Jazzkaar Festival 2026

Jazzkaar festival 2026
Fotografiska / Von Krahl Theatre / Alexela Concert Hall / Philly Joe's Jazz Club
April 25-May 2, 2026
Tallinn, Estonia

Returning to Tallinn for the Jazzkaar festival for a second time felt a bit like visiting an old friend who always has something new to say. The atmosphere was remarkably expansive, reinforcing the festival's reputation as one of the most imaginative cultural gatherings in the Baltic region—and a reminder of why it proved so compelling the first time around. There's an energy to the programming that persistently challenges any rigid definition of jazz, championing instead a broad, inclusive vision where "music without borders" is the standard rather than the exception. It's less about adhering to genre and more about celebrating what music becomes when it's allowed to grow in every available direction.

What makes Jazzkaar distinctive is how it treats music as a conversation without walls. The lineup expertly balanced a strong presence of domestic talent with international luminaries, creating a cross-continental tapestry of sound in which traditional structures give way, without apology, to soul, avant-garde improvisation, "electro-spiced" textures, funk, and world music influences that challenge any preexisting notion of what a jazz ensemble can or should do.

The festival's physical footprint was equally compelling, centered in the Telliskivi district—a creative hub teeming with workshops, artisans, and galleries. Performances were primarily anchored at the Fotografiska building's concert hall and the storied Von Krahl Theatre, though the festival's reach extended well beyond these industrial-chic borders. By utilizing grander spaces like the Alexela Concert Hall, Philly Joe's Jazz Club, and organizing intimate performances within private homes, the event revealed the multifaceted beauty of Tallinn itself.

Tallinn itself is, in every meaningful sense, part of the program. The medieval Old Town—its 13th-century walls still intact, its Gothic spires still orienting the skyline—carries a weight of history that seeps into everything around it, including the concerts held within its orbit. The festival's principal venues sit within Telliskivi Creative City, a former industrial zone transformed into a lively arts district of cafés, galleries, and studios, and the contrast between those two faces of the city, the ancient and the restlessly contemporary, mirrors something in the music itself: a culture that has absorbed centuries of outside influence and emerged from it with a creative identity that is, against all odds, distinctly and confidently its own.

Beyond the urban sprawl, the management curated excursions that offered deeper immersion into the local environment—journeys into the country that allowed guests to experience the unique, haunting landscapes of the wetlands, the famous Estonian bogs, providing a quiet natural counterpoint to the vibrant energy of the music. It was this holistic approach, blending cutting-edge artistry with the distinct character of the Estonian landscape, that made the experience genuinely unforgettable.

Jazzkaar has been running annually since 1990, and has grown into the largest jazz festival in the Baltic states, but its significance within Estonia runs deeper than scale. It functions as a kind of annual cultural reckoning—a moment when the country's own musicians share a stage with the international, when old stories and new sounds find common ground, and when the city opens itself to visitors in a way that feels genuinely, rather than performatively, welcoming. To experience the festival across its full run is to experience Estonia in something close to concentrated form. The whole time one is there, it feels like a week in which the local scene and the global jazz community are perfectly, and productively, in sync.

Day 1: April 25

Mingo Rajandi—"Lady Sapiens"

The opening night of Jazzkaar has always functioned as a barometer for the festival's artistic courage, and the 2026 edition set an uncompromisingly high bar. This year's inaugural performance, Lady Sapiens, led by the visionary Mingo Rajandi, was less a traditional jazz concert and more a ritualistic descent into the forgotten history of womanhood.

Inspired by the archaeological findings of Thomas Cirotteau, Jennifer Kerner, and Eric Pincas, the project aims to dismantle the "man-the-hunter" myth, repositioning women as the foundational creators and leaders of early civilization. While the official press materials describe this as a conceptual exploration of femininity, the live experience was considerably more visceral—a masterclass in "doom and gloom" storytelling that felt simultaneously ancient and dangerously modern.

