Harish Raghavan Interview

Harish Raghavan Interview

Harish Raghavan

Interview

21

April, 2026

By: José Cabello

Photos: Artist’s Concession

During our wonderful stay in Cologne, we managed to steal a few minutes from the great bassist and composer — and one of the most widely admired musicians in today’s jazz scene — Harish Raghavan. In our conversation, we touched on topics of vital importance and deep interest: his music, his compositional process, how he learns all the repertoires he performs with different artists, his artistic intent when playing… and much more.

You can check all of this in both the podcast and the written interview below. Enjoy!

In&OutJazz Magazine: Okay, Harish, with us. We’re now in Cologne for the Cologne Jazz Week Festival. You played yesterday with Tyshawn Sorey Trio, it was amazing. Everyone couldn’t stop clapping. The applause was eternal. And that was a good sign for sure. We met each other in Madrid when you guys came with Ambrose’s Quartet. You’ve played with a long list of enormous artists from all kinds of genres, all kinds of music, all kinds of forms, all kinds of conceptions. I’d like to ask you, right away, what’s been the most difficult repertoire you’ve ever dealed with? If there’s an answer to that.

Harish Raghavan: I think that I don’t have a specific answer to that. You know, I think the difficult part of it is when you’re working with somebody, let’s say like Ambrose or Tyshawn [Sorey] or Walter [Smith] or Vijay [Iyer] or Ben Wendel or whoever it is. The hurdle to jump over is learning their compositional process. And as I grow older, learning how I can be heard but also provide what is needed from my instrument. But I think that, I mean, everybody’s writing some crazy music these days. So, it’s not one, because once you learn kind of how they’re thinking or you get an idea of what you think they’re thinking like, then you can kind of get into the music a lot quicker. I mean, the one thing about a lot of the bands I’ve played with is we don’t rehearse. Like with Ambrose, we don’t rehearse. Tyshawn, we don’t rehearse. Like nobody, you know, we just rehearse at soundcheck.

It’s difficult to call up musician for rehearsals, right? You either gather for a session to have fun or meet right on the bandstand.

Sometimes it would be nice because it’s like, it’s intricate music. But everybody has trust, I think, in all the bands that I play in. They trust the musicians they hire. So they don’t have to worry. They don’t have to worry about telling you this or that. They trust your musical decisions, that’s a better way to put it, so they don’t have to say too much. Because in a rehearsal, I always say, less talking, more music. Because sometimes people don’t know how to articulate their musical ideas in words. But it’s a lot easier to articulate it by just playing it. So, with a lot of these bands, that’s how we do it, that’s how we learn new music. We just play it, you play it and you fuck up. And then you, you know, and then you hope the next time you look at it, you play it again, that you make less mistakes.

There you go, yeah! I’m curious to know, do you find in yourself a different approach when you are playing your own music, the music you write, in comparison to the music that other people write and for who you’re playing as a sideman? Are are there different approaches?

Yeah, for sure. When I’m leading a group, I kind of take on the role of various leaders that I’ve had the opportunity to play with. So, I really try to lead from my instrument. So, I’ll be doing solo intros to songs. But yeah, think I do play different. I think with my groups…

You take more risks?

No, less.

Oh, okay.

Yeah, I kind of, until I feel that everybody’s comfortable with the repertoire, I try to be the bottom, I try to be the foundation. Because I don’t play my music that often, and it’s hard to play it with the same band. Right now, I’m lucky to be able to kind of have the same group of individuals for a little bit right now, so we’re getting to learn a lot of my compositions, and I’m feeling a little bit more freedom to kind of do my thing. But at first, for sure, I’m just like… But I think that’s with reading any kind of music. I’m definitely like, trying to make sure that everybody’s comfortable before making everybody uncomfortable.

Hahaha, if that takes place. That’s nice, man. The following is also a very broad question. Where do you draw inspiration from? It can also be different sources, not only music. It can be food, books, whatever.

I mean, the number one source of inspiration for me, well, there’s two sources. But they all kind of congeal in the same way. Because, you know, first and foremost, it’s just life, living, everything. Everything that has to do with it. The everyday obstacles that you have to surpass, the beauty, you know, all of that. The love, the hate. How can you not draw inspiration from just living? But also, you know, the largest source of inspiration for me is just my colleagues. I mean, I’m grateful for the opportunity to get to play so much different music. And sometimes it’s a little bit daunting to like… You know, it seems like every other week or month I’m on tour with a different band. Just like, now it’s that book, now it’s this book, now it’s like this other book. And I’m always kind of in the process of relearning books. But that’s like a huge source of inspiration. It’s the way that Ambrose writes, the way that Tyshawn writes, the way that Walter writes, the way that Ben Wendle writes, Taylor [Eigisti], Gerald Clayton. You know, all these guys.

