Jazzkaar Festival 2025

Jazzkaar
Von Krahl/Fotografiska
Tallinn, Estonia
April 20-April 26, 2025

When arriving in Tallinn, Estonia, the city reveals its quiet, timeless beauty—a place where medieval charm and modern energy coexist. It is a city where old-world atmosphere meets cutting-edge innovation, recognized as one of the most tech-savvy capitals in Europe. Despite its digital edge, Tallinn maintains a deep connection to its traditions, reflected in its rich cultural life and the numerous museums that populate the city. The Old Town feels like a living museum, yet each neighborhood brings a distinct character and rhythm. Walking through the cobblestoned alleys, past church spires and centuries-old merchant houses, is like stepping into a history book—one that is still being written. Yet Tallinn is far from frozen in time. Its seamless blend of tradition and innovation becomes increasingly apparent the more one explores.

These qualities come into sharper focus during the weeklong Jazzkaar festival, held at the Telliskivi cultural center. Once an industrial zone, Telliskivi has been transformed into a vibrant arts district. With its bohemian atmosphere and thriving creative scene, it contrasts with the historic Old Town, offering a glimpse into the city's progressive, artistic side. Telliskivi Creative City is a hub of energy and innovation—from trendy cafés and galleries to expressive street art. It is a place where creativity is embedded into the very structure. If Tallinn's Old Town is the poised and elegant face of the city, Telliskivi is its spirited, artistic counterpart—lively, textured, and full of ideas.

With art-covered walls, bustling studios, and cafés abuzz with conversation, Telliskivi embodies the city's forward-thinking spirit. It is here that the deeper rhythm of Tallinn comes to life—and where the pulse of the Jazzkaar Festival can be felt most clearly.

Jazzkaar is not merely a festival; since its founding in 1990, it has grown into the largest jazz event in the Baltics, helping to shape Estonia's cultural identity while drawing musicians and audiences from around the world. What began as a modest gathering has become a celebration of sound and community—anchored in jazz but wide open in its musical direction.

For those experiencing Estonia for the first time, Jazzkaar offers more than a concert schedule—it offers a sense of place. Held each spring, the festival transforms venues throughout the city, with Telliskivi as its creative heart. Here, the contrasts of Tallinn come alive: unexpected, vibrant, and quietly magnetic. With its blend of industrial remnants and contemporary vision, the district provides an ideal setting for the music—unpolished, open, and honest. One of the festival's most defining characteristics is its openness. Under the artistic direction of Anne Erm, who has been with Jazzkaar since its inception, the event fosters a genuine sense of community. Erm curates the program with both discernment and warmth, bringing together artists—and observers—from across the globe in ways that are thoughtful, dynamic, and deeply human.

The main program took place between two primary venues: the larger, theatrical Von Krahl and the more intimate Fotografiska. Each offered a distinct atmosphere and a unique way of drawing the audience in. Most striking was the nature of the audience itself—young, curious, and deeply engaged. There was a palpable sense of openness and a shared desire for authenticity.

Music extended beyond traditional stages, flowing into hidden corners of Telliskivi, repurposed warehouses, spontaneous jam sessions, and the city streets. One moment brought a hushed ballad, the next a bold fusion of jazz with folk, electronic textures, or hip-hop. No two sets were alike, yet all were unified by a common thread: improvisation, playfulness, and emotional depth. Jazzkaar reaffirms that jazz is not a static genre—it evolves, adapts, and continually searches for new expressions without losing sight of its roots.

Sunday, April 20

A Warm Welcome into Tallinn's Jazz Heart: The First Day at Jazzkaar

The first day at Jazzkaar unfolded with a soft landing—both in tone and tempo. In Telliskivi, Tallinn's creative and cultural hub, the festival's guests were welcomed with warmth and quiet attentiveness. A brief tour introduced the area, a former industrial zone now transformed into a lively district filled with artistic expression, culinary offerings, and community energy. Among the first stops were the festival's two main venues—Von Krahl Theatre and Fotografiska—each with its distinct character, each essential to Jazzkaar's programming.

