El resto de composiciones se muestran, sin dejar la improvisación que marca el género, más cercanas a la escritura, sin tanto vuelo libre (con la excepción de “Llum verda”), pero con las mismas armas que hacen de esta agrupación una de las más interesantes del panorama jazzístico actual.

“Llum verda” [Luz verde] hace gala de su nombre y es la composición con la que echa a andar el disco, a volar, dada la velocidad de despegue y progresión. Se trata de un sentido homenaje al alter ego con el que Antonio Machado trufó de sentencias, donaires, apuntes y recuerdos la obra de aquel profesor apócrifo que se hizo llamar Juan de Mairena (1936). Un volumen misceláneo en el que un Machado más juguetón que de costumbre reunió los simpares micro ensayos que había ido publicando en la prensa madrileña desde 1934. Álvaro Torres se apropia de ese particular modo de abrazar la cultura y el folclore españoles del poeta universal para continuar reflexionando, desde aquella perspectiva crítica y risueña a un tiempo, a propósito de las contradicciones y confluencias de la esencia popular de la españolidad y de su propia identidad como músico europeo trasplantado a Nueva York. Tarea difícil que se llevó por delante al propio Machado y a una nómina ingente de espíritus afines.

La pieza “Mairena” da nombre al álbum y es una composición en la que se aprecia todo lo observado con anterioridad. En esta ocasión, al diálogo con las fuentes clásicas en las que bebe Torres desde su temprana formación académica se unen las vivencias añadidas a la carga inicial con cada una de las experiencias que el tiempo ayuda a acumular y que hacen posible que podamos hablar de una especie de epigenética musical en toda regla, entendiendo como tal la información que se añade a nuestros genes primigenios por las aportaciones que nos ofrece la aventura del vivir. El jazz y las músicas improvisadas han obrado el cóctel que ahora atesora el joven pianista y que le hace advertir que “es evidente que la identidad puede evolucionar con el tiempo.” Es lo que quiso contar el grupo al acometer el único estándar de la sesión, un logradísimo “Everything I Love”, que trajo al recinto andaluz la gracia que se contiene en todas y cada una de las piezas del mago Cole Porter.

Prueba del diálogo del ser con el folclore es “Calabosito”, una nueva lectura del homenaje a Camarón de la Isla que ya pudo escucharse en el anterior directo de Álvaro Torres en el Jamboree barcelonés y que se cierra con una trasposición de batería ejercitándose en el palmeo a cargo de Kresten Osgood y un final explosivo, nunca mejor dicho. En los casi diez minutos que dura la pieza —todas ellas son de largo aliento—, el trío se dedica a dar forma a la gitanería jonda del cantaor de San Fernando, poniendo en danza las artes compartidas del grupo con movimientos cohesionados que rozan la precisión empática, lo que se traduce en una capacidad de intuir pensamientos y sentimientos a través del lenguaje corporal, las emociones y los tarareos dispersos aquí y allá que los hace singulares.

De Nueva York a Sevilla, del Guadalquivir al Manzanares, porque a los ríos los rige el cauce, no el caudal: en todo arroyo late lo torrencial. Por eso la música grabada en el Café Berlín de Madrid se tiñe de la solera del local, desgraciadamente condenado por las malas artes de la gentrificación y el abuso inmoral de quienes no entienden los territorios donde se parapeta, progresa y germina el alma humana en cualquier tiempo, también en los de ignominia a los que hoy asistimos y que padecemos. Bien lo sabía el Machado que acabó sus días en Colliure atesorando la melancolía de los días azules y el sol de la infancia, escondidos en los bolsillos desfondados de un abrigo. A esa noche madrileña del 7 de agosto pertenece (además de las arriba comentadas “Llum verda” y “Mairena”) el elegantísimo tema que sirve de primer single, “Lisbon Mood”, una composición dedicada a Aaron Parks, impregnada de saudade hasta el tuétano y en la que encontramos un doliente solo de Masa Kamaguchi hacia el final de la composición, que agarra el efluvio etéreo de la nostalgia lusa y lo transforma en apasionada conversación a tres bandas, tan sutil en el caminar como plena en los hallazgos musicales, urdido todo ello con el tejido telepático que envuelve al trío desde sus inicios —cerca de tres años dan para mucho—, pero aquí consustancial ya a su ser trimembre.

