Silvano Monasterios: Solo In Paris

Silvano Monasterios hails from a golden generation of Venezuelan jazz pianists born in the '60s and early '70s. Monasterios, Edward Simon, Otmaro Ruiz and Luis Perdomo—all of whom have long resided in the US—have served as important points of reference for subsequent generations of Venezuelan jazz musicians. Many of these have likewise sought to build their careers abroad, joining an exodus of around eight million Venezuelans who have left the country due to years of political and socio-economic turmoil. Monasterios found inspiration in the resistance of ordinary Venezuelans for The River (Self Produced, 2025), an ambitious, elegant suite for nonet. With Solo in Paris, the pianist scales down and returns to his roots—two hands and 88 keys.

Two albums in as many years represent a veritable rush for Monasterios, with Solo in Paris just his seventh release as leader since debuting with Roads Not Taken (Forever Music, 1997). But less, as the saying goes, is often more, and each Monasterios release feels like an event. Solo In Paris is no exception. Recorded at the Studio de Meudon, it is an intimate, emotionally engaging journey of varying moods, shades and tempi.

Monasterios was classically trained at the Escuela Superior de Música José Ángel Lamas, Caracas, and shades of Ravel, Debussy and Chopin permeate his gently rhapsodic delivery. Such romanticism is particularly felt on the ballad "Farewells" and the more impressionistic "Dreams We Dream II." Monasterios, however, has always drawn from more than one well, his playing exhibiting a subtle blend of colors. Surprisingly, perhaps, Latin influences are subdued, his animated reading of Alberto Munoz's "La Guachafita" providing the exception. Here, Monasterios revels in the dancing joropo caraqueño rhythms to deliver a joyous, virtuosic performance.

In the main, however, Monasterios' playing is spare, leaning into emotional rather than overtly technical terrain. Tumbling glissandi are notable as much for their infrequency as for their flashing brevity. The pianist revisits two compositions from his aforementioned debut album, though the solo versions of both "San Ruperto" and "Lawrence" are light-years away from the multi-layered Latin-jazz of the former and the Astor Piazzolla-esque blues of the latter. Instead, Monasterios' deconstructions play with the light and shade of the cantering "San Ruperto," while his deft harmonic voicings channel the aching nostalgia of Bill Evans on "Lawrence."

Nostalgia and melancholy pervade the album's more impressionistic compositions, tempered, however, by a lyricism that ultimately dispels any sense of mournful gravitas. If there is something that binds these evocations of, and reflections on place, time and state of mind, it is the emotional weight that Monasterios conveys with the lightest of pianistic touches.

It would be easy to label Solo in Paris a pleasant listening experience, and on one level it certainly is that. But beneath its surface serenity lies an album of deceptive depth and intricacy, one that reveals new shades and charms with each successive listen.