Yeah, all the guys.

All my friends. You know, they write such beautiful music. And who better to steal from than your friends?

Yeah, that’s a great approach, man. I feel like it’s also a compliment to all your colleagues, for sure. Every time a friend stands as a nice source of inspiration is a good sign of love in a relationship.

Absolutely. I mean, but I don’t necessarily try to… when I’m still writing music, I don’t go “okay, I’m going to write a tune like this”. I mean, my process for writing music is the same. I mean, I might have to change it, but… I just improvise, and then I transcribe.

Beautiful.

That’s it. So, in that sense, a lot of my pieces that I’ve written are just one improvisation, for the most part. And that kind of simplifies the procedure for me.

You are saying that you improvise and then transcribe. When it comes to writing, where do you improvise? Is it on the bass? Is it on the piano?

On the bass. Well, it’s a little bit of both. But for a long time, If I’m like, all right I should start writing again, start getting some music together, then I just would improvise every morning when I wake up. Whatever happens. And then I’d let some time pass. A couple of weeks, a month. And then I’d listen back. Because I feel like, just for myself, if I listen to it right away, I’m just going to be very judgmental. And be like “oh, that sounds like shit, I don’t want that”. But if I forget what my mental state was in that moment, and come back to it, then I can kind of view it with new ears. Just like “oh, that sounds cool”. And I can kind of pick it up from there and “oh, that sounds okay, let me see if I can develop that”. But it used to be just bass, and now it’s a little bit of both.

In Spain, by the way, we use this expression. We say, “en frío”. “Frío” means cold. When you’re in the heat of the emotion and stuff, that’s where all the judgmental issues come. So, it’s better to stay in the cold, right? So, let the food cool down, first and then judge it, right?

Yeah, that’s cool.

Do your ears and your heart come up firstly with melodies or rhythms? Or bass progressions, like bass notes, or even form? Or is it everything in the same pot at once when you improvise?

Well, it’s just melody, because usually I’m improvising on the bass. But I know what the harmony is underneath. I’m not thinking. I just hear it when I play a note, I know what the harmony is supposed to be underneath. And then the rhythm stuff, it’s just sometimes how it is. I don’t try to write rhythmic music, or stuff that’s kind of moving too much, but when I transcribe it verbatim, I can’t get it out of my head, if that’s the way that I played it. So, in that sense, it’s like, yes, that was a shorter bar.

That’s beautiful. It’s like phrases that have to breathe, right? And so once you have to transcribe it, and put it in the notation program, that’s where you have to define and decide where to set the bar lines, right?

That’s true. And sometimes you can’t hear it another way, depending on how I played it on my voice memo. So I have to keep it that way.

I remember Immanuel Wilkins once told me the exact same process when writing. He was like, you play it and it is as it is. And then transcribing, that’s where you have to… That’s when you make the decision of calling in  a 7/8 or whatever. It’s not that you’re looking for that, it’s just that’s how it popped out.

Yeah, I mean, I’ve written music that I’ve tried to write with a predetermined rhythm, like  “oh, this is going to be this meter, and this is kind of that”. And I just don’t feel that. I don’t like it. I don’t like those tunes. Okay. So, you know…, that’s how it goes.

That’s cool, yeah, I like the vibes, definitely. All right, I’m going to ask the last question to you. Is there any spiritual or conceptual aim, research, behind your art, in your art? Is there any purpose? Is there…

Yeah, I mean, catharsis.

Okay.

You know, it’s healing, I guess. I’m kind of jacking some of Juan Carlos’ stuff, but, yeah, I’m always, you know, searching for the notes that can kind of open things up. Or, yeah, I don’t know if there’s a better way to put it, but when we’re playing, especially because I play with him the most, with Ambrose’s band, but it doesn’t happen all the time, but if I can find the right notes and if we’re all… You know, Ambrose likes to say it’s like a fine-tuned watch. You know, it’s just like… what did he say? He said something so beautiful. I don’t know. I can’t even remember the exact way it was, but it was just like if everything is moving in unison to create the perpetual motion, that’s when we have an opportunity for all of us to kind of have a cathartic experience. And that’s very palpable to the audience, I feel. So, yeah, I’m always searching for those notes that kind of change everything. I mean, they’re not changing everything. I’m not going to… But in the moment, they change everything. They can open everything up. I don’t always find them. Sometimes I find weird ones, but I also don’t like to repeat myself. So, you know, it makes it fun to try to find different ways to get through music that we’ve played many, many, many times. You know, just find those notes that open everything up and stay in that zone for a minute.

Yeah, man. That’s also a beautiful idea. You can express also beyond music, you know, and the society and, you know, the unity that you guys express when you are playing together. The stuff that happens on the bandstand really communicates values that are very important also from outside of the music.

Yeah.

