Ramona Horvath: Absinthe

How could one not connect with someone who, from her debut album as a leader, Lotus Blossom (Black & Blue, 2017), demonstrated such knowledge and admiration for Billy Strayhorn's timeless compositions? Or who, in the liner notes of her new project, counts among her supporters fellow pianists of the stature of Giovanni Mirabassi, Ignasi Terraza and Pierre de Bethmann?

Something old, something new, something borrowed...

Certainly, a quick glance at the repertoire of this Ramona Horvath Trio's release may seem surprising, even contradictory. Michael Jackson, Stevie Wonder and the Bee Gees combined with the previously mentioned genius from Dayton, and other illustrious though distant composers from the first half of the twentieth century, like Kurt Weill or Harry Warren? As usual, reading the sleeve notes proves enlightening: The Romanian pianist based in Paris pays tribute here to her multiple early influences, alternating between an incipient attraction to jazz (Ellingtonia, standards from Broadway musicals, bebop) and the omnipresent popular music that accompanied her childhood. While the choices in this latter category are obvious, regarding those from jazz territory—or more closely linked to it—the Bucharest-born artist frequently digs deep into the treasure chest. This is particularly noticeable with the Strayhorn pieces, though this is probably the result of a logical interest in not revisiting works already covered in her earlier recordings.

Horvath's great achievement in this project is crafting an approach that unifies such disparate program, clothing them in a formal continuity and coherence. This might give a hypothetical alien music lover the impression that this attractive earthly curiosity comes, in its entirety, from a single author or style. To this must be added that her treatment of the well-known soul and pop songs avoids overt recreation: Instead, the trio seeks to provoke a studied, never showy harmonic and rhythmic surprise in the listener, who is inevitably familiar with content that has been replayed ad nauseam—a further undeniable merit of the leader, who arranged all the selections on the disc. Another key criterion is concision: Few of the twelve tracks exceed five minutes, and consequently, the collective statements and solo developments enjoy a judicious brevity.

Complicity is fundamental for an undertaking of this nature, and Horvath seems to know it well. For this reason, she has turned to her regular collaborators, combining them in two different formats. Thus, to approach the traditional compositions, she has added the honorable tenor saxophone of André Villéger—a presence on her debut—to her working trio of Nicolas Rageau on double bass and Antoine Paganotti on drums, the same lineup that produced Carmen's Karma (Camille Productions, 2023). Versions of more recent material from other genres are performed by the trio alone. As for the pianist, she continues to proudly carry that sheet music folder containing the teachings of Earl Hines, Fats Waller, Teddy Wilson, Erroll Garner and Bud Powell, along with those of numerous other forgers of jazz piano identity prior to the arrival of the avant-garde movements.

Evergreen Favorites

Beginning a jazz album with a reading of "Heal the World" is a somewhat risky bet—it could irreversibly turn away all those not sympathetic to Jackson's well-intentioned but melodically saccharine side. However, the surgery is applied from second zero through an energetic intro with tribal airs, completely unexpected. The revitalizing treatment oscillates between Austral jazz and the Ahmad Jamal of the late '50s, with a chorus that takes on Terraza-like qualities. Perhaps we're witnessing one more of those "New Standards" that Herbie Hancock, clairvoyantly, pointed to decades ago: Antonio Faraò also revisits it on a work, likewise issued in 2025, named after this song. Similarly, Wonder's "You're the Sunshine of My Life" receives an intelligent transformation, though not as radical. Horvath darkens and gospelizes it under a magnetic groove, cleverly avoiding the most well-worn path without losing direction. Among the quotes—a constant throughout the album—pianistic nods to "I Got Rhythm" and the celebrated "Isn't She Lovely," this latter courtesy of the entire trio in the track's closing moment. Along the way, Rageau delivers an inspired, highly cantabile solo, and Paganotti gives support with discreet brilliance.

"How Deep Is Your Love" (not the ocean), or waltzing the Bee Gees: Here is one of the record's revisions that, without the help of credits would be, on first listen, most difficult to recognize. Surely the most sophisticated reworking on the album, including a perceptive reharmonization, skillful melodic masking and a remarkable contribution by Rageau, with greetings to Charlie Haden. After the bassist, Horvath infuses classic drama into the falsetto romanticism of the memorable chorus, and ends up linking the Gibb brothers with Waller's "Jitterbug Waltz." Conversely, "Just the Way You Are" stands as the most conventional point on the recording, with a reading rhythmically more marked than the original but very faithful to it. A show of respect for one of the most iconic pop-rock pieces of the '70s? Either way, Horvath delivers on Billy Joel's love anthem one of her most delicious performances, filled with her acute, optimistic musicality. Rageau maintains the momentum with a solo in which he seems to tip his hat to Phil Woods' sensational appearances on the initial release, while Paganotti sparkles in a succinct final vamp. Closing the chapter on pop adaptations is "Saving All My Love for You," updating and strengthening the song included on Whitney Houston's debut album. Its bossa touches, showcasing Rageau and the—in this recording— remarkably restrained Paganotti, avoid that so-very-'80s instrumental blandness of the original to instead connect with the sophisticated yet powerful vocalism of its inimitable interpreter.

