Sylvie Courvoisier and Mary Halvorson: Bone Bells

Given that Sylvie Courvoisier and Mary Halvorson are two of the most distinctive instrumentalists in the world of jazz and improvised music, it is a particular treat to hear them together in a duo configuration, where the intimacy of the setting allows for a fuller appreciation of their virtuosity and empathetic sensibilities than is sometimes possible on their more ambitious group projects. Courvoisier's pianistic prowess can be astonishing, but on recordings like 2023's Chimaera (Intakt Records) it was her arranging and composing skills that came to the fore; the same goes for Halvorson's Cloudward (Nonesuch, 2024), in which Halvorson displayed her own evolving vision as a composer. Here, on Bone Bells, Courvoisier and Halvorson's third release together, the emphasis is squarely on the formidable mastery of their respective instruments and the power of their mutual expression, and it is a thoroughly stimulating listen from start to finish.

Unlike its 2021 predecessor, Searching for the Disappeared Hour (Pyroclastic Records), Bone Bells has no jointly improvised tracks to complement the pair's compositions; each player is credited with half of the album's eight pieces. One can hear Courvoisier's classical background peek through in the stately opening title track, built around Courvoisier's steady chordal accompaniment while Halvorson winds her beguiling path through the piece's somber theme; yet midway through, the two switch roles, with Halvorson now providing support for Courvoisier's arresting excursion, augmented with streams of cascading notes. True to form, Courvoisier spends a fair bit of time on the album utilizing prepared sounds, as on "Folded Secret," where an infectious vamp serves as the core of a piece allowing both players opportunities for sprightly explorations.

The recording generates much of its appeal by juxtaposing order with freedom. Take Halvorson's "Nags Head Valse," for instance, which alternates a bright, jaunty waltz theme with periods of almost-free improvisation—and here Halvorson's own experimental instincts emerge, with a battery of quirky sounds and techniques only she can produce from her instrument. Or "Silly Walk," which is hardly silly in light of the piece's diabolically tricky unison passages that still manage to make room for the players' individual personalities to emerge, with both exerting themselves mightily amidst the thunderous collisions that ensue. And "Float Queens" carves out space for am evocative mutual reverie in the middle of a piece that otherwise barrels along formidably.

Closing with Courvoisier's fascinating "Cristellina e Lontano," the two create almost dancelike magic that is especially remarkable in light of the piece's complex and layered structure. It is an unqualified success, much like the album as a whole, which never ceases to captivate and charm.

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