And that’s something that I would just encourage everyone to do. I wanted to say it because it’s beautiful the fact that you guys really build a nicer world, for real, by playing, man. By just playing, because you guys are playing from those, you know, perspectives.

I think so. I think when everybody’s on the same page, the goal is not to impress.

Right.

The goal is just to create and to create movements in either direction. Even a movement where somebody’s like “oh, I hated that”. That’s still an emotion, and that’s a very strong emotion.

Yeah.

So, you know, you have to kind of try to hit both sides of the pendulum.

All right. Man, I’m really thankful for this brief talk, and really thanks for everything that you shared with us. I’m sure people will be loving all the stuff you said and will be also desiring the moment when you guys come back to Spain. It’s always a pleasure. So, yeah. Harish, thank you so much.

Thank you, José.

Have a great day.

Yes, sir.

It was great meeting you, man.

Thank you brother.

Thanks.

April 21st, 2026

Café Central Ateneo – Juantxu Bohigues Interview

Café Central Ateneo – Juantxu Bohigues Interview

Café Central Ateneo

Juantxu Bohigues
Interview

16

Abril, 2026

Texto: Pedro Andrade y Begoña Villalobos

Fotos: © Fernando Tribiño 

Entrevista a Juantxu Bohigues  – Café Central Ateneo- Madrid, España.
In&Out Jazz Magazine

 

Durante más de cuatro décadas, el Café Central Jazz Club (Madrid, España) ha sido mucho más que una sala de conciertos: ha sido un santuario del jazz en España, una parada obligatoria en el circuito internacional y un lugar de culto donde la música sucede a escasos metros del público. Por su escenario han pasado figuras esenciales como Tete Montoliu, Pedro Iturralde, Chano Domínguez, Barry Harris, George Cables, Brad Mehldau, Antonio Serrano, Wallace Roney, Silvia Pérez Cruz, Ben Sidran, Jorge Pardo, Sam Rivers, Ernie Watts, Jerry González, junto a innumerables artistas nacionales e internacionales que han encontrado en este espacio una conexión única con la audiencia. En pleno corazón de Madrid, el Central ha definido una forma de escuchar, de programar y de vivir el jazz.

Ahora, en un momento de transformación, el histórico club inicia una nueva etapa sin perder su esencia. Hablamos con Juantxu Bohigues, encargado del Café Central, sobre continuidad, memoria, cambio y futuro. Una conversación que no solo repasa la historia reciente del local, sino que reafirma su papel como uno de los pilares fundamentales del jazz en España y su firme voluntad de seguir latiendo.

In&Out Jazz Magazine: Gracias, Juantxu, por tu tiempo. Sabemos que estáis muy ocupados con todos estos cambios. Revisando la historia del Café Central, esta no es la primera vez que afrontáis una situación complicada.

Juantxu Bohigues: No, ni mucho menos. A lo largo de estos 43 años ha habido varias situaciones difíciles. Recuerdo especialmente una en la que Tete Montoliu vino durante todo un mes, en agosto, para apoyar. Le avisaron de que el local estaba en peligro y, a pesar de tener compromisos en Barcelona, lo dejó todo y se vino. Ese tipo de gestos reflejan muy bien lo que ha sido siempre el Café Central: un lugar sostenido por la pasión, por la implicación real de músicos, socios y equipo. También otros socios históricos hicieron esfuerzos enormes, incluso personales, para mantenerlo vivo. Esa energía, esa capacidad de reaccionar, de encontrar soluciones cuando todo parece complicado, es parte del ADN del Central.

¿Dirías que esa pasión sigue siendo el motor principal hoy?

Totalmente. Esa pasión no solo se mantiene, sino que se ha transmitido de generación en generación dentro del proyecto. Los socios actuales la han heredado y la viven con la misma intensidad. Se ha visto muy claramente ahora: desde el momento en que supimos que teníamos que dejar el local, en apenas cuatro meses ya habíamos encontrado una alternativa. Eso no ocurre sin compromiso, sin amor por lo que haces. Y además, con una idea muy clara: no detener la música. El 15 será el último concierto en el espacio actual y el 16, a las cinco de la tarde, estaremos ya comenzando de nuevo. No hay pausa, no hay silencio.

Entonces, queda claro: el Café Central no desaparece.

Exacto. El Café Central continúa. Es importante insistir en eso porque puede haber confusión. Habrá un cierre físico del local tal como lo conocemos, sí, pero al mismo tiempo se abre una nueva etapa de forma inmediata. Es casi simbólico: se cierra una puerta y se abre otra en el mismo instante. No queremos que el público ni los músicos sientan que hay una ruptura. Es continuidad pura.

¿Dónde se traslada esta nueva etapa?

