Swiss pianist and composer Lorenzo De Finti returns with Backlash of Uncertainty, the fourth release from his long-standing quartet and perhaps their most cohesive artistic statement to date. Known for a sound that blends chamber-music clarity with Nordic atmospheres and the energy of a rock band, the group takes a decisive step forward on this new album. Co-written by De Finti and bassist Stefano Dall’Ora, the music embraces open structures, expanded electronics, and a delicate balance between fragility and force—resonating with the sense of instability that defines our current moment.
In the interview, De Finti reflects on the quartet’s deepened trust, the evolution of their “signature sound,” and the subtle use of electronics as an extension of acoustic intimacy. He speaks about the collaborative writing process, the transformative experience of captivating a noisy room into silence, and the ensemble’s flexible approach to touring across varied venues. Looking ahead, he hints at future large-ensemble projects and a possible symphonic reimagining of earlier work, all while remaining rooted in the quartet’s emotional and exploratory language.
Backlash of Uncertainty is your fourth album with this quartet. What feels most different in the band’s sound or attitude this time around?
What changed the most is our sense of trust. After so many concerts together, we’ve reached a point where we don’t need to explain things anymore — the music moves on its own. In the past we were still “building” the quartet; now we’re refining it, going deeper. On Backlash of Uncertainty you can hear that freedom: the structures are more open, the dynamics are bolder, and we’re more comfortable letting fragility coexist with power. The band breathes as one organism, and that allowed us to take more risks than ever before. Of course, this comes from years of very hard and consistent work.
How would you describe the Lorenzo De Finti “signature sound” to someone discovering this music for the first time?
It’s a blend of chamber-music clarity and the explosive energy of a rock band, all filtered through a very melodic, very emotional approach. I love atmospheres — the Nordic sense of space — but also the warmth of acoustic jazz. So the “signature” is a kind of cinematic tension between intimacy and impact: lyrical piano writing, long singing lines from Alberto, Stefano’s deep sense of architecture, Marco’s drive, and moments where everything suddenly opens into something bigger than the four of us.
You’ve been described as “the missing link between Bill Evans, Keith Jarrett, and E.S.T.” — do you count those artists as key influences, or were there others more prominent in your musical formation?
They’re definitely part of my DNA — especially Evans for his harmonic world and Jarrett for his sense of flow. And of course E.S.T. shaped all of us who grew up with that European sound. But my influences are wider: classical music, from Bach to Stravinsky, rock bands, and especially The Beatles. And then there are the musicians I’ve shared the stage with; each collaboration leaves a trace. So I take the comparison as a huge compliment, but the real story is more eclectic and less traceable.
The music is co-written with bassist Stefano Dall’Ora. How does that collaboration work in practice, and how do you reconcile two creative voices into one coherent musical language?
With Stefano it’s very natural. Sometimes one of us brings a complete sketch, sometimes just a motif or a harmonic idea. We try everything, and the quartet becomes the final editor — when we play it together, the piece tells us what it wants to be. We don’t think in terms of “my” idea or “his” idea. The goal is a shared language, and we’ve been working on that language for years. We share common roots, but of course we are different people and musicians — which is important. A clone of myself would be a very poor option!
Electronics and live processing play a subtle role on this album. How did you decide where to use them without distracting from the acoustic instruments?
The rule was: electronics must serve the fragility of the acoustic sound, never dominate it. We used them almost like shadows or reflections — extending the resonance, adding texture, suggesting another dimension without breaking the intimacy. The bowed bass processed in real time became a kind of heartbeat for the title track. We experimented with many ideas, but only kept what added meaning. If you notice the electronics too much, something went wrong. And everything must be performable live, in real time.
One of the stories in the notes mentions performing a quiet piece in a noisy pub where the audience gradually fell silent. What did that experience teach you about the connection between music and attention?
It reminded me that attention can be invited, not demanded. When you play softly in a loud environment, you take a risk — you expose yourself. But sometimes that vulnerability creates a magnetic effect. People realise something fragile is happening and instinctively protect it. For me it was a lesson in humility: you don’t need to fight the room. If the music is sincere, it can change the temperature around you. And in these dangerous times we’re living through, I truly believe that beauty can still overcome chaos — and that night, we witnessed it.
You’ve toured widely across the world. Does the repertoire change much from venue to venue — say, between a festival stage and a small club?
Yes, absolutely. In a club we tend to explore the quieter, more introspective pieces; you can let silence become part of the music. On a festival stage, like Bohemia Jazz Fest with thousands of people listening, the energy shifts — the sound is bigger, the pacing changes, and some pieces grow in unexpected ways. But the essence stays the same. We never prepare a show that is “fixed.” We travel with an emotional map rather than a setlist.
Recording in Italy but releasing on a Norwegian label like Losen gives the album a cross-European flavour. How did that come about? Was it intentional?
It happened naturally. Our first album, We Live Here, was initially supposed to be released by ECM. After a while, Manfred Eicher told me the waiting time would be very long, so we decided to move on. I contacted Mr. Gjelsnes, who welcomed us immediately. Losen Records has been incredibly supportive ever since, and truly understands the aesthetics we aim for — that European, spacious, atmospheric sound. We love recording in Italy because it’s home, and because Only Music Studio in Bruino has become part of our sonic identity.
What’s next for you and the quartet?
We’re touring extensively across Europe with this album, and the concerts are already shaping new ideas. After four records, we feel we’ve reached a point where we can rethink the format — perhaps a larger ensemble for certain pieces, perhaps a project with voices, or a deeper exploration of the dialogue between acoustic and electronic worlds.
Recently, I had the chance to perform with two symphonic orchestras in the Czech Republic together with the Czech guitar legend Rudy Linka, and the experience was overwhelming. It opened a completely new window in my imagination.
2026 will mark the tenth anniversary of the release of We Live Here – Suite for Jazz Quartet, and the idea of creating a symphonic version of that music would be an absolute dream. It would be wonderful to explore how the quartet’s language could expand within an orchestral setting.
And finally — what’s one record you’ve been listening to lately that surprised or inspired you?
I’ve been returning to Tord Gustavsen’s Opening. There’s something in the way he shapes silence — the way phrases seem to emerge out of breath rather than rhythm — that really speaks to me right now. It’s a reminder that simplicity, when lived deeply, can be incredibly powerful.