Con algo más de un minuto de fuegos de artificio a cargo del eficaz y diestro Osgood, Álvaro Torres y sus hombres revivieron las bonanzas de “The Good Life”, anteriormente mostradas en el largo Heart Is The Most Important  Ingredient (Sunnyside, 2022), en el Live In Barcelona mencionado y en Iris (Sunnyside, 2024). Y sí, buena vida debe tener la canción cuando a cada caminar se agiganta, ganando en potencia y mensaje sin perder su esencia. Pareciera el tema fetiche con el que Torres desea mostrarse al mundo. Todo ese haber ancestral, el conocimiento que viene de tan lejos, compartido y expresado cual buen trío jazzístico… Así parecen desear mostrarse de nuevo con esta andadura en directo, sin red ni tapujos, Álvaro Torres y los suyos. Como el sagaz Juan de Mairena, también ellos entienden “por ‘folklore’, en primer término, lo que la palabra más directamente significa: saber popular, lo que el pueblo sabe, tal como lo sabe; lo que el pueblo piensa y siente, tal como lo siente y piensa, y así como lo expresa y plasma en la lengua que él, más que nadie, ha contribuido a formar.” Es sin duda la gran divisa de este disco imposible de soslayar para el seguidor despierto: todo para el pueblo, desde el pueblo, con el pueblo. De aquel Despotismo revolucionario sólo queda en la formación liderada por Álvaro Torres el adjetivo ‘ilustrado’. El Mairena de Torres, Kamaguchi y Osgood está destinado a ilustrar con su lustre las enseñanzas del Mairena de Machado por lustros.

03 de abril de 2026

The Bad Plus feat. Craig Taborn & Chris Potter – CNDM Jazz en el Auditorio – Concert Chronicle

The Bad Plus feat. Craig Taborn & Chris Potter – CNDM Jazz en el Auditorio – Concert Chronicle

The Bad Plus

Feat. Craig Taborn & Chris Potter

CNDM Jazz en el Auditorio

30

Marzo, 2026

Text: Pedro Andrade

Photos: © Elvira Megías

CONCERT REVIEW. In&OutJazz Magazine

The Bad Plus: Reid Anderson, contrabajo / Dave King, batería / Craig Taborn, piano / Chris Potter, saxofón tenor. Ciclo de Jazz en el Auditorio del Centro Nacional de Difusión Musical (CNDM).

The Bad Plus, Craig Taborn y Chris Potter, reviven el espíritu de Keith Jarrett de los 70 en un cierre histórico del Ciclo de Jazz en el Auditorio del Centro Nacional de Difusión Musical (CNDM).

El 27 de marzo, el Auditorio Nacional de Madrid clausuró el ciclo Jazz en el Auditorio 2025-2026 con una de esas veladas que no se limitan a suceder en el tiempo, sino que lo suspenden. Lo que se vivió en la sala de cámara del Auditorio fue una invocación, un regreso a la fuente, una conversación con la memoria viva del jazz moderno. The Bad Plus (Reid Anderson, contrabajo; Dave King, batería), junto a Craig Taborn (piano) y Chris Potter (saxo tenor), ofrecieron un homenaje de altura al American Quartet de Keith Jarrett, aquel laboratorio sonoro de los años setenta en el que Jarrett, aún lejos de la celebridad planetaria que alcanzaría después, comenzaba a esculpir una voz propia entre la libertad, el lirismo y el riesgo.

Hablar de este concierto es, en realidad, hablar de un Keith Jarrett anterior al mito: del músico que, en los primeros setenta, junto a Dewey Redman, Charlie Haden y Paul Motian, exploraba una idea de grupo donde la música no se imponía como forma cerrada, sino como pensamiento en movimiento. Aquel cuarteto no fue simplemente una formación histórica: fue una manera de entender el jazz como respiración compartida, como filosofía de la escucha. Y precisamente eso fue lo que estos cuatro gigantes contemporáneos supieron restituir con una intensidad conmovedora.