The evening began not with a flourish but with a sustained, obsidian drone—a sensory reset that acted upon the audience almost physically. Out of that void emerged a duet of voices, mysterious, folkish, and ancient, weaving through a dense thicket of two double basses and a cello. The initial mood was heavy with "impending doom," grounded by keyboards providing a deep, ominous pulse that established an immediate, terrifying tension never fully released. This opening—a string-heavy lineup of two double basses (Rajandi and Regina Udod), cello (Eugénie Defraigne), and violin/electronics (Maarja Nuut)—felt like a deliberate choice to lean into the lower frequencies of the human psyche, resembling nothing so much as the shedding of the original serpent.

This was textural improvisation of a high order. The sonic palette was defined by a "tapestry of scratches." Rather than relying on conventional virtuosity, the quartet exploited the physical anatomy of their instruments: the friction of brushes on strings, the rhythmic crackle of electronic textures. Maarja Nuut functioned as the ensemble's sonic alchemist, live-tweaking inputs on her laptop before layering haunting, minimalistic violin melodies over the results.

The centerpiece of the performance was a long-form spoken narrative delivered while the music churned with "quiet but terrifying tension." The composition took on a Philip Glass-like urgency here, echoing the gloomy, cyclical, and melodic motifs of his Knee 5. With deep keyboards and wordless, humming "mmmm" melodies, the atmosphere shifted into something remarkably cinematic—evoking the gritty, swampy noir of the True Detective TV series. It was a profound marriage of sound and story, where the music didn't merely accompany the words but acted as the environment in which they lived.

The highlights of the set were found in the restraint of the performers. Regina Udod, a bassist of immense gravitational pull, delivered a solo that eschewed "virtuoso gymnastics" in favor of sheer weight. The vocal work—a blend of duet singing and wordless humming—added a layer of "folkloric doom" that felt like a lament for the centuries of women's history silenced before they could be recorded.

Lady Sapiens was not an easy listen, nor was it meant to be. It was a work of quiet but terrifying drama. By the time the final notes faded, the audience wasn't merely left with the image of a woman as "creator" or "hunter," but with the sobering realization of how much power remains buried in the soil of history. It was a bold, dark, and deeply intellectual start to the festival—a reminder that jazz is at its best when it stops trying to please and starts trying to provoke.

Robinson Khoury—MŸA

If the opening of Jazzkaar 2026 was defined by a descent into dark folklore, Robinson Khoury's performance at Fotografiska was its electric, technicolor antithesis. Bringing his latest project, MŸA, to the Tallinn stage, the French-Lebanese trombonist proved exactly why he is considered the "shining star" of the new French generation—turning the slide trombone into a vessel for everything from microtonal Middle Eastern laments to 90s-inspired dance floor heaters.

The set began in a state of suspended animation: shimmering keyboard textures met a trombone that seemed to have forgotten its brass origins, with Khoury using the slide to imitate the haunting, mournful calls of whales, drifting over a bed of percussion and electronic washes. This cinematic stillness served as the fuse for a sudden burst of high-energy electronica; the atmosphere shifted instantly as interesting, intricate beats took hold, allowing the trombone to glide with astonishing fluidity over a modern digital landscape.

Much of the night's magic can be attributed to the "laboratory" of percussionist Anisa Nehari. Sitting atop a vast array of instruments, Nehari was a powerhouse of texture and precision, whether grounding a delicate ambient piano run by Léo Jassef or driving the more "danceable" segments of the set—her performance was foundational throughout. Together, the trio painted sonic landscapes where Jassef's elegant piano runs acted as a sophisticated counterpoint to the "fruity" synth bass and modular washes that filled the room.

Khoury's willingness to embrace 90s-style electronica produced some of the night's most infectious moments. One standout composition blended heavy jungle beats with the sound of fanfares and layered harmony vocals, creating a nostalgic yet forward-thinking fusion. While some might find the glossier arpeggios of his synth-work a departure from traditional jazz "substance," the live setting proved their worth. A long, virtuosic trombone solo served as a breathtaking introduction to a playful, deeply groovy section that instigated an explosive response from the audience—the drummer, in particular, pushing the energy to a fever pitch and eliciting roars from the crowd.