From the beginning, the experience extended beyond performance halls. A chance encounter led to a yoga session accompanied by a live ambient set from guitarist Argo Vals. His echo-laden guitar tones gave the practice a meditative, spacious quality. It was a subtle but effective example of how Jazzkaar integrates music into everyday moments, blurring the line between concert and daily rhythm.

Just steps away, between the main venues, stood the Jazzkaar information tent. More than an info point, it also hosted a small vinyl market—crates of records inviting passersby to pause, dig, and discover. Classic albums, hidden gems, and surprising finds added a tactile, nostalgic layer to the festival's contemporary spirit. It was another reminder that Jazzkaar celebrates music in all its formats and expressions—not just performance, but culture and community as well.

One of the most unexpected highlights came in the form of a house concert. A small group was invited to a private home in Tallinn for a performance by the Blackout Trio. The setting was intimate and warmly lit, with no more than twenty attendees seated close to the musicians. With a lineup featuring accordion and rhythm section, the trio offered a set that felt light and playful, with a touch of French elegance and occasional Dixieland spirit. Their repertoire included melodic pieces by Estonian composers as well as timeless classics such as "La Vie en Rose," "Blue Moon," and "The Best Things in Life Are Free." It was an experience that blurred the line between concert and conversation—more gathering than event.

The atmosphere throughout the day reflected the character of the festival itself—quietly inviting, understated, and built on genuine connection. Estonian hospitality revealed itself in small gestures: thoughtful, sincere and unforced.

Rather than seeking to overwhelm, Jazzkaar offers a gradual unfolding—an atmosphere of intimacy, where music meets space, and every detail contributes to a sense of place. Even before the evening's headline performance by pianist Kristjan Randalu, it was clear that Jazzkaar was more than a schedule of concerts. It is a cultural experience carefully curated to engage, surprise, and welcome. And on this opening day, a strong sense emerged that something quietly extraordinary was already beginning to take shape.

Kristjan Randalu's Margins and Dividends

The opening night of Jazzkaar 2025 drew a full house of curious ears, lured by the promise of something rooted in history yet strikingly contemporary. Estonian pianist Kristjan Randalu, joined by a hand-picked ensemble of adventurous musicians, presented Margins and Dividends—a bold reimagining of Jaan Rääts's Marginalia for Piano. Rather than a faithful rendering, this was an expansive sonic transformation, an ambitious reworking that collided modern improvisation, electronics, and genre-hopping gestures with Randalu's deep connection to the source material.

Instead of performing all 24 of Rääts's miniatures, Randalu chose select pieces that intuitively spoke to him. This curatorial approach allowed space for spontaneity, but it also exposed a structural imbalance that lingered throughout the performance. The concert frequently shifted between rhythmic tightness and loose, improvisational stretches, where the musicians leaned into one another, reacting fluidly in real time. At its best, this interplay felt alive and searching. At other points, the eclecticism felt unbalanced.

The set began with a slow build: Randalu looping gentle piano motifs that teased out the ghostly contours of Rääts's original ideas. Norwegian guitarist Eivind Aarset added atmospheric textures via his signature e-bow technique—less guitar, more shifting weather. Randalu added physicality by reaching into the piano to pluck strings, drawing from both prepared piano techniques and prog rock theatrics.

The concert's defining feature was its blend of genres: contemporary jazz, ambient, classical, and prog rock. When balanced, this genre fluidity brought unexpected beauty. But sometimes, the transitions between styles felt abrupt, even jarring—especially when moving from quiet minimalism into full-blown jazz-rock crescendos. Drummer Hans Kurvits navigated these pivots with precision, often steering the ensemble into denser rhythmic territory. Some passages felt symphonic, while others flirted with the excess of '70s-era fusion.

The second piece opened ambiently—shimmering bowed synths from Taavi Kerikmäe underpinned Randalu's lyrical piano. But just as the atmosphere settled, the band launched into a melodic prog sequence that, while technically impressive, felt disconnected from what preceded it. A brief theremin interlude provided a quirky, unpredictable moment—but again, the shift in tone underscored the evening's central tension: stylistic range versus emotional coherence.