Nos trasladamos al Ateneo, en la calle Santa Catalina número 10. Es una ubicación muy cercana, prácticamente en el mismo entorno. Para la gente que ha venido durante años al Central, el cambio es mínimo en términos de localización. Eso era muy importante para nosotros: mantenernos en el centro, en el mismo corazón cultural de la ciudad.

¿Cómo será el nuevo espacio a nivel práctico?

Vamos a tener dos espacios diferenciados. Por un lado, la Cantina del Ateneo, que será el Café Central Ateneo. Es un espacio ligeramente más pequeño que el actual, pasaremos de unas 80 butacas a unas 70, pero mantiene esa cercanía, esa intimidad que es esencial para el jazz. Y por otro lado, tendremos la sala cátedra del Ateneo, con capacidad para unas 300 personas. Esto cambia mucho el panorama, porque nos permite hacer conciertos de mayor formato y ampliar la programación.

Eso responde a una necesidad que venía de lejos.

Sí, completamente. Muchas veces teníamos el local lleno y había 30 o 40 personas fuera sin poder entrar. Eso nos dolía muchísimo, porque veías las ganas de la gente, su ilusión por escuchar música, y no podíamos hacer nada. Ahora eso cambia. Vamos a poder acoger a más público y también ofrecer más oportunidades a los músicos. Se abre el abanico.

¿El equipo del Café Central se mantiene en esta transición?

Sí, y eso es clave. El equipo es exactamente el mismo: Javier González seguirá como programador, Ariadna en la dirección, los socios continúan, y el personal también. Eso garantiza que la esencia no se pierda. Porque al final, el Central no es solo un espacio físico, es una manera de hacer las cosas, de tratar a la gente, de vivir la música. Y eso lo hacen las personas.

Muchos músicos estaban pendientes de qué iba a pasar. ¿Qué les dirías?

Que estén tranquilos, porque todo sigue y además crece. Vamos a seguir contando con los mismos músicos de siempre, pero también vamos a poder abrir la puerta a otros que antes no tenían espacio. El hecho de tener dos salas nos permite ampliar la programación. Siempre hemos recibido propuestas, y ahora más que nunca queremos escuchar, ver y valorar todo lo que nos llega. La continuidad es total, pero con más posibilidades.

¿Cómo será la programación en esta nueva etapa?

Mantendremos el formato habitual de conciertos diarios con dos pases. Eso no cambia. Y, además, la sala cátedra permitirá programar conciertos más grandes, probablemente cada dos semanas. La inauguración será el 24 de abril, con Joshua Edelman y Jorge Pardo. Es una forma de marcar el inicio de esta nueva etapa con fuerza.

¿Cómo se articula la relación con el Ateneo?

Es una colaboración muy clara. Nosotros nos encargamos de todo lo relacionado con el jazz: programación, gestión del espacio del Café Central Ateneo. El Ateneo mantiene su actividad cultural habitual, que es muy amplia. Hay coordinación, por supuesto, pero cada parte tiene sus funciones. Lo importante es que compartimos una misma visión y un mismo respeto por la cultura.

¿Cómo ha reaccionado el público ante todo esto?

Con un cariño enorme. Ha sido emocionante. Ha venido gente que nunca había estado solo para mostrar su apoyo. Personas que nos dicen que nos seguirán donde vayamos. Recuerdo a alguien que vino desde Bilbao solo para darnos la mano. Ese tipo de cosas te marcan. Te hacen sentir una responsabilidad muy grande, pero también una alegría inmensa.

El Café Central tiene un peso muy importante en la historia del jazz.

Sí, y eso es algo que valoramos mucho. No solo en Madrid, sino a nivel internacional. Han pasado músicos increíbles por aquí, y muchos consideran este lugar como uno de sus favoritos. Pero más allá del prestigio, lo que define al Central es la experiencia: ese momento en el que entras, te olvidas del reloj, del exterior, y te sumerges en la música. Es un espacio de conexión, de emoción.

¿Qué podemos esperar del nuevo espacio en términos de sonido y ambiente?

Vamos a trasladar todo lo que podamos: el piano, las sillas, incluso la disposición del espacio. Queremos que la gente reconozca ese espíritu. Además, la acústica del Ateneo es excelente, especialmente en la sala grande. Eso nos permitirá mejorar incluso algunos aspectos técnicos.

¿Habrá algún acto especial para marcar este cambio?

Sí, el 16 de abril a las cinco de la tarde se organizó una marching band al estilo Nueva Orleans. Ha sido una forma de despedirnos del espacio físico y, al mismo tiempo, celebrar lo que viene. Una fiesta, en el fondo.

Para terminar, ¿cómo definirías este momento?

Como una transformación necesaria. Cambiamos de lugar, pero no de esencia. Seguimos siendo los mismos, con más ganas que nunca. Es una nueva etapa que nos va a permitir crecer, mejorar y llegar a más gente. Y lo más importante: el Café Central sigue vivo y seguirá muchos años más.