The finale was a masterclass in balance, offering a delicate mixture of electronica, rapid-fire percussion, and shimmering piano runs—a sophisticated, multi-layered homage to Middle Eastern culture that never felt weighed down by its own ambition. Robinson Khoury didn't just play the trombone; he made it sing and soar through a digital world of his own making, closing the night on a high that left the Fotografiska audience in a state of genuine, palpable delight.

Erki Pärnoja's Himmelbjerget—A Cinematic Anniversary at Von Krahl

There is a rare kind of magic that happens when a band has spent a decade inhabiting the same sonic world. At Von Krahl, Erki Pärnoja and his longtime collaborators didn't just perform a concert; they hosted a homecoming for Himmelbjerget, the debut EP that redirected the course of Estonian instrumental rock music ten years ago.

The evening was defined by a rhythmic playfulness that felt both nostalgic and fresh. Starting with light, engaging patterns on the rhythm box, the band expanded quickly into a soundscape that felt truly epic. The guitar work, shared between Pärnoja and Jonas Kaarnamets, was nothing short of spectacular—their harmonies spacious and "echoy," creating a shimmering wall of sound that felt like it could fill a cathedral, let alone a concert hall of this size. There is an incredible melodic innovation at play here; at times the band channeled the spirit of classic surf rock or the legendary tones of The Shadows, filtering it through a contemporary, "glitchier" lens.

What was most striking was the sheer skill and chemistry of the quartet. Alongside Ulrik Ording on drums and Patrik Grundström on bass, the group locked into grooves as playful as they were precise. Even when a technical glitch forced a brief pause, the moment only highlighted the band's professionalism and the warm rapport they share with their audience—a humanizing beat in an otherwise seamless, cinematic flow.

As they moved into the Himmelbjerget material proper—playing the EP from start to finish—the performance became deeply immersive. Without a single lyric, the band managed to evoke a startling range of emotions. In the more intimate moments, like a beautifully rendered acoustic piece, the room fell into a concentrated hush.

Though Pärnoja himself joked that the EP is "actually pretty short," the density of the ideas presented was immense. The guitars soared, the grooves danced, and the atmosphere remained thick with a sense of presence. It was a masterclass in how instrumental music can feel more articulate than words—a vibrant, soaring tribute to a decade of artistic evolution.

J Dilla Tribute

The legacy of Detroit's hip-hop architect, J Dilla, was brought to life at Jazzkaar with a level of energy that turned the venue into a high-octane celebration of rhythm. Led by drummer Henri Paul Pukk, this outstanding local ensemble didn't just cover Dilla's tracks; they inhabited them, proving why the late producer's unique "swing" remains a fundamental pillar for modern jazz and funk musicians.

From the first downbeat, the band locked into a series of punchy, propulsive grooves that demanded movement. The sound was thick with the hallmarks of classic hip-hop: turntable scratches from DJ Lauri Täht and perfectly timed "body movin'" samples that bridged the gap between the record crate and the live stage. It was a set defined by "plenty" —plenty of funk, plenty of deep-pocket beats, and a surplus of good moods that radiated from the stage to the back of the room.

The vocal dynamics added a rich, multi-layered texture to the performance. The interplay between the male and female vocalists—Krick delivering sharp hip-hop verses and ELLIP soaring through soulful, velvet lines—perfectly mirrored Dilla's own production style, which so often blended grit with melody. Each singer brought a different flavor to the set, keeping the momentum fresh and the crowd fully engaged.

Ultimately, it was the sheer fun of the performance that left the deepest impression. Whether through the "fruity" bass lines or the crisp, snapping percussion, the band captured the joy of Dilla's creative spirit. It was an unforgettable tribute that felt less like a museum piece and more like a living, breathing block party.

Day 2: April 26

Bill Frisell and Eyvind Kang

The anticipation for Bill Frisell's performance at Jazzkaar 2026 felt particularly personal this year. Having sat down with him for an interview just before he took the stage, one found a man who was remarkably kind, chatty, and genuinely eager to engage—qualities that translated beautifully into his playing. There was a palpable "mood for music" in his demeanor, an openness that suggested the evening would be less about a structured setlist and more about a living, breathing conversation between two masters.