By the third piece, the ensemble seemed more unified. Slower-paced and more restrained, it allowed Aarset's guitar to truly sing, his lines weaving delicately through Randalu's grounded piano work. Here, the blend of genres felt natural, not forced. Though some synthesizer sounds bordered on dated, the jazzier moments brought a fresh fluidity that the earlier segments lacked. Still, the fifth piece stood out—leaning into jazz-rock with layered drums and a grounded, soulful bass solo by Mihkel Mälgand. The ambient section that followed—muted theremin, gentle piano—was among the evening's most introspective and cohesive.

Most of the compositions were lengthy, which gave time for Randalu's stories to unfold. The final piece evoked the cinematic breadth of Mike Oldfield, with ambient flourishes and painterly pacing. Piano lines floated in and out like memory fragments, while Aarset's guitar noise surged in waves. By this point, the ensemble felt fully immersed in a shared sonic vocabulary, and the audience followed willingly.

Margins and Dividends was less a tribute than a complex conversation—between past and present, form and freedom, clarity and chaos. By threading Rääts's neoclassical miniatures through modern textures and shifting moods, Randalu didn't just revisit the work of a mentor. He gave it new contours, new light. Yet while Randalu's vision is ambitious and often moving, the overall experience was uneven. The quieter, more introspective reinterpretations offered the most cohesion and emotional resonance. When the performance slowed down and trusted silence, it revealed a deeper emotional logic that was sometimes lost in the genre-hopping grandeur.

In revisiting Rääts through such a prism, Randalu offered a compelling meditation on musical inheritance—and a reminder that sometimes, restraint speaks louder than spectacle.

Monday, April 21

Maria Faust & The Economics

On the second evening of Jazzkaar, the stage at Von Krahl transformed into a dimly-lit corner of a noir film, drawing the audience into the cinematic world of Maria Faust & The Economics. Known for her inventive style that fuses jazz, neoclassical elements and theatrical storytelling, Maria Faust brought a performance that was as moody and textured as it was musically rich. This wasn't just a concert—it was a slow-burn film in sound.

The performance was rooted in Moneyland, a production that recently won the Estonian Theatre Award for original music. Originally composed for the Estonian National Drama Theatre, the score was inspired by the Danske Bank money laundering scandal—a heavy theme made surprisingly graceful through Faust's deft compositional hand. At Jazzkaar, the music stepped out of the theatre and into its own light, becoming a story told in solos, silences, and playful bursts of ensemble energy.

The show opened with a saxophone solo that set the tone: intimate, introspective, almost whispering. Faust, a sensitive and precise player, immediately drew the audience in with her subtle dynamics and emotional clarity. One by one, the rest of the ensemble joined in, layering sounds like shadows gathering in an alleyway—slowly, meaningfully.

There were moments when the music took a step back to make room for spoken word. Actors Tõnis Niinemets and Karmo Nigula, both part of the original stage production, read courtroom excerpts and press clippings, their voices calm and resonant against the gentle tension of a trumpet or trombone in the background. These readings added another layer of gravity, but also made the performance more human—anchoring the abstract beauty of the music in real-world narratives.

Faust's compositions have a strong identity. Mournful melodies threaded their way through many of the pieces, evoking a blend of gospel, carnival, and New Orleans jazz—though never quite resting in any one style. One tune, playfully upbeat, flirted with circus rhythms. Another took a quieter turn, nearly meditative. Each piece felt like a variation on a theme, circling back with new shades of emotion, like re-reading a story and finding a different meaning.

There is a certain restraint in Faust's writing that is reminiscent of Wynton Marsalis—not in imitation, but in the thoughtful use of space, in the way arrangements rise and fall with purpose. And yet, her sound is unmistakably her own: layered, lyrical, and often surprising. The melodies are inventive, the arrangements strong with an equally strong emotional resonance. Faust clearly knows how to guide her musicians through complex territory while leaving room for spontaneity.

Maria Faust & The Economics didn't just perform Moneyland—they lived in it, invited us into it, and let it speak through them. It was film noir in sound, but also something warmer, something oddly hopeful.

