Since moving to New York in 1998, the Swiss-born pianist Sylvie Courvoisier has had little difficulty sounding like a native of the city’s downtown scene. In her memorable solo sets, as well as her performances with saxophonist John Zorn and onetime DNA drummer Ikue Mori, she has helped define the sound of the piano for an era and a locale.
Like numerous other contemporary pianists, she plays not only the keys, but also the inside of the instrument—sweeping the strings directly, or plying them with a variety of objects. She can do this with a touch that seems just as informed by jazz balladry as it is by John Cage’s experimentalism. And because she’s a leading improviser in contemporary avant-garde circles, she’s also more than able to distinguish herself in a din factory.
Courvoisier’s displays of power seem all the more forceful thanks to the gorgeous sounds she fashions at the other end of the dynamic spectrum. This adaptability makes her a prized collaborator, but it might also have delayed Courvoisier’s entrance into some of the more familiar formats of small-group jazz.
It took until 2014’s Double Windsor for Courvoisier’s fans to hear her take on the classic piano-trio album. The group behind that debut, which includes bassist Drew Gress and drummer Kenny Wollesen, earned some feverish reviews. Four years later, we have a follow-up. Clearly, the time between releases is not a writer’s block issue, as Courvoisier has remained active in a rich variety of other ensembles (including a 2017 collaborative project with guitarist Mary Halvorson). Instead, it seems likely that Courvoisier has been carefully honing new material for this particular group.
Opening track “Imprint Double (for Antoine Courvoisier)” reveals the album’s affinity for smartly executed pivots. The composition begins with the pianist obsessing over a three-note motif in a gravely low octave. But she quickly complicates the grim feel of these tones by dropping in additional, dense chords that suggest a syncopated strut. When the bassist and drummer join in, the song’s swinging sensibility is securely established. Even when the piece halts its momentum—making space for hypnotic, new melodic fragments—this core sense of playfulness never disappears.
The rest of the album follows a similar strategy, down to song titles that are outfitted with dedications. “Bourgeois’s Spider (for Louise Bourgeois)” allows Courvoisier to range across a wild array of pianistic effects: you can hear strums of the strings, as well as knocks against the instrument’s wooden body. During the second half of the track, the pianist swaps out her pointillistic noises for some gentler clouds of minimalist repetition. Her arrangement allows this unusual sequence of sounds to hover over chilled-out rhythm section grooves. On paper, such pairings may seem abrupt or ill-matched, but the skill of this band resides in the way it makes unlikely reversals seem second-nature.
Courvoisier’s piece “Éclats for Ornette” offers a nod to the late composer and saxophonist Ornette Coleman. In its early seconds, a short, excitable theme bursts out. Traces of the same figure can also be heard in some of Courvoisier’s most out-there stretches, during a subsequent solo. Since Coleman was a widely beloved pioneer of new ecstatic styles in the avant-garde, you can’t invoke his name in a title without some risk. But here, as on much of this album, Courvoisier and her group balance structure and wildness in a way that is easy to admire.