Joined by his longtime collaborator, the brilliant violist Eyvind Kang, the duo delivered a performance that existed in a world entirely of its own construction. In a striking artistic choice, not a single word was spoken from the stage. There were no introductions, no song titles, and no formal farewells; the music was granted total autonomy, allowed to speak its own complex language without the interruption of human speech.

The first half of the concert unfolded as a singular, 40-minute odyssey. It began in the abstract—a low-key exploration where Kang's viola established a haunting drone, providing a canvas for Frisell's deliberate, single-note meditations. Watching Frisell's technique up close from the first row is always a revelation; his ability to modify timbre by shifting his picking hand or muting strings with his palm turned the guitar into something genuinely otherworldly.

As the set progressed, the mood shifted toward that familiar, dusty "Americana" feel that Frisell pioneered. Kang transformed his viola into a rhythmic fiddle, tapping his feet as the two instruments began to weave and intertwine. Mid-tune, Frisell clamped a capo onto his neck, signaling a shift into hypnotic, looped layers. Using his looper to build a foundation, he soloed over the top with muted notes that rang out like dull, distant chimes—an unexpected harmonic development that kept the audience constantly reaching for a melody just as it transformed into something else.

With the next tune, the atmosphere turned stately and solemn, defined by ascending and descending arpeggios that felt almost liturgical. The energy shifted again when Frisell began overlaying rhythm and popping harmonics over deep bass lines. Here, Kang's soloing took on a wistful, Eastern quality, bending and slurring notes with an Indian influence that briefly evoked the spirit of the Mahavishnu Orchestra or Shakti.

Without a word of goodbye, the duo returned for a final, gentle folksy piece as an encore—the perfect bookend to a performance that consistently prioritized atmosphere over ego. Having met the man behind the guitar earlier in the day, it was clear that the kindness and warmth Frisell showed in person are the very same qualities that allow his music to resonate so deeply. This concert was by far one of the most fondly remembered performances at the festival.

Antonio Lizana

The performance by Antonio Liziana was completely different from Frisell's. While Frisell excelled at its unadorned, subtle, and introverted beauty, Antonio Lizana brought a Mediterranean heatwave to the Von Krahl stage that seemed determined to melt the lingering Estonian snow. Performing to a packed house, the Spanish saxophonist, singer, and composer brought a vibrant piece of Andalusia to the festival, proving why he has become one of the most essential figures in the contemporary flamenco-jazz landscape. This wasn't merely a concert; it was an immersive, kinetic experience that bridged the gap between the gritty clubs of Cádiz and the sophisticated jazz stages of Brooklyn.

The performance ignited instantly. Lizana began not with a solo, but with a song accompanied by the mesmerizing presence of a dancer—the incomparable El Mawi de Cadiz. The rhythmic clapping (palmas) established a foundational heartbeat that soon exploded into a fierce, high-energy jazz fusion. As the keyboards and saxophone intertwined, they navigated flamenco melodies infused with subtle Arabic overtones, creating a "sound painting" that felt both ancient and modern.

Lizana is a remarkably kinetic performer. On the saxophone, he is a whirlwind, playing with a "gypsy flavor" that feels sensual and raw. Yet he is a triple threat; throughout the night, he shifted seamlessly between virtuosic sax lines, soulful flamenco singing, and even joining in the dance. The band itself—a high-level rhythm section featuring the "magical" Iranian duo of Shayan Fathi on drums and Arin Keshishi on bass—matched his intensity at every turn. At one point, the music stopped abruptly, ceding the floor to the dancer. As the drummer joined back in, the two engaged in a breathtaking, percussive dialogue that felt like a physical manifestation of the music's pulse.