Muchas gracias, Juantxu.

Gracias a vosotros.

16 de abril de 2026

Sean Clapis Interview

Sean Clapis Interview

Sean Clapis

Interview

14

April, 2026

By: Pedro Andrade

Photo: © Fernando Tribiño

 

Sean Clapis is a guitarist shaped by the tradition of American jazz who has managed to develop his career across different contexts without losing artistic coherence. Born in Connecticut and trained at the Hartt School of Music, where he studied with figures such as Jackie McLean and Steve Davis, he spent several years in New York before settling in Madrid, the city where he has lived for almost seven years.

Far from representing a break, his move to Spain was a natural continuation of an already solid path. From here, he has consolidated his work as a leader and expanded his network of collaborations within a constantly growing scene. His album Paths Unfold in the Dark (2023), recorded with a band of Spanish musicians after a long period of working together, reflects this moment of artistic maturity and a clear commitment to collective sound. Although the album is self-produced, it caught the attention of Greg Osby and placed Clapis within the Inner Circle orbit, one of the most active platforms in contemporary jazz.

Currently, Clapis combines his personal project with an intense activity as a sideman and collaborator, moving comfortably between modern jazz, swing, and the roots of the genre. His trajectory emphasizes long-term development, dialogue between scenes, and the constant search for a personal voice within today’s jazz landscape.

In&Out Jazz Magazine: Sean, you’ve been living in Spain for almost seven years now. To begin with, when did you arrive in Madrid, and what led you to decide to stay here as a musician?

Sean Clapis: First of all, sorry for my level of Spanish. At home I always speak English with my kids—they learn fast, and I’m going more slowly, but I try.

My wife is from Las Rozas, and she’s a classical pianist. We met while studying at the Hartt School, where we had teachers like Steve Davis and Jackie McLean, great figures in jazz. After we got married, we lived in New York for about seven or eight years.

Just before the pandemic, I recorded an album in London at Abbey Road Studios, where the Beatles recorded. I won that opportunity through a competition in Poland—the prize was to record there. Meanwhile, since 2008, we had been coming to Madrid often. I already had a strong connection with the city: friends, jam sessions, musicians… people like Bob Sands, Rubén Andreu, and many others.

During European tours, we always passed through Madrid. And while I was touring Europe and recording that album, I spoke a lot with Paula about life in New York. It’s an incredible city, but very hard for musicians. We also wanted to have children and start a family. Madrid seemed like a good place to try to do what we had been doing in New York, but with a more balanced life.

Moving here just before the pandemic felt almost like a sign. Musicians in New York suffered much more. Everything aligned: music, family, and personal and artistic growth.

You lived in New York for many years. What differences do you see between that scene and the one you found in Madrid and Spain?

I started coming to Spain around 2008 or 2009, and over these almost twenty years the scene has grown tremendously. Before, there might have been one or two top musicians per instrument; now the overall level is extremely high. In Madrid, there are incredible musicians from everywhere: Spanish, Cuban, from all over the world.

New York is still the “Mecca.” The level is brutal. I remember my first jam there—Josh Evans called me to play, and when I got on stage there was a guy who looked almost homeless, playing flugelhorn unbelievably well. It turned out to be Roy Hargrove. I was playing with a jazz god without even realizing it.

That defines New York: extremes. You can get on stage as a nobody and play with the best musicians in the world, without ego—just music.

In 2023, you released Paths Unfold in the Dark with a band made up of Spanish musicians. How did that album come about?

The band formed during the pandemic. Nobody had work, and I was constantly composing to keep my head together. I called Naima Acuña, Daniel Juárez, Darío Guibert… we were lucky to connect when they were available, because now they’re top musicians and always busy.

We had a lot of time to develop the music. Also, since foreign musicians couldn’t travel, I was “the available guiri,” and we got called for concerts and festivals. That allowed us to play a lot and grow as a band.

I knew that moment wouldn’t last, so I decided to record the album. The title Paths Unfold in the Dark—“paths that open from the darkness”—came from a phrase I heard in a dream during the pandemic. For me, it symbolizes the idea that when everything is dark, that’s when paths begin to open. It’s a message of hope.

The album is self-produced, and you’re now connected to Greg Osby’s Inner Circle. How did that relationship develop?

I have immense respect for Greg Osby, both as a musician and as a producer. We recorded the album in a single afternoon, almost all first takes, at Camaleón Studios in Madrid. Dani or Naima mentioned that Greg was expanding Inner Circle and building bridges between the U.S. and Spain.

I wrote to him, we had a Zoom call, and he told me he loved the album—that we sounded like a real band. That meant a lot to me. I didn’t want a record that could sound the same with different musicians, but a clear identity. We had been playing together for over a year, and it shows. I really appreciated that observation.

