Home » Jazz Articles » Live Review » Svetlost, Ken Vandermark & Paal Nilssen-Love at MKC, Skopje
Svetlost, Ken Vandermark & Paal Nilssen-Love at MKC, Skopje
Svetlost, Ken Vandermark & Paal Nilssen-Love
MKC, Skopje
Skopje, Macedonia
April 16th, 2025
There was no prelude, no soft landing. The first notes of "Puma in the Corner" leapt into the air like a wild animal, chaotic and alert. A shriek above our heads—someone channeling emotion so openly it felt like a roaring animal. The energy crackled as the musicians locked in, and then burst apart again. Svetlost, the Skopje-based free jazz trio, opened this premiere performance with the force of a clenched fist, joined by titans of the avant-garde, American saxophonist Ken Vandermark and Norwegian drummer Paal Nilssen-Love. This collaboration had been months in the making, and it showed. The rapport on stage was organic but explosive. It was not just a concert, it was a living, shifting sound sculpture built from intuition, trust and a shared appetite for risk. Svetlost—comprised of Deni Omeragic (bass, electronics), Ninoslav Spirovski (clarinet, saxophone), and Kristijan Novkovski (drums)—are no strangers to pushing sonic boundaries. But with Vandermark and Nilssen-Love by their side, the envelope was shredded entirely.
"Puma in the Corner" morphed from cacophony to a restrained duet between Vandermark and Nilssen-Love, only to erupt again into full-band frenzy. The emotional register was high, the texture raw and electric. There were moments where Spirovski and Vandermark, both on clarinet, sculpted a fragile, wiry sound world, pulling back the volume but not the intensity. The nerves stayed taut. It brought to mind John Coltrane's most searching moments or Albert Ayler's spirit cries, but this was no homage. It was its own beast. The second piece—still untitled—offered a surprising turn. It opened with a pulsing drum motif from Novkovski that hinted at structure, even groove. A clarinet and saxophone melody floated above, coherent and oddly catchy in this context. Nilssen-Love tapped delicately on a triangle, an odd, beautiful detail in a tune that moved through hushed theatricality and then snowballed into noise. Omeragić's bass motifs kept things grounded while Vandermark let loose, his tenor lines charging like a bull. Somewhere in the swirl, the rhythm section echoed the motorik of early Pink Floyd. Then, it climaxed in glorious noise.
If there was a moment that encapsulated the night's free spirit and humor, it was "Casino 45." Vandermark clapped out a rhythm that Omeragić picked up on bass, a simple gesture that grew into a manic, space-rock rollercoaster. Vandermark's solo here was pure abandon, delivered over Omeragić's hypnotic pulse until the band unshackled and charged into a wall of sound. Complete and utter mayhem. Vandermark, ever the generous collaborator, paused afterward to introduce the band with warmth and camaraderie. "Key Blanks" offered a breather with its slow, atonal clarinet passages, Vandermark and Spirkovski trading lines with space and restraint. It was a study in tension, not release. The kind of playing that demands your patience but rewards close listening. A speech followed—genuine, modest, grounding us in the shared joy of making and witnessing music in real time.
Then came "Room 1520." The gloves were off again. Pure phonic chaos. Spirkovski dug deep, channeling Pharoah Sanders' ecstatic register while the rest of the ensemble tore through rhythm and harmony like paper. The piece seethed and hissed and howled. It was glorious. The encore, "Alarma (for Cvetan Cvetanov)," was a short, punchy tribute, a punk-inflected blitz with stop-time rhythms and jagged synchronicity. A fitting end to a night defined by sharp edges and open hearts.
This concert wasn't just a showcase of avant-garde virtuosity or just pushing musical boundaries. It was a celebration of possibility and about connection, risk, and trust. For Svetlost, it marked a new chapter, one that bridges Skopje's experimental core with the wider international scene. For the audience, it was a chance to experience music built on listening, on being present, and on letting go of expectations.