Nota Bene: Kristjan Kannukene/Mikk Kaasik

As part of Jazzkaar's dedication to showcasing young talent, Kristjan Kannukene delivered a bold and imaginative performance that blurred genre lines and expanded the possibilities of solo performance. With his wild Einstein-like hair and calm presence, Kannukene took the stage with electric guitar in hand, later switching to viola—his primary instrument—as the evening unfolded.

Opening with a raw, rock-inflected singer-songwriter piece, he set a casual, intimate tone. The next song, in contrast, was more reflective and melodic, showing his range not just as a player, but as a composer with a feel for nuance. Kannukene's set included works by Christian Petzold as well as his own compositions inspired by the New Testament, signaling both a reverence for tradition and a drive to reinterpret it through his own lens.

What made the concert especially compelling was his use of the viola—not in a classical sense, but as an exploratory tool. He coaxed out eerie textures, almost cinematic in nature, using effect pedals, live loops, and pre-recorded bird sounds to create immersive soundscapes. Some pieces had a distinctly folkish, dramatic flair—melodies that felt rooted in Estonian heritage but filtered through a modern, experimental aesthetic.

At one point, Kannukene took out a spherical object and began vocalizing throat-singing-like sounds while walking among the audience. It was a theatrical moment, unexpected and strangely moving, emphasizing his performance as much more than just a concert—it was an experience.

Mikk Kaasik

Mikk Kaasik took the stage at Jazzkaar with an energy that immediately lifted the room, his youthful vitality charging the air. Dressed in a white jumpsuit, the Estonian jazz pianist delivered a performance that was as dynamic as it was playful. From the very first note, it was clear that Kaasik is a rising star in the jazz world, blending his classical background with his deep love for jazz, fusion, and funk.

The band, tight and cohesive, laid down a solid rhythm section that set the foundation for Kaasik's creative exploration. The grooves were unmistakably funky—light, smooth, and infectious—evoking comparisons to the white funk style of bands like the one led by Nate Smith. The interplay between Kaasik and his fellow musicians was a pleasure to watch; they were in sync, constantly feeding off each other's energy, creating a sound that was both sophisticated and accessible.

Keelepeksjad (Von Krahl)

Keelepeksjad brought together the infectious energy of funk with the earthy textures of folk music. This quartet's sound was an adventurous blend—groovy, rooted, and full of personality. From the very first notes, there was a rhythm you could feel in your body: lively, inviting, and full of joy.

What stood out immediately was the band's chemistry. Their rhythmic foundation was rock solid, and you could tell they were truly enjoying themselves—bouncing off each other's ideas, pushing the music forward, and keeping things fresh. That sense of fun was contagious.

Though their music drew heavily from folk traditions, they did not hesitate to mix things up. You could catch glimpses of punk's raw edge and funk's irresistible drive—spiky in places, electric in others—but always anchored in those traditional melodies. The twin guitars of Jaak Sooäär and Marek Talts added surprising harmonic depth, layering the music in rich, unexpected ways. It was a pleasure to hear how they took familiar themes and gave them a new twist, breathing fresh life into rhythms that have been around for generations.

The performance took another interesting turn when singer Jaan Pehk joined the group for a set of songs. His voice brought an additional dimension to the music, balancing the instrumental complexity with a melodic, almost storytelling quality. It was a perfect pairing, as the band's energy and Pehk's voice melded together beautifully, creating a rich soundscape that felt both modern and deeply rooted in tradition.

Tuesday, April 22

Kadri Voorand with Mihkel Mälgand (Home concert)

There are concerts, and then there are moments that feel like gatherings of kindred spirits. Kadri Voorand 's performance with Mihkel Mälgand on the third day of Jazzkaar was not just a concert—it was an invitation into someone's world. Held in a private home filled with books, art, and treasures collected from across the globe, the setting itself told a story even before a single note was played. The hosts, seasoned travelers who have wandered everywhere—including my own homeland of Macedonia—offered their space not just as a venue, but as an extension of their curiosity and generosity. It was the perfect backdrop for a performance that explored the inner and outer landscapes of travel—through sound, memory, and emotion.

