Orchestra Nazionale Della Luna: Selene's View

In the interests of full disclosure let us dispense with the notion that Orchestra Nazionale Della Luna is an Italian band. Or an orchestra. ONDL was founded by Finnish pianist Kari Ikonen and Belgian saxophonist/flautist Manuel Hermia in 2015, with additional Belgians in the shape of double bassist Sebastien Boisseau and drummer Teun Verbruggen making the quartet arguably the most important Finnish-Belgium exchange since Finland and Belgium first traded fuel for cars and tractors. As for the claim to lunar nationality, let us keep an open mind for now. Moon exploration is still in its infancy, after all. Anything is possible.

In Greek mythology Selene was the goddess of the Moon. The concept here (to borrow a dirty word from the '70s prog universe) is that Selene, while distant, is fundamentally connected to Earth, a metaphor for ONDL's relationship to jazz; rooted to the source, yet open to the gravitational pull of all musical satellites. What is certain with ONDL is the stretching of musical boundaries.

Electronic effects and—via both Ikonen's keys and Hermia's bansuri—Arabic and Indian textures have become increasingly prominent since ONDL's more straight-ahead eponymous debut (JazzAvatar, 2016) through There's Still Life On Earth (BMC, 2020) onto this, its third album. Only occasionally, when Ikonen or Hermia stretch out or when the quartet flexes collectively, do the bonds to jazz traditions reveal themselves overtly. Mostly, however, tight, tension-heavy choreography prevails, with release only partial, and resolution rare. Then again, music inspired by war, the surge of AI, abuse of politic power, the omnipresence of social media, the climate crises and unchecked exploitation was never going to be sunny in tone.

Rhythmically, the music is arguably more aligned to the repetitive, modulating mantras of minimalism than any iteration of jazz, with insistent pulses and repeating motifs in Ikonen's keys and Boisseau's bass a near-constant feature throughout the fifty minutes. Slow and ominous on "Fragmentos de Silencio" (inspired by Carlos Gardel's lament for the victims of war), relentlessly chuntering on the David Bowieish sci-fi-esque "Digital Lake" and Morse-like on the start-stop "Bialystok," the tempi may vary but a sense of history repeating itself is inherent in the repetitive aesthetics.

Not that ONDL is easy to pin down. Woozy keys and questing saxophone on "Doubt Factory" serve up an atmospheric slice of post-Weather Report fusion for the 21st century, underpinned, of course, by pulsing, overlapping rhythms. The predominantly acoustic "Conflictuous" breaks the mould with its flexible rhythmic gait, and flowing piano-cum-flute rivulets, but the short journey and lack of a final destination proves frustrating. Indian raga inspires the spare and brooding "Overexploited," with effects-filtered bansuri to the fore. A knotty 10/8 time signature common to Iraq, Syria, Turkey and Armenia underpins the bustling "Transience," with Hermia's tenor carving a bullish pathway. Elsewhere, staccato and fractured rhythms combine with twelve-tone experimentalism and brief free-jazz explosions for a mischievously bumpy ride.

Frequently fascinating, there is still the nagging feeling that ONDL is frolicking in the foothills when there are more dramatic peaks—with their inherent risks and rewards—lying tantalizingly ahead. ONDL's slightly off-kilter, open-arms approach to modern jazz is like moon cheese—utterly unique, but an acquired taste, nevertheless. Well worth a nibble.