La apertura llegó con la contundencia de lo inevitable: una música construida por secciones, por irrupciones y repliegues, por solos que no eran exhibición sino discurso. Dave King, con las baquetas primero y las varillas después, marcó el pulso de una energía torrencial; Reid Anderson levantó desde el contrabajo una arquitectura armónica de una claridad asombrosa, articulando modulaciones y desplazamientos tonales con una elocuencia casi narrativa. Mientras tanto, Craig Taborn parecía practicar el arte de la contención: la nota justa, el silencio exacto, la inteligencia de quien sabe que el verdadero poder del piano no está en la abundancia, sino en la precisión. Sobre ese entramado, Chris Potter desplegó un discurso de una solidez implacable, de fraseo amplio y pensamiento estructural, capaz de tensar y expandir la materia sonora sin perder nunca el hilo interno del relato.

Uno de los momentos más memorables llegó con “Le Mistral”, composición de Keith Jarrett incluida en Treasure Island (1974). Allí el grupo sostuvo un motivo casi obsesivo, como si la música quisiera pensarse a sí misma desde dentro. El tema se desplegó como una corriente de aire que no cesa, un movimiento circular que permitía a los músicos pasarse el discurso como un hilo que se entrelaza y se transforma continuamente, sin que la tensión decayera un instante. La pieza, en manos de Taborn y Potter, adquirió una dimensión casi metafísica: más que avanzar, se mantenía, capturando matices en cada vuelta.

La dimensión más introspectiva de la noche se alcanzó con “Silence”, perteneciente a Bop-Be (1978), una de las últimas estaciones de aquel universo creativo. En este homenaje, la pieza apareció como un blues contenido, en el que el silencio no actuaba como ausencia, sino como auténtica materia sonora. Fue Craig Taborn, por supuesto, quien articuló el centro expresivo de la interpretación, construyendo desde el piano un discurso íntimo, pausado y amplio, de una sutileza casi meditativa, en el que cada acorde parecía abrir un nuevo espacio de escucha. A su alrededor, el resto del grupo orbitaba con una atención reverencial, recogiendo y prolongando la tensión suspendida que él iba trazando. Sobre ese paisaje sonoro, Chris Potter desplegó uno de los solos más sobrecogedores del concierto: un discurso de oratoria pura, limpio, ascendente, en el que cada frase parecía interrogar el sentido mismo del tiempo musical.

Después llegó la furia liberadora de “Mushi Mushi”, también de Bop-Be (1978), composición de Dewey Redman, y probablemente el punto de máxima combustión de la noche. Aquí el concierto dejó de mirar al pasado para convertirse en presente absoluto. Taborn, rabioso y visionario, atacó el teclado con el codo y con líneas infinitas de notas que parecían abrir grietas en la forma; Potter respondió con sonoridades deconstruidas, casi en trance, devolviendo al espíritu free del American Quartet toda su radicalidad originaria. King y Anderson, mientras tanto, sostuvieron una base rítmica inquebrantable, no como mero soporte, sino como fuerza motriz del acontecimiento.

Hubo también ecos de “Gotta Get Some Sleep”, otra composición de Dewey Redman incluida en Bop-Be, y resonancias del universo de Fort Yawuh (1973), particularmente de “(If the) Misfits (Wear It)”, donde la música se organizó como una serie de irrupciones y desvíos, fiel al espíritu fragmentario y eléctrico del Jarrett de los primeros setenta.

Lo verdaderamente extraordinario de la noche fue comprobar cómo estos cuatro músicos no actuaron como una suma de individualidades brillantes, sino como un supergrupo en el sentido más profundo del término: una comunidad de pensamiento sonoro. La conexión entre ellos resultó casi telepática. Dave King y Reid Anderson, tras décadas compartiendo lenguaje en The Bad Plus —formación que precisamente en este 2026 pone fin a su trayectoria—, poseen una base rítmica consolidada y orgánica; sobre ella, la inteligencia armónica de Craig Taborn y la potencia discursiva de Chris Potter no se superponen, sino que dialogan, se desvían, se provocan mutuamente.

Este homenaje a Jarrett no fue arqueología ni nostalgia. Fue la reivindicación de un momento fundacional del jazz moderno: aquellos años setenta en los que Keith aún no era la figura monumental que hoy representa, pero ya estaba formulando las preguntas esenciales. Sobre el escenario del Auditorio Nacional, esas preguntas volvieron a escucharse con una fuerza vibrante, física, casi visceral. La música de estos cuatro no se escuchó únicamente con el oído: se sintió, como bien decía el programa, con las tripas, y después quedó latiendo en la memoria, allí donde la gran música se transforma en pensamiento y emoción duradera.

30 de marzo de 2026

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