Their music was a journey, both outward and inward. Kadri's voice danced over Mihkel's rich double bass—sometimes softly spoken, sometimes echoing like a distant thought. "Imagine" by John Lennon appeared mid-set, turned into a hazy, dreamlike landscape by the echoing vocals and gentle piano. Kadri shifted between instruments, at one point picking up a violin—not to play melodies traditionally, but to scratch and stroke it into ambient textures.

They created entire atmospheres: folk melodies wrapped in loops, a song inspired by history and time, and even a chant-like number with a def drum and haunting vocals that recalled Nordic shamanic traditions. Their final piece, about wild rosemary, was both earthy and whimsical—much like Kadri herself.

Christian Lillinger, Arkady Gotesman, Kresten Osgood—Percussive Play and Power

Three drummers from three different corners of Europe—Germany's Christian Lillinger , Lithuania's Arkady Gotesman and Denmark's Kresten Osgood—came together not to showcase their technical prowess individually, but to merge it into a shared language of rhythm and theatrical spontaneity. What unfolded was not a concert in the traditional sense, but an improvised sonic performance art piece: volatile, surprising, and strangely intimate.

There was no script. Just instinct. Two of the musicians were seated at standard drum kits, while the third stood, constantly moving between instruments—or sometimes objects—transforming each surface into a potential rhythm-maker. At one moment, one tapped delicately on a wine glass filled with dried flowers, coaxing out dry, brittle textures. Another barely brushed a cymbal, letting it shimmer into the silence. Their interaction was elastic and alive, stretching from rumbling crescendos to ambient near-stillness. Lights followed their tempo, dimming and flaring in tandem with the pulse. The entire stage was their canvas.

Then, a shift in the atmosphere: Maria Faust entered. Carrying her alto saxophone like a secret weapon, she did not merely join the trio—she detonated a new dimension of energy. Her entrance was less a collaboration than a disruption, in the most exhilarating sense. Her playing was not about melody, but about summoning something primal. With shrieks, growls, and guttural cries from her horn, she conjured the ghost of Albert Ayler, turning the room into a volatile soundscape of free jazz and sonic exorcism. The drummers rose to meet her intensity, responding with surges of rhythm and texture, until the entire ensemble sounded like a thunderstorm tearing through a cathedral.

And then—just as abruptly—a single handclap snapped them all into a syncopated, funky rhythm, anchoring the chaos in groove. It was spontaneous, yet perfectly timed. A reminder that behind the freedom was always intention.

Lakecia Benjamin (Von Krahl)

Lakecia Benjamin does not ease into a performance—she arrives, all in, and takes the audience with her. Dressed in radiant gold, the New York-based saxophonist and composer turned the stage at Jazzkaar into a vortex of rhythm, groove, and unapologetic energy. Her presence was electric from the very first note, kicking things off with a powerful John Coltrane piece that served less as an opener and more as a declaration. This was not going to be a polite jazz recital—it was going to burn.

And burn it did.

Backed by an exceptional band, Benjamin charged forward with relentless drive. Her alto saxophone cut through the space with both precision and abandon, full of fire but always under control. The dynamic between her and drummer Dorian Phelps was something special—a rhythmic conversation charged with adrenaline. His playing was not just supportive; it was propulsive. His short solo—a furious, imaginative two-minute explosion—left the room breathless, and Benjamin fed off that momentum in real time. Their constant interplay was a highlight of the night, suggesting a deep musical rapport that elevated every tune.

At one point, she dedicated her take on "My Favorite Things" to both John Coltrane and Estonia—a gesture that was heartfelt and fitting. The piece itself was a storm of movement: intense, focused, yet full of space for each member of the band to shine. The funk-laced handclapping that followed turned the concert into a communal celebration, showing how Benjamin knows exactly when to drop the theory and just groove.

And while she is known for her fire, there was grace, too. After a jaw-dropping saxophone solo, she shifted into a mid-tempo tune that showcased her melodic sensibility. Delicate lines, expressive phrasing, and a laid-back rhythm—it was not about showing off, it was about storytelling. That balance of ferocity and finesse is what makes her such a magnetic performer.