On this album, you decided not to sing and to focus solely on the guitar. Why?

Good question. I like singing, but I don’t consider myself a singer—I’m a guitarist. On previous albums I sang on one or two tracks, but with this one it was very clear to me: it had to be instrumental, more aggressive, without lyrics. I wanted the audience to have complete freedom to interpret the music, without a closed verbal message.

Some listeners compare your voice to Neil Young or even Chet Baker.

Even though my parents aren’t professional musicians like me, they have very good ears. My father worked in other fields and is now retired, but he played—and still plays—in a Beatles tribute band. He sings and plays all of Paul McCartney’s parts.

I grew up with that at home, and with my mother singing as well. Those are my roots: rock, classic rock, the music of my parents’ generation. I’m the first jazz musician in my family, the only “fool” who decided to make this his job.

There was always music at home. But when I was younger, with the typical guitarist ego, I thought, “I’m not going to sing—that’s silly, I just want to play guitar.” I was more purist then. Over the years, I’ve come to understand that the voice is the purest instrument and the one that connects most easily with others.

After taking a class with pianist Aaron Goldberg many years ago, I started singing while playing. It’s not something I do all the time, but I always keep it in mind: what I’m playing should be singable, it should sound good in the voice.

That helps me cut away the “fat” from my musical ideas so they’re more pure. Guitarists tend to play too much—lots of notes—and I love playing lots of notes, but every note has to have direction.

The first filter is the mind, which is connected to the voice. Little by little, I started bringing the voice out more—singing alone, singing melodies. It’s something I really enjoy now. Someday, I’ll be a singer (laughs).

What would you say are your main musical influences?

The Beatles, Radiohead, Jim Hall, Wes Montgomery. Wes represents the soul and the groove—he’s a harmonic genius; Jim Hall represents space and thought. Also Herbie Hancock, Wayne Shorter, and many contemporary musicians. I try not to get stuck in one era and to keep learning constantly.

What projects are you currently working on?

I slowed down a bit with the arrival of my third child and my teaching work, but now I’m picking up the pace again. I’ve been playing with Loveless, Federico Lechner, Florencia Vega, Chloé (a French singer), Tony Saxs at the Gumbo jams, and Arturo Pueyo.

In recent years, I’ve immersed myself in 1920s jazz, swing, and the roots of the genre. It’s been a very enriching experience and has helped me appreciate even more where this music comes from.

There’s a lot of movement in Madrid right now, isn’t there? Many jam sessions, and a lot of people who like to dance—swing. Many jams are directly connected to dance.

Yes

At Big Mama, many places… at 56, right?

At 55b.

Right. So, thank you very much for your time.

Thank you very much.

Thank you.

April 14th, 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

Viktorija Pilatovic Interview

Viktorija Pilatovic Interview

Viktorija Pilatovic

Interview

19

Marzo, 2026

“Seven Letters: El jazz íntimo de Viktorija Pilatovic”

En Seven Letters, su quinto álbumViktorija Pilatovic convierte la música en un espacio de conversación íntima. Canciones que nacen como cartas, a uno mismo, a los seres queridos, a los recuerdos, al silencio, y que, sin embargo, acaban hablándonos a todos. Tras una trayectoria sólida dentro del jazz contemporáneo, la cantante y compositora lituana afincada en España firma su trabajo más personal, un disco donde cada acorde tiene un color y cada melodía una intención.

Fiel a su manera de entender la creación, Pilatovic parte siempre de la música para llegar a la palabra, dejando que la armonía marque el camino emocional de cada pieza. El resultado es un jazz abierto y profundamente comunicativo, donde la complejidad convive con la cercanía y la emoción precede al discurso. Acompañada por un trío de músicos de grandísimo nivel, el álbum cuenta con Petros Klampanis (contrabajo y coproductor), Albert Palau (piano) y Quique Ramírez (batería), además de la colaboración especial del saxofonista Perico Sambeat en una balada dedicada a su madre.

Seven Letters es también una reflexión sobre el tiempo, la identidad y la escucha, tanto interior como colectiva. Con motivo de este nuevo lanzamiento, conversamos con Victoria, sobre su proceso creativo, su relación con la composición, la madurez artística alcanzada tras cinco discos y su manera de entender el jazz como un lenguaje vivo, compartido y en constante transformación.

In&Out Jazz Magazine: Hola Viktorija, gracias por atendernos. La primera vez que te vimos fue en el Café Central de Madrid, hace ya algunos años, presentando uno de tus discos anteriores junto a Perico Sambeat. Ahora vuelves con nuevo trabajo. ¿Cómo estás y qué nos traes con este nuevo álbum?

