Oded Tzur: Make A Sound

Storytelling has been part of Oded Tzur's modus operandi since his first album, his reed playing enfolding drama, tension, and narrative shifts like any spellbinding tale. In this 2025 single, the instinct comes into even sharper focus, as he accompanies a newly-assembled band with his words and voice for the first time on record.

Tzur is no stranger to accolades, having won much acclaim for his instrumental releases (e.g., the superb My Prophet, ECM Records, 2024). Introducing vocals may seem a gamble, but it pays off fully in the context of this deeply affecting composition. His vocals are reminiscent of the soft-spoken yet earnest voice of Chet Baker as Tzur invokes the plight of families displaced by war—particularly children. He writes that "Make A Sound," the title track and the only pre-composed piece on an otherwise improvised forthcoming album, was inspired by his own experience. While visiting family in Brazil and trying to help his five-month-old fall asleep amid the unfamiliar noise of a new environment, he could not help but think of the many parents and children separated by war, without safe sleeping conditions. These scenarios are far from uncommon in the global zeitgeist, yet Tzur approaches them with graceful poeticism.

When he sings, "You and me, we're the same, we're the same / Isn't your child the love of your life, of the stars?" it sounds as though he is giving voice to words that simply needed to be said. His voice raw and trembling, this moment is not a one-off or a whim to try something new; it arises from someplace deeply felt. "Where does all the love go?" he questions. "Is it playing a game, and just waits to be found?"

The group moves tenderly, as one unit, surrounding his words with a delicate lift. New colors enter the palette: Gilad Hekselman's guitar is a perfect complement to the gently labyrinthine chord progressions, at times harmonizing beautifully with Tzur's voice. Vanraj Shastri's sarangi brings forward the South Asian inflections that have long threaded through Tzur's work. Joe Martin and Nasheet Waits, both seasoned leaders and side men, provide an ideal rhythmic foundation—steadfast, patient, and quietly propulsive—as Tzur's saxophone finally reaches a cathartic, plaintive wail, expressing the unbelievable, inhuman sense of injustice found wherever political conflict persists.

"We'll call you naïve if you think there's a way," Tzur sings, capturing how easy it is to feel hopeless when resisting such an onslaught. Yet the powerful "Make A Sound" stands as a cry against that pessimism—a cry for hope, no matter how hopeless the circumstances, a call to keep the flame alive.

Jazz is not always associated with probing the meaning of suffering, yet this—the first release from Tzur's label, Sky River Music—promises music of extraordinary quality, both in musicianship and emotional depth.

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