By the second song, the set took an interesting turn with an intro that leaned into what resembled "Balkan jazz" territory, accented by the sharp, rhythmic play of castanets. It was a moment of deep melodic innovation, reminding the audience of the shared musical vocabularies of the Mediterranean. While much of the set was defined by "firecrackers" and fierce passion, Lizana also allowed for moments of profound intimacy. The gentler, low-paced songs showcased his romantic side, particularly during a magnificent flute solo that stood out for its crystalline beauty.

The technical prowess of the ensemble was on full display during a standout fretless bass solo. The duet between bass and percussion, grounded in flamenco cadences, provided a gritty, genuine texture that was far removed from any "marketing product" polish. This was prime jazz-flamenco fusion: hard on the jazz, earthy on the flamenco, and delivered with a zestful virtuosity that left the audience first dumbfounded, then fully captivated.

As the concert reached its climax, the venue had been transformed into a heated flamenco club. Lizana and his band finished the evening with a "bouleria"-a final flourish of sound and movement that elicited a unanimous standing ovation. In Lizana's hands, flamenco-jazz isn't just a genre; it's a sincere, passionate message that beats with the heart of Andalusia.

Day 3: April 27

Jordan Rakei

The air in Tallinn usually carries a crisp, northern reserve, but inside the Alexela Concert Hall, Jordan Rakei turned the atmosphere into something decidedly more humid and intimate. It hadn't previously been a familiar venue, but its spacious, storied interior provided the perfect canvas for Rakei's "bedroom soul." With its pristine acoustics and grand scale, the hall allowed his sound to swell into the rafters while maintaining the "fireworks-between-two-people" intimacy he is known for.

Rakei has long occupied a unique orbit in the contemporary soul-jazz universe; he is a performer who possesses a scholar's grasp of jazz tradition but speaks the physical language of hip-hop and late-night soul. In a set that felt more like a flirtatious, high-energy celebration than a formal concert, he proved exactly why he is considered the premier architect of "bedroom soul"—music designed for deep self-exploration or the sparking of fireworks between two people.

The crowd, notably young and ready to engage, didn't have to wait long for the vibe to settle. Rakei treats vocal notes like kinetic bursts of energy, channeling a playful, elastic charisma reminiscent of José James. Whether he was behind the keys or strapping on a guitar, his presence was effortless. The setlist was a masterclass in fluidity, moving from the essential grooves of "Midnight Mischief" and "Say Something" to fresh cuts from his latest EP, Between Us.

A standout moment arrived with "Easy to Love." Performed on guitar, the track's catchy hooks and Rakei's soaring falsetto felt like an instant classic. He leaned into his diverse roots, even touching on the reggae influences so vital to his New Zealand upbringing, providing a rhythmic warmth that felt both grounded and global. The sophistication of the arrangements was further elevated by subtle nods to the masters like Jeff Buckley.

The emotional core of the night, however, was a breathtaking tribute to Jeff Buckley. On "Eye to Eye," Rakei channeled Buckley's haunting vulnerability before the song mutated into a complex, Radiohead-esque storm of polyrhythms. It was here that the band's symphonic firepower truly erupted, transforming the introspective studio version into a towering live climax.

As the night closed with the heavy, satisfying release of "Friend or Foe," it was clear that Rakei isn't just playing songs; he is sculpting moods. By the time the final notes faded, the Jazzkaar audience wasn't just applauding a performance—they were buzzing from a shared, soulful immersion that felt entirely human and perfectly contemporary.

Jazzkaar Jam Session at Philly Joe's Jazzclub

The music didn't end with the final bows. Following Rakei's set, the energy migrated deep into the labyrinthine streets of the Old City to Philly Joe's. Like any proper jazz sanctuary, you take the stairs deep into the underground to find a room that was packed and sweltering. There, a local house band kept the fire burning, swinging through a mix of burning hard-bop classics and sharp originals. It was the perfect counterpoint to the concert hall: a raw, swinging jam session that proved that while Rakei may be the future of soul, the heart of the music still beats strongest in a hot, crowded basement.