Viktorija Pilatovic: Hola, gracias a vosotros por el tiempo y por el interés. Sé que es un trabajo complicado, hay mucha gente sacando discos y buscando entrevistas, así que estoy muy agradecida por estar aquí.. Sí, aquello fue en Café Central, presentando The Only Light, antes de la COVID… el tiempo vuela. Ahora presento Seven Letters, y estoy muy ilusionada con este proyecto.

El disco se titula Seven Letters. ¿Qué nos puedes contar sobre este concepto? ¿A quién van dirigidas esas siete cartas?

Al principio no estaba pensando en un concepto. Yo componía canciones sin más, pero cuando releía las letras me di cuenta de que siempre estaba hablándole a alguien. Revisé canciones antiguas y pensé: “qué fuerte, siempre hay un destinatario”. A veces hablas con otra persona, a veces contigo misma, con un recuerdo, con alguien que ya no está. Entonces pensé que era bonito recuperar la idea de escribir cartas, algo que se está perdiendo en este mundo de mensajes cortos. Así nació la idea de hacer siete cartas, no necesariamente dirigidas solo a personas, sino también a conceptos. De ahí nació el disco.

Hay un componente muy íntimo en algunas de esas cartas, pero también algo universal. Por ejemplo, una está dedicada a tu madre.

Sí, hay una carta para mi madre. Ella no entiende del todo la letra porque está en inglés, yo se la traduzco, pero lo vive desde la música.
Cada uno crea su propio mundo, y aunque la carta es muy personal, la emoción puede ser compartida.

Hay otra carta muy especial, Stranger. ¿A quién va dirigida?

Viktorija Pilatovic: Es una carta a alguien que todavía no conozco, pero que sé que será importante en mi vida. Me gusta pensar que cuando era niña no sabía que viviría en España, ni que conocería a músicos tan importantes para mí. La canción dice algo así como: “Stranger, come here, I’ve been looking for you”. Es sentir amor por alguien que aún no existe en tu vida.

También puede interpretarse como hablarle a tu yo del futuro.

Exacto, es un pensamiento precioso. Yo dentro de diez años también seré una desconocida para mí misma.

Otra pieza clave es On the Edge of Silence. ¿De dónde nace?

Esa carta habla de la conexión entre los músicos. La escribí después de un concierto muy bonito en Hondarribia. Ese momento justo antes de tocar la primera nota, ese silencio cargado de tensión… para mí es mágico. Es algo difícil de explicar a alguien que no vive la música así. Los músicos y los amantes profundos de la música se reconocen entre ellos.

El disco tiene una carga armónica y lírica muy potente, pero al mismo tiempo es muy accesible. ¿Buscas romper el tópico de que el jazz es solo algo complejo e inaccesible?

Eso es el mejor cumplido que me pueden hacer. A los músicos nos gusta dar ear food, cosas que otros músicos puedan analizar y disfrutar, pero yo también quiero conectar con la gente por la vibra, por cómo suena, por la melodía. La música tiene que transmitir algo antes incluso de que se entienda la letra.

¿Empiezas a componer desde la música o desde la letra?

iempre empiezo por la música. Nunca escribo letras primero.
Un acorde ya tiene un color, una emoción, una intención. La melodía y la armonía te llevan a un sitio concreto, y a partir de ahí nace la letra. Intento que melodía, armonía y palabra trabajen juntas, como un todo.

Háblanos de los músicos que participan en el disco.

Claro, es el segundo disco que hago con esta formación. El anterior, Sky Bridges, ya estaba producido y grabado con Petros Klampanis. Yo sigo a Petros desde hace muchísimos años. Los dos somos artistas de Inner Circle Music, que es el sello de Greg Osby. Petros tiene varios discos en este sello y yo también publiqué allí mis dos o tres primeros trabajos. Ahora, después de varios años Petros y yo somos  como una asociación.

Llevaba mucho tiempo siguiendo su música y durante la COVID él sacó un par de canciones que me gustaron muchísimo. En ese momento yo necesitaba a una persona a la que pudiera delegar parte del trabajo dentro del estudio, porque yo me encargo absolutamente de todo: escribo las partituras, las partes, los arreglos y las composiciones; elijo a los músicos; organizo hoteles y viajes; preparo todo lo necesario; estudio los temas que tengo que cantar y los canto. Todo esto se vuelve muy pesado en el momento de grabar.

Durante una grabación hay muchas emociones, muchas decisiones que liderar, muchas tomas que quieres hacer, y no siempre tienes la claridad para saber si algo está funcionando o no, sobre todo cuando estás estresada. Entonces, por primera vez después de tres discos, decidí contar con alguien que pudiera ayudarme dentro del estudio, y esa persona fue Petros. Fue una experiencia muy positiva tenerlo ahí conmigo. Ahora hemos hecho otro disco, Seven Letters, de la misma manera, con él como productor, además de bajista.