Her rapport with the audience was effortless—funny, warm, and genuine. She made the space feel intimate, even while playing music that soared. To close the main set, the band dove into a funk piece that left no one sitting still. And for the encore? Stevie Wonder's "Higher Ground," delivered with both reverence and playfulness, as if to say: we have been through fire, now let us dance through the smoke.

Lakecia Benjamin plays jazz like her life depends on it. Her performance at Jazzkaar was not just technically impressive—it was alive, pulsing with spirit, sweat, and soul.

Anemoon (Fotografiska)

One of Jazzkaar's enduring charms is its openness to fresh voices, giving a platform to emerging and promising acts. Anemoon, led by Anna Regina Kalk and Anett Tamm , fit that bill. Their performance was an honest effort by two young artists finding their footing and sound. While the set did not quite leave a lasting impression, it served as a stepping stone—a glimpse into potential still taking shape.

Luísa Sobral (Von Krahl)

Luisa Sobral's performance at Jazzkaar stood out for its understated intimacy. More than a conventional concert, the set unfolded as a sequence of stories, songs, and light-hearted interludes delivered with ease and warmth.

Dressed simply and armed with her acoustic guitar and a quick smile, the Portuguese singer-songwriter brought a deeply personal and playful energy to the stage. "I talk a lot," she confessed early on—and thankfully, she did. Her banter, a mix of wit, warmth and sincere reflection, made the audience feel completely at ease.

Musically, Sobral's sound drifts gently between jazz, bossa nova, folk and classic singer-songwriter territory, often with a nostalgic sheen that recalls artists like Peggy Lee or Madeleine Peyroux. Her voice, light and expressive, danced effortlessly through songs about love, motherhood, heartbreak, and the little details that give life its texture.

Highlights included "Mary of the Sea" (or "Maria do Mar"), sung in Portuguese with emotional precision, and a new song written for her fourth child—a playful, affectionate tune that showcased Sobral's talent for turning everyday experiences into poetic expressions. Another standout, "Why Should I?," channeled a smoky, vintage jazz vibe, its phrasing and mood reminiscent of classic torch songs.

Throughout the evening, her rapport with the audience was effortless, her stories endearing, and her music both approachable and refined. Even when she veered into more serious themes, the tone remained intimate rather than heavy. For the encore, she returned with a soft, poignant version of a ballad that left the room in quiet admiration.

Luísa Sobral may defy musical labels, but what she offers is clear: music that is thoughtful, beautifully written, and deeply human. Not every concert needs fireworks—sometimes, the gentle glow is more than enough. This was another highlight.

Wednesday, April 23

Stillness in Sound: A Visit to the Arvo Pärt Centre

As part of Jazzkaar's thoughtfully curated program for international journalists, a visit to the Arvo Pärt Centre in Laulasmaa offered a distinct experience—a serene retreat nestled in the Estonian forest, not far from Tallinn. More than an archive, the Centre reflects the spirit of Pärt's music: contemplative, spiritual, and profoundly quiet.

Set among pine trees and accompanied by birdsong, the building—designed by Nieto Sobejano—blends into its natural environment. Long, light-filled hallways and minimalist interiors echo the composer's tintinnabuli style: elements are pared down, intentional, and resonant. Although no performance took place during the visit, the concert and cinema halls were conceived with the same attention to silence and acoustics that characterize Pärt's sound. Even in stillness, the space retains a sense of musical presence.

The visit began with an informal gathering over coffee, followed by a guided tour of the Centre's facilities. The building includes a small cinema, a concert hall, a chapel, and a spacious library and archive that holds books, manuscripts, personal correspondence, recordings, and films. In contrast to today's often frenetic pace, the Centre extends an invitation to pause and listen with intention.

This excursion formed part of a series of cultural outings organized by Jazzkaar, which also included a tour of Fotografiska and a guided walk through Tallinn's Old City. Among these, the quiet of Laulasmaa stood out—a lasting impression of calm and reflection.