Day 4: April 28

Villu Veski & Katrina Petersen—Nordic Ballads feat. Šatro Shaman Drums Orchestra (Estonia—Denmark)

The Nordic Ballads performance at Jazzkaar, led by the distinguished instrumentalist Villu Veski, was a sustained meditation on the primal and the ethereal, drawing deep from the well of ancient Nordic myth and saga. Joined by vocalist Katrina Petersen, guitarist Andreas Ugorskij, and keyboardist Raun Juurikas, the ensemble wove a spare, carefully considered sound world in which each note was afforded the space to resonate fully.

The aesthetic was deliberately minimal: folk-inspired melodies, gentle and melodic in character, with the saxophone functioning as a haunting counterweight to echoey guitar textures and spare, ambient piano. When Veski raised the soprano saxophone, the mood shifted decisively—the resulting tone, mystical, soaring, and suffused with atmosphere, brought to mind the iconic work of Jan Garbarek, though never in imitation, always in spirit.

Katrina Petersen was the emotional center of the performance. Singing primarily in Faroese, with additional contributions in Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, and Icelandic, she moved between traditional ballads and original compositions with understated grace, her voice at times dissolving into wordless vocalization and functioning as a fully integrated instrument within the ensemble rather than as its dominant voice.

It was the Šatro Shaman Drum Orchestra, however, that most decisively shaped the evening's character. Their rhythmic contribution was genuinely shamanic in quality; as they stomped and chanted in the darkened venue, the music took on a primal urgency that the softer melodic writing alone could not have generated. The contrast between the gentleness of the ballads and the grounding, insistent force of the drums was the concert's most compelling dramatic device, pulling the audience squarely into the narrative world the performers had constructed.

Nordic Ballads was, in the end, more than a concert program—it was a deliberate act of cultural retrieval, Veski and his collaborators returning old stories to life with a modern sensibility that felt both timeless in origin and fresh in execution.

Kneebody

Attending Kneebody's set at Von Krahl was less like a conventional jazz engagement and more like being drawn into a controlled centrifuge of sound—an 80-minute assault of high intensity that left the room simultaneously exhilarated and, frankly, spent. This is not a band that performs a set so much as launches one.

The group's signature sound—that dense, shifting blend of genres that defies easy categorization—is well-documented on record, but in a live context it assumes a different, more volatile life. What distinguishes the performance is the collective intelligence at work: meticulously sculpted compositions are opened up, pushed toward an apparent breaking point through improvisation, then snapped back together with a precision that suggests long, deep familiarity.

The dominant figure in this architecture is drummer and bassist Nate Wood. Since the band's reconfiguration as a quartet, Wood has maintained both functions simultaneously—a technically daunting balancing act that is, in performance, genuinely thrilling to observe. As the ensemble's rhythmic foundation, his work gives Ben Wendel on saxophone, Adam Benjamin on keys, and Shane Endsley on trumpet the freedom to exchange ideas with something approaching reckless confidence, weaving through complex harmonic changes with a fluency that feels, despite the density of the music, perpetually accessible.

Twenty years into their work together, Kneebody has clearly established itself as a touchstone for contemporary jazz musicians. Their Von Krahl set confirmed as much: from the first note, they demanded full attention, and held it without concession until the last.

Kass—Talsi—Minn

Peedu Kass and his quartet at Von Krahl offered a refreshing departure from the festival's more genre-hybrid fare. In place of the conventional jazz lineup, Kass led a string-heavy ensemble—mandolin, cello, viola, and double bass—whose sound was deeply romantic and evocative in character, weaving Irish folk melody together with a sophisticated classical sensibility that recalled, at its more adventurous moments, the polyphonic textures of Elizabethan composers like Thomas Tallis.

What animated the performance was the group's willingness to move fluidly between registers: lively, foot-tapping polka rhythms gave way without warning to more ethereal, harmonically complex territory, and back again. With Kass anchoring the ensemble on bass and Villu Talsi's mandolin providing bright percussive definition, the group made a credible and often striking case for the contemporary relevance of these older musical languages—a poetic, genre-dissolving experiment that held up from beginning to end.

Kennedy Administration

Kennedy Administration 's set at Von Krahl was a sustained and high-voltage demonstration of what happens when jazz, R&B, funk, and pop are treated not as discrete traditions to be visited in turn, but as a single, naturally fused language. The result was infectious from the opening number and remained so throughout.

