it rewards patience the way a lot of the best things do — the picture sharpens, the noise starts to make sense, and what seemed chaotic turns out to have been carefully organized all along.
Whirlwind Recordings
Quinsin Nachoff – tenor saxophone; Roberta Michel – flute, piccolo, alto flute, bass flute; Sara Schoenbeck – bassoon; Tony Kadleck – trumpet; John Clark – french horn; Gene Hardy – musical saw; Matt Mitchell – piano; Ryan Keberle – trombone; François Houle – clarinet; Satoshi Takeishi – percussion; Carlo De Rosa – bass; the Molinari String Quartet: Olga Ranzenhofer — violin I; Antoine Bareil — violin II; Frédéric Lambert — viola; Pierre-Alain Bouvrette — cello
Quinsin Nachoff’s Patterns from Nature might look like homework. A jazz saxophonist, a string quartet, a physicist, four filmmakers, and music modeled on the way water flows and cracks spread through mud. It sounds like the kind of project you admire from a distance and never actually listen to. Put it on anyway.
Here’s why. For a decade Nachoff has been exploring how structure and spontaneity can push against each other and both come out stronger. Patterns from Nature is where that lands. Working with physicist Stephen Morris — a collaboration that started with the 2017 concerto “Winding Tessellations” — he grounded the music in natural processes: branching, flowing, cracking, rippling. Four filmmakers developed imagery alongside the score, not after it. The result sounds, at its best, like organized chaos that knows exactly what it’s doing.
Here’s what it actually sounds like. “Branches” opens with pianist Matt Mitchell in full flight — clusters of notes that feel driven and a little angry, riding a thumping bass and nimble drum work before gradually lightening into something more playful. The logic reveals itself slowly, and Mitchell’s ability to shift the emotional temperature of a piece this dense is quietly remarkable.
“Flow” hands the center to the Molinari String Quartet and percussionist Satoshi Takeishi, waves of sound building and receding like something tidal, a ghostly musical saw surfacing underneath. “Cracks” gives clarinetist François Houle room to cut through the controlled chaos around him — his tone crystal clear against bassoon, percussion, and a dissonant piano — trading phrases with a mischievousness that makes the movement genuinely fun to follow. The ending lands on an unresolved chord, which is exactly right.
Nachoff himself steps forward in “Ripples,” alongside trombonist Ryan Keberle, and together they navigate the suite’s most turbulent stretch. Keberle is the one to watch. He plays loose, smearing and bending single notes in ways that feel almost vocal, holding his ground as the drums get louder and the ensemble starts to sound like it’s coming apart at the seams. Eventually everything thins to a few pings and fades out. It earns the quiet.
Could a casual listener find this a big noisy mess on first spin? Sure. The music doesn’t chase you. But it rewards patience the way a lot of the best things do — the picture sharpens, the noise starts to make sense, and what seemed chaotic turns out to have been carefully organized all along.
