Kavyesh Kaviraj: Fables

If there is a more masterly and majestic way to open a debut album than the running the circularity and capricious muscle of "Who Am I" it has not been often heard. It is that sense of hearing a new maker of myth and beauty with a fine ear and a finer talent reveal itself on Twin City's pianist/composer Kavyesh Kaviraj's beautifully balanced Fables.

Surrounding himself and his eight alluring, wistful, compositions with the finest (brashest) of the Midwestern music scene—bassist Jeff Bailey, drummer Kevin Washington, saxophonist Pete Whitman and trumpeter Omar AbdulKarim— Kaviraj tells his stories from the center of the campfire: everyone attentive to the storyteller then letting their innate musicality free.

It makes Fables, a musical memoir, begging for repeated listening. More than seven years in the making, following Kaviraj's journey from Oman through India to Minneapolis studying, playing, and then playing some more, leads to the heartbeat of the opening "Who Am I." A true definition of journey: moving through time with an eloquence that adds to the human condition. The piece shifts and shades, determined to lead the listener into its forceful center. And it does.

The buoyantly tight and snazzy "Saudade" (Brazilian for reminisce) has the keyboardist bubbling along a la George Duke, while drummer Washington bashes and breaks the beat alongside him. Add to mix the poppy tandem of Whitman and Abdulkarim and it becomes a fun counterpoint to the opening track as well as a prologue to the bold and riveting "Rain." It comes on like a deluge with every resultant rivulet and stream holding its own melodic newness. Washington again clears the way with Bailey, hot on his heels, pushing, pushing, driving the drums and piano to exciting heights of spirit and communion. Kaviraj's fierce, symmetrical ostinato gives leeway to another explosive performance by Washington. Try not hitting replay.

The dreamlike "Beloved" follows, its lullaby-like keyboards, whispery vocals and pensive Abdulkarim solo making for a comforting respite. "They Cannot Expel Hope," featuring an extended, high-flying Whitman solo, coils, stirs and whiplashes. The pianist gives himself a wide swath here—one moment Oscar Peterson, the next Kenny Barron. "Lullabye" is by no means meant to send listeners to sleep. On the contrary, it is meant for each to dream. Dream of community, commonwealth, and a future free of our trivialities. Fables closes as grandly and honorably human as Fables began with the near-epic "Smoke of the Midnight Lamp." The track is not only a showcase for all but an anthem for unity. That all join in at the end in one common da da da de da da da da de da "Hey Jude" like chorus as the music hits its peak is a pure bonus. Try not hitting replay.

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