At the center of this enterprise is Ms. Kennedy, a frontwoman whose stage presence is built on equal measures of magnetism and sheer, unaffected joy. Her rapport with the room was immediate; by the midpoint of the set, the club felt less like a public venue than a private gathering. There is a directness and physicality to her vocal phrasing—the Michael Jackson comparison is not unwarranted—but she maintains a character and a soul that is entirely her own.

Her creative partnership with keyboardist Ondre J., reportedly forged at a last-minute New York engagement, is the engine that drives the whole operation. Their chemistry was the set's most compelling through-line, carrying the group from soulful, tender ballads to high-octane funk with the kind of sure-footed precision that is the hallmark of that particular New York standard of musicianship. By the close, the room was palpably energized—the kind of exhausted, inspired energy that a genuinely great performance produces.

Day 5: April 29

Home Concert: Rahel Talts & Marek Talts

There is something distinctly valuable about the home concert format within Jazzkaar. It reframes the festival not merely as a sequence of public performances but as an invitation into the more intimate creative life of the city. Being welcomed into a Uus-Volta apartment to hear Marek and Rahel Talts perform felt less like attending a gig and more like being offered a window into a private musical conversation.

The sold-out room was expectant, and the father-daughter duo more than rewarded that anticipation. Their chemistry was immediate and warm, underpinned by the evident rapport of a shared musical language built across years of collaboration. Marek on piano and Rahel on guitar constructed a set that balanced sophistication with something deeply personal, frequently venturing into unusual harmonic territory without losing the thread of melodic accessibility.

The program mixed original compositions with reworked standards, but the emotional weight of the evening rested in the storytelling. A song reflecting on the war in Ukraine was handled with such restrained grace that the room seemed to hold its breath, while a piece Rahel had written about her grandfather carried the quiet dignity of a private tribute offered in a semi-public space. Between Rahel's layered guitar textures and Marek's delicate piano voicings, the sparse arrangements allowed every note to register fully—a reminder that, at its most honest, music is simply a conversation between people who understand each other deeply.

Joel Remmel Trio 15! feat. Hans Christian Aavik & Aleksandra Kremenetski

The Joel Remmel Trio remains a reliable argument for jazz's capacity to remain vital, sensitive, and technically assured all at once. The classic trio format—Remmel, Heikko, and Ramuel—operates with a telepathic ease, navigating intricate harmonic changes and expansive rubato tone poems with equal confidence. The touch throughout was delicate, but there was a quiet authority behind it that precluded any sense of tentativeness.

The addition of a guest vibraphonist only heightened the interplay, layering shimmering textural richness over an already tightly woven foundation. Fifteen years in, the ensemble has no interest in coasting on familiarity; this was a performance that looked forward as much as it acknowledged the road already traveled.

Mica Millar

Mica Millar's set at Von Krahl was a persuasive statement of intent from one of the UK soul scene's more compelling emerging voices. She was previewing material from her forthcoming album, A Little Bit of Me, and the challenge inherent in winning a festival audience over on the strength of unreleased material was one she dispatched with an ease that spoke well of her instincts as a live performer.

Her sound occupies the intersection of classic jazz smoothness and gospel-informed emotional directness—a combination that allowed her to shift, within a single number, from a whisper-quiet intimacy that contracted the room around her to a full-voiced authority that filled it again. The set was stylish and contemporary without sacrificing depth, and a guest appearance from Estonian vocalist Grettel Killing added an additional layer of harmonic richness to her backing ensemble. Millar is clearly ascending, and on the evidence of this performance, the attention currently being paid to her seems entirely warranted.

Day 6: April 30

David Helbock & Julia Hofer feat. Mahan Mirarab (Austria)

To step into a concert by David Helbock and Julia Hofer is to enter a musical space governed exclusively by imagination and deep mutual trust. Seated in the front row, the granular detail of their interplay was striking—the exchanged glances, the synchronized breathing, the countless small signals through which two musicians construct a shared world without recourse to a larger ensemble. There was never a moment when the absence of additional players felt like a lack.