Jazzawards

There is a quiet resonance in how many Estonians engage with nature—through clean, purposeful and minimal design. In several of the locations visited, locally crafted jewelry made from wood or amber spoke to a deep-rooted connection with the land. The Jazzkaar awards reflected a similar sensibility. Rather than traditional trophies, honorees received photographic works by renowned Estonian photographer Kaupo Kikkas, depicting the country's natural landscapes. These awards served as a reminder of the value of simplicity, beauty and shared experience.

This year's recognitions included pianist Kristjan Randalu, named Jazz Artist of the Year for his refined and expressive artistry. The ensemble Mathei Florea New Grounds received the Jazz Ensemble of the Year award, while veteran saxophonist Lembit Saarsalu was honored for a lifelong contribution to Estonian jazz. Mikk Kaasik was named Audience Favourite.

Karmen Rõivassepp & Aarhus Jazz Orchestra—A Night of Lush Contrasts and Brilliance (Von Krahl)

There are some evenings when music does not just sound good—it feels like a living, breathing thing. That is exactly what happened when Estonian vocalist and composer Karmen Rõivassepp joined forces with the mighty Aarhus Jazz Orchestra for a live performance that highlighted their collaborative album Ambivalence (Jaeger Community Music, 2023). The concert offered a vibrant mix of elegance, spontaneity and layered storytelling, driven by Rõivassepp 's warm presence and the orchestra's powerhouse sound.

From the opening piece, "Green Rain," it was clear this was going to be a journey. The lush arrangements unfolded like chapters in a poetic novella, with the orchestra setting the emotional landscape for Rõivassepp's voice to wander, float, and occasionally, blaze through. She followed immediately with "Lauliku talveüksindus," an Estonian title that roughly translates to "The Singer's Winter Solitude," and it paired beautifully with "Green Rain"—two moods sitting beside each other in perfect contrast.

Throughout the concert, Rõivassepp 's scatting was a real highlight—playful, precise, and deeply musical. Her voice often acted as a thread weaving through the massive sound of the big band, never overwhelmed, always articulate. She has a flair for taking control of the stage without ever seeming like she is trying. Her charisma is not in-your-face; it is quiet and magnetic, and it draws you in.

Tracks like "The Swing Wants Mittens" and "Ambivalence" showed the orchestra at full strength, blending complexity and clarity. The arrangements (by Rõivassepp herself) gave plenty of room for the band's members to shine, especially the soloists. A baritone sax solo rumbled with a raw, textured edge, while the alto sax brought a cooler, nimble breeze to the atmosphere. The trombonist's feature was particularly soulful—an earthy counterpoint to Rõivassepp 's ethereal phrasing.

"Panic Upon Arrival," one of the standout pieces from the album and the live set, lived up to its title, bursting with energy and a sense of beautiful unrest. The tension in the arrangement was masterfully executed, and when Rõivassepp returned to sing after an explosive drum solo, her voice cut through with a calming confidence, like a lighthouse in a storm.

And then there was "Ei Näe Enam" ("No Longer See"), with its delicate unfolding, and "Metropol," which closed the formal set with cinematic richness. The bonus material—an intro vocal piece and the hauntingly brief "Hidden in the Melody"—acted like a soft epilogue, a curtain slowly being drawn.

What is remarkable about Karmen Rõivassepp is how naturally she balances her multiple roles: composer, arranger, bandleader and singer. Each song was a small world, carefully crafted but never stiff. With the Aarhus Jazz Orchestra behind her, this felt like a shared vision made real—bold but never brash, refined yet full of feeling.

This wasn not just a concert. It was a statement—an affirmation that large-scale jazz projects can still feel intimate, that complexity can be lyrical, and that ambivalence, when handled with this much care and artistry, can be utterly captivating.

Bill Laurance & Michael League at Jazzkaar: An Evening of Intimate Brilliance (Von Krahl)

There are concerts that dazzle with their scale, and there are those that pull you into a quiet, magnetic world—a shared, intimate space between the musicians and audience. The performance by Bill Laurance and Michael League at Jazzkaar was decidedly the latter: an evening steeped in warmth, familiarity, and quiet wonder.

