Patricia Brennan: Of the Near and Far

Vibraphonist Patricia Brennan continues to redefine her creative horizons on Of The Near And Far, a fourth leadership date that expands her sonic blueprint without tempering the imagination that has marked her rise. Each of its predecessors has been completely different, from the horn-rich Breaking Stretch (Pyroclastic, 2024), to the percussion-centered More Touch (Pyroclastic, 2022), to her debut, the solo Maquishti (Valley Of Search, 2021). She avoids familiar paths once again here, writing for an accomplished ten-strong unit which merges a string quartet, electronics and a more conventionally appointed jazz rhythm team.

She exploits the contrast between these forces with a deliberate sense of scale, form and color. Taking her inspiration from her love of astronomy, Brennan overlays musical pitches onto the shapes of five constellations to seed her compositions. The concept suggests a rigorously schematic approach, but the resulting music is anything but austere.

"Antlia" starts the album with a (big) bang. Arktureye (husband Noel) and the leader's oscillating electronics, bowed glissandi and Sylvie Courvoisier's clanking piano figures set the scene, before the ensemble locks into a surging momentum. Interlocking string patterns and quicksilver exchanges between piano and vibraphone propel the piece until Brennan and guitarist Miles Okazaki, comrades in the execution of pianist Matt Mitchell's fiendish charts, ascend through the texture, each navigating the shifting meter with fluid precision.

While nothing else quite matches the immediacy of the opener, certain elements recur. A spacey shimmer and low-voltage murmurs often presage the transitions between cuts, many of which almost run together, producing a suite-like effect. The abstract feel they promote is most prominent on "Citalli" where pointillist plucks, lurching thuds and fizzing circuitry intersect on long orbits, before more recognizable fragments of violin and guitar surface. Okazaki, too, is often a featured soloist elsewhere, although the mix places everyone on an even footing, as if emphasizing that it is the collective that holds sway.

Kim Cass' throbbing bass and John Hollenbeck's ticking cymbals initiate a pulse under Okazaki's chiming guitar on "Lyra" before the strings coalesce into a swinging counterline. Brennan's slightly oblique melodies gain traction through repetition, as on the near anthemic "Aquila," and offer a ready entry point to the sometimes dense layers. She has assembled a talented cast capable of making light work of and most importantly breathing life into the most complex scores, and in doing so, Brennan does not merely add another chapter to her discography; she enlarges the coordinates of her cosmos.