The performance unfolded as a kind of sustained, high-stakes dialogue, opening with the tender Eastern-inflected melody of Gurdjieff's Woman's Dance—a statement of careful listening—before the kinetic energy of Helbock's "Dancing to Another Space" shifted the temperature entirely.

Hofer proved equally versatile, drawing a melancholic, classically informed melody from her cello on the Carla Bley standard Utviklingssang before locking into a Jaco Pastorius-influenced funk groove on the bass. Helbock, for his part, demonstrated a magician's feel for the possibilities of the grand piano—hammering out rough, Chick Corea-inflected chords on Austrian Asado, converting the instrument into a percussion kit on Dark Soul, or, during the course of the evening, manipulating the strings directly to produce sustained drones.

The dynamic changed again with the arrival of Iranian guitarist Mahan Mirarab, whose fretless instrument brought a new and hypnotic layer of texture to the ensemble. His contribution to the funk-driven Sexy M.F. was particularly striking: moving between the two necks of his instrument, he drew from the guitar a tone so resonant and ancient in character that it might, in a different context, have been mistaken for an oud.

The set list was fearless in its range: "Blue (or Black) Humor," "Round Midnight," "Freedom Jazz Dance." From the moment they clapped their hands to trigger a tempo shift to the moment they took their final bow, the alchemy was undeniable—a sustained hour of music breathing as a single, living thing.

Moses Yoofee Trio

Watching the Moses Yoofee Trio live is to witness jazz tradition and contemporary club culture brought into unusually productive collision. Berlin's electronic music scene looms large in the city's cultural identity, but this trio demonstrates with some force that its jazz scene operates with comparable intensity and commitment.

Yoofee commands his keyboards with the focused authority of someone who has genuinely internalized both the melodic and the visceral possibilities of the instrument—shifting between soulful, lyrical pockets and aggressive, synth-driven leads with an ease that makes the transitions feel inevitable rather than calculated. Bassist Roman Klobe-Barangă provides the connective tissue, his thundering foundation tracking Yoofee's rapid-fire lines with precision. Drummer Noah Fürbringer, meanwhile, deploys drum pads and a snare with striking conviction to hold the ensemble in a kind of continuous, controlled tension—moving from frenetic double-time passages to industrial-textured rhythms with a fluency that makes the shifts feel organic.

What makes the trio consistently compelling is the narrative intelligence of their performance. They establish accessible hooks early, then systematically dismantle them, exploring harmonic and rhythmic territory that briefly disorients before resolving at precisely the right moment. The performance of OCEAN was the evening's centerpiece: bathed in deep blue light, the music became genuinely alien in quality—satellite-signal synths orbiting a bass line of nearly cosmic gravity. This is jazz in conversation with something considerably broader than its own tradition, and the results are persuasive.

Day 7: May 1

Miles Davis 100

Marking the centennial of Miles Davis at Von Krahl felt less like an act of museum-piece preservation and more like a purposeful invocation of his restless, forward-leaning spirit. Trumpeter Jason Hunter led a strong ensemble—Aleksander Paal, Allan Kaljaste, Joel Remmel, Heikko Remmel, and Jussi Lehtonen—through a chronological survey of Davis's catalog that honored the legacy without being enslaved to it.

The program opened in the suave, intellectually cool register of the Birth of the Cool era, with Boplicity offering an early demonstration of the band's collective precision. The shift to the hard-swinging energy of "Two Bass Hit" revealed where the group's real momentum lay; the interplay between the two saxophonists was particularly vivid here, their extended solos feeding off each other with the naturalness of musicians truly locked into a shared pulse.

The Kind of Blue section—"Freddie the Freeloader," "So What"—brought the modal chill for which the record is rightly celebrated, but there was a muscular urgency to the ensemble's handling of the material that prevented it from settling into mere nostalgia. Hunter's trumpet was sharp and stylistically secure throughout, capturing Davis's characteristic phrasing without tipping into caricature.