When the final notes fade, the music still seems to be searching. Not for an ending, but for the next idea.
Defkaz Records
Ivo Perelman – tenor sax; Matthew Shipp – piano; William Parker – bass; Bobby Kapp – drums
More than a hundred recordings into a career built on instinct, Ivo Perelman continues to walk into the studio without charts or rehearsals, relying instead on whatever unfolds in the moment. On Synesthesia, he’s joined by longtime collaborators Matthew Shipp, William Parker and Bobby Kapp, four improvisers who know when to push an idea forward, when to leave it alone and when to step back in with something new.
The title refers to Perelman’s synesthesia, his experience of hearing sound as color. The music itself is harder to pin down. Nothing is fixed for long. A repeated piano figure opens one door, the bass quietly leads the music through another. The drums drift around the edges before gently steering everything somewhere unexpected.
Bobby Kapp’s opening drum figures in “First Color Heard” give way to Matthew Shipp’s carefully placed piano notes, repeated phrases and slow ascending lines. Perelman’s tenor moves among them, scurrying at the feet of the piano before reaching upward with an almost animal cry. Parker’s bass remains steady throughout as the music circles, always looking.
Shipp is never in a hurry. In “Phosphene” he lets a few quiet notes hang in the air before striking the keys harder, leaving each chord to decay. Perelman answers those phrases before piano and saxophone almost seem to meld together. Around them, Kapp rarely announces himself. His cymbals rustle like wind moving through leaves before rolling in like distant thunder, while Parker’s bass keeps everything from drifting away.
“Blue Taste” finds the quartet rocking back and forth on Parker’s bass line. Shipp suddenly uncovers a few unexpectedly pretty phrases before scattering notes across the keyboard again. Later, Parker reaches for the bow, Perelman quietly follows his lines, and for a moment the piano simply listens. When all three return together, the sound swells into a moving wall before slowly giving way.
The album’s quieter moments are often its most inviting. “Afterglow” opens delicately enough, but before long Perelman’s tenor begins to fidget, repeating short phrases as if he’s working himself into a state. Shipp never takes the bait. His piano keeps searching, Parker settles into an easy walk, Kapp brushes softly behind them, and the music gradually exhales. The ending, with bowed bass and Perelman speaking in the lower register of the horn, is among the album’s loveliest moments.
When the final notes fade, the music still seems to be searching. Not for an ending, but for the next idea.
