Batik: Headland

Batik may be a relatively new group but there's a natural chemistry in this debut recording that is the result of long years playing together in a variety of contexts. The genesis of the group dates back to Joost Lijbaart and Wolfert Brederode's duo collaborations, which began in 2005 and the pair are also part of the Yuri Honing Acoustic Quartet. Bassist Mark Haanstra and Lijbaart play in Honing's splendid Wired Paradise. Five of the eleven original tunes were composed by Brederode, with Lijbaart and guitarist Ed Verhoeff penning one apiece, but a genuinely collaborative feel permeates the music.

The diverse strands—jazz, contemporary chamber, rock and Zen funk to varying degrees—are interwoven to create a fresh sound that bears little comparison to anything out there. That's no mean feat in itself and the result of individual egos submitting to the group sound; solos are brief and always part of a melodic continuum—as opposed to distinct episodes—and not a note or a beat is wasted. Brederode's two-handed overlapping motifs gently course through the subtly melodic "Neon," with bass and guitar treading lightly. Lijbaart on sotto voce mallets—and a glockenspiel cameo—is the quietest voice in the mix.

Lijbaart's restrained approach significantly influences the group sound; rustling percussion like dried leaves and whispering cymbals accompany Brederode's achingly lyrical exploration on "Intertwined," with Verhoff a sympathetic counter voice. The guitarist leads from the front on "Headlands"—an urgent number fuelled by Brederode's fast-repeating piano figures—and delivers an animated solo that's rare in the context of the album as a whole. In the main, the four voices feed constantly off each other, interlocking in unison lines and overlapping in rhythmic and melodic waves; the infectious "Dharma," built on a warpath bass drum heart-beat and an edgy piano mantra ticks those boxes in delightfully catchy style.

Bass pulse and percussive nuance colour the minimalist vignette "Glow." More striking is "Lady Y," which seems like two songs wrestling in the same skin; meditative piano and guitar are rudely interrupted by a bustling drum and bass intrusion, leading to a quasi-psychedelic passage of some intensity. A more unified melodic voice charts the brooding, quietly epic "Cirrus," which revolves around a repeating piano motif that sinks its claws deep. By contrast, "If You Hear me Talking to Myself" treads as softly as a lullaby, with electric and acoustic guitar fusing in gentle harmony.

On "Menado" interweaving guitar and piano spin hypnotic spiralling lines over a light bass and brushes groove, conjuring notions of guitarist Steve Hillage meets Nik Bärtsch Ronin. The title track returns to more brooding terrain, wedding Brederode's glacial motif with a dark bass ostinato, rumbling mallets and crying electric guitar.

Headland is a seductive debut from a truly original quartet. The four musicians' distinctive colors bleed into a communal pool to form multiple hues and interlacing patterns that are at once meditative and uplifting. Impossible to categorize, impossible to remain indifferent.