Con Quique empezamos a tocar ya en Sky Bridges, el disco anterior. Es un batería muy sensible, con un drive tremendo y mucha fuerza, pero al mismo tiempo con una gran capacidad de escucha. Entiende muy bien la canción. Además, es compositor, así que tiene esa comprensión del jazz contemporáneo. Le gusta la música que me gusta a mí, y eso es fundamental a la hora de elegir a los músicos.

Albert Palau es una persona muy especial para mí. Es mi amigo y colaborador desde el principio. Cuando llegué a España, desde el primer ensayo me pareció una persona de oro. Es muy respetuoso, muy responsable y siempre te apoya de todas las formas posibles. Valora muchísimo el trabajo del líder, y eso para mí es muy importante, porque liderar un proyecto implica mucho más que aprender la música y venir a ensayar. Hay que encargarse de la imagen, de las redes, de la comunicación, de intentar mover y vender el proyecto. Es muchísimo trabajo.

Mis compañeros de grupo lo entienden perfectamente. Y, además de ser un gran compañero, Albert es un pianista brillante. Tiene todo. He tenido mucha suerte. Me encanta cómo acompaña, sé que puedo contar con él y sigo contando con él.

Llevas unos 13 años viviendo en España. ¿Qué queda de la Viktorija que llegó desde Lituania?

Guau, claro… es que prácticamente crecí aquí. Crecí musicalmente y también como persona. Llegué como estudiante y aquí me transformé en la mujer que soy hoy, casi con cuarenta años. Entonces, ¿qué queda de aquella chica lituana? Queda la esencia, sin duda. Sigue ahí. Me llamo Victoria, aunque muchos me llaman Victorija, que es la forma lituana del nombre, y siento que ambas forman parte de quien soy. Es como si existiera una Victoria lituana y, al mismo tiempo, una Victoria española. Es algo muy interesante y también muy filosófico, incluso psicológico, para mí misma: pensar qué permanece de aquella chica que llegó desde Lituania.

Cuando se abrió Berklee en Valencia pensé que era el lugar perfecto para hacer mi máster. Tenía muchas ganas de descubrir, de experimentar. Me gustaba mucho el idioma y sentía una gran curiosidad por conocer otro mundo, así que me mudé sin pensarlo dos veces. A partir de ahí conocí a muchos de los grandes músicos que hay en España y una cultura de jazz enorme, especialmente en Barcelona, algo que en Lituania no existía. Para mí fue como llegar a Nueva York. Me sentí muy afortunada tocando con Perico y aprendiendo de él. La escena me parecía increíble y todo eso forma una parte fundamental de este proceso y de quien soy hoy.

¿Ha cambiado tu motivación con los años?

En cuanto a las ganas y la confianza en mí misma, antes confiaba muchísimo en mí. No sé muy bien de dónde sacaba ese impulso, pero tenía una energía enorme y una fe absoluta en que podía con todo. Con los años, sin embargo, esa seguridad se ha ido debilitando. Creo que cuanto más sabes, más consciente eres de todo lo que no sabes.

Ahora siento que, a medida que aprendo más cada año, me hago más pequeña. Ves el nivel que hay ahí fuera, cómo toca la gente, y eso impresiona mucho. El síndrome del impostor crece con el tiempo, de verdad. Es curioso, incluso paradójico. No sé muy bien por qué ocurre.

Supongo que tiene que ver con la edad y con una humildad mucho mayor que antes. Hay tantos músicos increíbles, gente que compone de una manera impresionante… incluso mis propios alumnos a veces me obligan a volver a estudiar. Hay un nivel altísimo, gente realmente potente.

 Eres también una gran docente. ¿Qué consejo das a los jóvenes músicos?

Que nunca dejen de aprender. Que mantengan los oídos abiertos y se adapten a los cambios de la industria. No luchar contra lo que viene, sino encontrar la manera de convivir con ello.

¿Cuándo y dónde podremos escucharte en directo?

La presentación oficial es el 13 de febrero en Burning House, en Valencia.

El 20 de febrero tocamos en Sabiñánigo (Huesca). Habrá más conciertos por confirmar, y Madrid seguro que entra en la gira.

¿Cuáles son tus influencias actuales?

Me inspira mucho el jazz contemporáneo: Gerald Clayton, Shai Maestro, Immanuel Wilkins, Cecil McLorin Salvant, Esperanza Spalding, Gretchen Parlato, Diane Reeves… También hago un homenaje a Autumn Leaves en el disco, como una carta de agradecimiento a Johnny Mercer.

Gracias por tu tiempo, Viktorija. Te deseamos lo mejor con Seven Letters y esperamos verte pronto en Madrid.

Muchas gracias a vosotros. Un abrazo.

19 de marzo de 2026

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