An album is on the way. If it captures even a fraction of the energy and interplay from that performance, it will stand as a document of the kind of spontaneous creativity that defines avant-garde music. One to revisit, not for its precision, but for its raw, unfiltered expression..
MKC, Skopje
Skopje, Macedonia
April 16th, 2025
There was no prelude, no soft landing. The first notes of "Puma in the Corner" leapt into the air like a wild animal, chaotic and alert. A shriek above our heads—someone channeling emotion so openly it felt like a roaring animal. The energy crackled as the musicians locked in, and then burst apart again. Svetlost, the Skopje-based free jazz trio, opened this premiere performance with the force of a clenched fist, joined by titans of the avant-garde, American saxophonist Ken Vandermark and Norwegian drummer Paal Nilssen-Love. This collaboration had been months in the making, and it showed. The rapport on stage was organic but explosive. It was not just a concert, it was a living, shifting sound sculpture built from intuition, trust and a shared appetite for risk. Svetlost—comprised of Deni Omeragic (bass, electronics), Ninoslav Spirovski (clarinet, saxophone), and Kristijan Novkovski (drums)—are no strangers to pushing sonic boundaries. But with Vandermark and Nilssen-Love by their side, the envelope was shredded entirely.
"Puma in the Corner" morphed from cacophony to a restrained duet between Vandermark and Nilssen-Love, only to erupt again into full-band frenzy. The emotional register was high, the texture raw and electric. There were moments where Spirovski and Vandermark, both on clarinet, sculpted a fragile, wiry sound world, pulling back the volume but not the intensity. The nerves stayed taut. It brought to mind John Coltrane's most searching moments or Albert Ayler's spirit cries, but this was no homage. It was its own beast. The second piece—still untitled—offered a surprising turn. It opened with a pulsing drum motif from Novkovski that hinted at structure, even groove. A clarinet and saxophone melody floated above, coherent and oddly catchy in this context. Nilssen-Love tapped delicately on a triangle, an odd, beautiful detail in a tune that moved through hushed theatricality and then snowballed into noise. Omeragić's bass motifs kept things grounded while Vandermark let loose, his tenor lines charging like a bull. Somewhere in the swirl, the rhythm section echoed the motorik of early Pink Floyd. Then, it climaxed in glorious noise.
If there was a moment that encapsulated the night's free spirit and humor, it was "Casino 45." Vandermark clapped out a rhythm that Omeragić picked up on bass, a simple gesture that grew into a manic, space-rock rollercoaster. Vandermark's solo here was pure abandon, delivered over Omeragić's hypnotic pulse until the band unshackled and charged into a wall of sound. Complete and utter mayhem. Vandermark, ever the generous collaborator, paused afterward to introduce the band with warmth and camaraderie. "Key Blanks" offered a breather with its slow, atonal clarinet passages, Vandermark and Spirkovski trading lines with space and restraint. It was a study in tension, not release. The kind of playing that demands your patience but rewards close listening. A speech followed—genuine, modest, grounding us in the shared joy of making and witnessing music in real time.
Then came "Room 1520." The gloves were off again. Pure phonic chaos. Spirkovski dug deep, channeling Pharoah Sanders' ecstatic register while the rest of the ensemble tore through rhythm and harmony like paper. The piece seethed and hissed and howled. It was glorious. The encore, "Alarma (for Cvetan Cvetanov)," was a short, punchy tribute, a punk-inflected blitz with stop-time rhythms and jagged synchronicity. A fitting end to a night defined by sharp edges and open hearts.
This concert wasn't just a showcase of avant-garde virtuosity or just pushing musical boundaries. It was a celebration of possibility and about connection, risk, and trust. For Svetlost, it marked a new chapter, one that bridges Skopje's experimental core with the wider international scene. For the audience, it was a chance to experience music built on listening, on being present, and on letting go of expectations.
An album is on the way. If it captures even a fraction of the energy and interplay from that performance, it will stand as a document of the kind of spontaneous creativity that defines avant-garde music. One to revisit, not for its precision, but for its raw, unfiltered expression..
About Ken Vandermark
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