A Trio with Four Corners

The most recondite pages of Strayhorn's songbook dominate the classical renderings, performed in quartet. Leading them is "Lament for an Orchid" (aka "Absynthe"), a rarely revisited number—Duke Ellington And His Orchestra recorded it only once, and there are a few contemporary versions, such as those by Fred Hersch, the UMO Helsinki Jazz Orchestra or Franck Amsallem. In her reading, Horvath gives prominence to Villéger, who unfolds a deliberate, intoxicating discourse, totally in tune with the composition's alternative title. The leader delivers a brief solo, packed with fleeting but consistent ideas, then yields the floor again to the Frenchman, wisely accompanying the noble sonorities of his velvety tenor. The saxophonist shows his most sensual side on "Ballad for Very Tired and Very Sad Lotus Eaters," taking us into a musical time tunnel that reconstructs faded memories, secretly trapped in the amber of our subconscious. Horvath gladly takes up the challenge, harmonically perpetuating that sensation of early experience, which, relentless, challenges our confused memory to distinguish between the real and the imagined. Villéger reappears in the bridge and elaborates elegant final motifs under a voice as tremulous as it is respectable. Simply gorgeous.

"Your Love Has Faded" closes the chapter on works by the sometimes-called 'the other Duke.' Dexter Gordon's elongated shadow illuminates this cheerful, confident mid-tempo, with an outstanding Villéger now donning the trench coat of the 'Sophisticated Giant.' Horvath portions out her appearance—no less juicy for being concise—and returns the baton to the tenor man, who closes the take with that masterful narrative and timbral laziness of the unforgettable protagonist of the film 'Round Midnight (1986). Similar vibrations emanate from "Here I'll Stay," a lesser-known Weill theme from the 1948 musical Love Life, which highlights the French saxophonist's most energetic performance in the session—with apparent allusions to "The Party's Over"—as well as excellent comping by Horvath—another of her hallmarks, and something that often goes quite unnoticed.

"I Know Why," a 1941 Harry Warren composition, will bring to many minds another one, the better-known—and one year prior—"Polka Dots and Moonbeams." In it we find Villéger's most moving moments, exposed in an emotional nakedness that Lester Young himself would gladly join. Horvath is not far behind, with a superb intro and a solo that demonstrates why she is so highly regarded among her colleagues and the French specialized press: Her refined rejection of ostentation cannot hide a formidable technique and rich melodic inventiveness, occasionally provided with an academic touch reminiscent of her early classical piano studies.

Two pieces alter—without damaging—the record's conceptual and format coherence. "The Heather on the Hill," a song written by Frederick Loewe for the 1947 Broadway musical Brigadoon, shows us Horvath alone and at her best, grandly reworking the very syrupy original and endowing it with unexpected depth. Traces of Red Garland and Mary Lou Williams integrate naturally into a passage that is sober yet evocative—one more of the album's high points. On the other hand, "JFK" (initials of Hungarian pianist Jancy Korossy, Horvath's mentor) constitutes her only original on the recording. An undeniable—and somewhat routine—bop air floods the atmosphere, in a track saturated with the earlier mentioned constant quotes: a resource much appreciated by those listeners who enjoy testing their musical cognitive faculties, but which, used excessively, can also create the sensation of a superfluous display of influences that undermines the solo discourse. In any case, among the multiple references, a remark by Villéger stands out, as he enthusiastically pays homage to one of Charlie Parker's signature themes... and we will not say which.

Vintage Feel, Contemporary Gaze

"I'm Old Fashioned," from the 1942 movie You Were Never Lovelier, closed Horvath's first album, constituting not only its final cut but also a statement of principles. As Terraza rightly points out in the liner notes, it is refreshing to hear someone who deviates from the mainstream of current pianistic influences and explores the precursors and references prior to—or outside—the trailblazing movements that emerged in the late '50s (okay, let us set aside for a moment mavericks like Lennie Tristano or Thelonious Monk). And it is appreciated if only out of sympathy for an essential diversity, and not necessarily because of our personal affinity with her musical universe. Welcome, then, is the recovery of jazz piano legacy—and the reconversion of content completely unrelated to it—if, beyond disappointing facsimile, it is presented under the coordinates featured in this album: exquisite arranging taste, captivating musicality and inventiveness in abundance—both in solo and comping. Coupled with all this, Absinthe reaffirms a magnificent trio—specifically expanded to quartet—which with every new listening reveals unsuspected nuances. But, above all, it is a vindication of this music's earliest history, a heartfelt offering of that so-necessary innovation within tradition—arguably the most inviting gateway to jazz heritage.

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