SOLACE OF THE MIND lives up to its title: a balm, a mirror, a space to sit with your thoughts and feel the ground beneath your feet.
Red Hook Records
Amina Claudine Myers – Piano, Voice, Hammond B3 Organ
There’s a quiet kind of power in hearing someone who isn’t trying to dazzle you — someone who’s lived a long life in music and doesn’t need to raise her voice to hold your attention. On SOLACE OF THE MIND, her new solo album for Red Hook Records, NEA Jazz Master Amina Claudine Myers pares everything down: just piano, organ, voice. It’s gentle, melodic music — unhurried, deeply personal, and full of warmth.
Myers revisits a couple of pieces from her early ’80s catalog — ‘African Blues’ and ‘Song for Mother E’— but she’s not recreating them. These versions are quieter, more spacious, more meditative. It feels less like she’s looking back and more like she’s asking: What do these songs mean to me now? They were important then — are they still? She doesn’t answer directly, but the way she plays them suggests the question still matters.
‘African Blues’ opens the record with a somber, hymn-like quality. The melody is simple — almost folk-like — and it wouldn’t be out of place on a Bill Withers record. But Myers plays it with a kind of spiritual weight, letting each note bloom into something special. It’s beautiful without tipping into sentimentality.
She brings a similar approach to ‘Song for Mother E,’ which originally appeared on her 1980 Leo Records album, recorded in ’79 with a quartet. That version had a fuller, richer texture, with more interplay and layered dynamics. In contrast, the solo piano rendition on SOLACE OF THE MIND feels more intimate and meditative — less about group energy, more about personal reflection.
Some of the new material, like ‘Sensuous’ and ‘Beneath the Sun,’ feels more abstract — sometimes even hesitant. ‘Sensuous’ in particular seems to tread water on purpose, hanging in a space between motion and stillness. It’s not building toward anything dramatic; instead, it holds its shape quietly, on its own terms.
One of the most striking tracks is ‘Steal Away,’ a spiritual she used to dislike as a child. “I hated that song when I was a kid,” she says. “The way the old people sang it — so slow and sad.” But here she plays it with quiet conviction, like someone who’s lived long enough to understand why the sadness mattered. Her version is serene and reverent — it feels less like something being performed, more like a whispered invocation.
There’s also a haunting moment on ‘Ode to My Ancestors,’ where Myers speaks over a sustained, vibrating note on the organ. The drone underneath recalls a didgeridoo or the distant hum of the earth itself. Her words drift in and out: “I feel the spirit of my ancestors… they speak to me still… those who have shaped me into who I am.” It’s like a stream-of-consciousness prayer — like she’s talking to herself and trusts us enough to listen in.
‘Voices’ is a melancholy piano piece — simple left-hand repetition, right-hand flourishes. It’s the sound of a place slipping quietly from view, subtle and fading. ‘Twilight’ swirls with tentative high notes and soft, rumbling bass figures. ‘Cairo’ and ‘Hymn for John Lee Hooker’ are shorter, sketch-like, but each says just enough. The record closes with ‘Beneath the Sun,’ full of space and short, unfinished phrases. It doesn’t resolve — it just drifts off, as if Myers is telling us this meditation isn’t over, just paused for now.
The sound quality throughout is stunning — thanks to producer Sun Chung (formerly of ECM), who captures nuance with clarity and care. You hear every subtle shift in dynamics, every gentle nuance of touch. It’s not glossy; it’s intimate.
Myers, who came up singing in church choirs in Arkansas and found her creative home in the AACM, has always followed her own path. Her music spans gospel, blues, free jazz, and beyond, and this record feels like all those influences folded into something quietly masterful and rooted in who she is. She’s not preaching or philosophizing — just offering something honest and comforting.
Even when she jokes about being named a Jazz Master — “I guess that means I’ve got to up my game,” she says — she’s clearly already done that. SOLACE OF THE MIND lives up to its title: a balm, a mirror, a space to sit with your thoughts and feel the ground beneath your feet.
