Fryderyk HD: Sounds Good

The "HD" in this artist's name might seem like an objective coincidence (more on that below) or an elaborate PR nod to the obvious abbreviation for High Definition, "high precision." However, the reality is much more complex and cosmopolitan. The musician's full name is Frédéric Hoang Dong. He was born in Poland to ethnic Vietnamese parents. The notion of "high precision" in his life story emerges during his musical education when he unexpectedly decides to specialize in sound engineering after starting out as an academic pianist—first in Warsaw and then at the Berklee College of Music in the United States. His path to his debut solo album is anything but direct. In fast-forward mode, his journey looks like this: classical piano, victories in international competitions, named scholarships, and other marks of recognition, followed by a shift to sound engineering, a move to the States for several years, and studio and production work that forces him to broaden his interests to jazz, soul, rhythm and blues, and other improvisational genres. And ultimately, he has made a firm decision to build a career as a modern jazz pianist.

The classical training in his music is so evident that from the very first seconds, the album feels almost like what we now call neoclassicism. However, after a minute with the sensibly free introductory track, straightforwardly titled "Intro," Frédéric transitions to "Little Prince," where he adds guitar and percussion to the traditional piano trio format, and this is where things get really interesting. One could even skip studying the list of those he cites as sources of inspiration (including Tigran Hamasyan, Aaron Parks, and Avishai Cohen); their influence is so apparent in his music that a listener who has learned to appreciate stylistic nuances but hasn't yet developed a personal understanding of various artists could easily conclude that this is a new album from Hamasyan or Cohen. Indeed, Frédéric largely "captures" the magnificent, deep, and rich sound engineering that captivates listeners and distracts them from painstakingly analyzing parallels, intersections, and borrowings. His collaborators are arranged in such a balanced way that absorbing the delicate, tender long passages from guitarist Luca De Toni is more engaging than racking your brain trying to recall where you might have heard something similar before. Anyone somewhat involved in contemporary jazz will likely recognize and remember all this, and the list won't be limited to just Hamasyan, Cohen, and Parks. Over time, Luca De Toni will make listeners snap their fingers and say: "That's right, this was done by Patricia Barber; her John McLean did that on 'Modern Cool'!" The first notes, the initial riff of "DeScent"—and the listener involuntarily jolts: stop, stop, that's the Pat Metheny Group from the '80s! Consequently, a new realization emerges: Frédéric is also dangerously close to the style that Lyle Mays always played!

Perhaps this is the only contentious nuance in Hoang Dong's work, which is objectively rooted in his youth—his relationship with the music he loves occasionally veers towards palpable copying and imitation. Sometimes it seems he believes so fervently in the correctness and finality of what his idols have done that the Caucasian and Mediterranean emotional tremors in the music of Hamasyan and Cohen have become a genetic code for this Polish Vietnamese. But there is good, even excellent news: Frédéric feels a bit uneasy in this situation; it is evident that both his pianism and his arranger's thinking feel constrained. He clearly wants, tries, and at times convincingly communicates something from his own perspective. For example, he adds the violin of Mateusz Smołkin to "Spaced Out" and "Between You And Me"—and despite its seemingly consistent tendency toward the same Jewish melancholy, it stands out in the overall dramaturgy and momentarily shifts the piece into an avant-garde-academic character, completely dismantling the intricate and convoluted rhythm. These nuances emerge gradually in the album, surfacing after several listens, and at some point, you realize that if this is a "new Cohen," then it is indeed new, not just another rendition or a "reinterpretation." In the already mentioned "DeScent," for instance, a perfectly logical progression leads from the initial "Metheny" to a furious and somewhat childishly indignant piano outburst in the final seconds, featuring wide, rapid, aggressively sweeping passages across half the keyboard—which finds no parallels with anything previously heard.

Frédéric has, upon reflection, recorded a remarkably successful album that metaphorically documents the moment of a rocket lifting off from the launch pad at the start of a spaceflight. Someone completely inexperienced might not grasp how he differs from his heroes, who have found their own direction in music and defined a new subgenre. Yet, someone seasoned will see how, from the very beginning of his creative journey, stepping onto the well-trodden path laid by masters, Frédéric is already starting to veer off into his own uncharted forest. Notably, both the inexperienced and the seasoned will find pleasure in this: it is a beautifully recorded, intelligent, and emotional album, created with the involvement of genuinely talented musicians. This debut has all the predictable nuances, but it sets an exceptionally high standard for the artist's future. And it is a debut that can be enjoyed alongside the classical works of masters, with only the stubbornness and professionalism of the listener distracting from a detailed analysis of the finer points.

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