You could feel it from the first note—a kind of invisible thread tethering the two musicians, as if their instruments were merely extensions of an ongoing conversation they had been having for decades. In a way, they have. Their journey began in the early 2000s during a serendipitous session in Leeds, and from that chance meeting grew Snarky Puppy, countless tours, solo records, and now this deeply personal duo.

On stage, there was no pomp or posturing. Just a piano, a fretless bass, an oud, and two musicians in sync, taking their time. Their set—drawing from their releases Where You Wish You Were (ACT, 2023) and Keeping Company (ACT, 2024)—unfolded like a shared notebook of sketches, reveries and playful tangents. The music was cinematic without being grandiose, contemplative yet never brooding.

League, known to many as the engine of Snarky Puppy brought something more elemental here. He coaxed sounds from his bass guitar and oud that felt both rooted and searching. Watching him tap and pluck the bass, turning it into a rhythmic and melodic multitool, was a quiet thrill. And when he picked up the oud, the music shifted into another dimension—warm, strange, slightly melancholic. It is a sound that does not shout, but whispers things you did not know you needed to hear.

Laurance, meanwhile, was a master of space and mood. His piano playing—full of restraint and nuance—leaned more toward storytelling than spectacle. He moved effortlessly between classical lyricism and jazz's more fluid harmonies, adding emotional clarity to every piece without crowding the frame. Occasionally, he leaned into prepared piano textures, adding just enough friction to give the music a human edge.

But beyond the instruments, what truly anchored the performance was the chemistry—a kind of joyful telepathy between the two. You could see it in the quick glances, the smiles mid-phrase, the way one would take a melodic idea and gently toss it across the stage like a paper plane, trusting the other to catch it and send it flying again. They pushed each other—not in competition, but in a spirit of mutual exploration.

Between tunes, they chatted easily with the audience, dissolving any sense of distance. It was like two friends sharing their joy and curiosity. The set flowed like a conversation—sometimes meditative, sometimes playful, always deeply intuitive. By the end, the room felt lighter—like we had all been somewhere else for a while, then gently brought back.

Thursday, April 24

Poetic Ways (Von Krahl)

Some concerts leave an impression that lingers quietly, like a scent or a half-remembered dream. The band Poetic Ways was exactly that kind of experience. On stage, saxophonist and composer Raphael Imbert led a quintet of kindred spirits—Pierre-François Blanchard on piano, Pierre Fenichel on double bass, Anne Paceo on drums, and the luminous Célia Kameni on vocals—through a journey that was less a concert and more a poetic meditation.

What was immediately striking was the ease with which the group moved between styles: blues, spirituals, folk melodies, chanson and even 19th-century poetry. But there was nothing forced about it. Their set flowed like a conversation—sometimes whispered, sometimes urgent, always meaningful.

Imbert's passion for text-based narratives shone through in every piece. A standout moment came with the setting of Baudelaire's verse to music by Gabriel Fauré and Léo Ferré, where Kameni's voice floated delicately, suspended in air, then grounded itself with earthy conviction in a Nina Simone cover. Her interpretation of "Ain't Got No, I Got Life" was raw and honest, a voice full of soul and unspoken history.

There was structure, but also risk—Imbert blowing into the mouthpiece alone, Kameni stepping away from the mic for an unamplified a cappella moment. Paceo's drumming held it all together with subtle power, while Blanchard and Fenichel offered tender support, never overplaying.

The project, which began as a one-off live radio experiment in 2021, now feels fully formed—a beautiful gamble that paid off. It is rare to witness a group so attuned to each other, and to the deeper emotional currents of music itself.

Patrik Grundström Trio (Fotografiska)

The trio led by Swedish bassist and composer Patrik Grundström offered a deeply atmospheric and emotionally textured set that unfolded like a story told in waves—gently at first, then gathering intensity before receding into reflection. With Erki Pärnoja on guitar and Ahto Abner on drums, the group created a sound that moved between Nordic folk, cinematic post-rock, and jazz without ever feeling forced or overly polished.

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