Whatever Happens Don't Be Yourself: Tales of Consequence

The name sounds less like a band title than advice shouted across a dimly lit house party: Whatever happens, do not be yourself. Absurd, funny, and strangely apt, the moniker sets a subversive tone for Tales of No Consequence, the fifth album from this Bergen-based nonet led by the drummer and composer Nils Are Drønen.

Drønen treats the group less as a conventional jazz ensemble than as a volatile improvisational organism. What might look on paper like a carefully engineered large-group machine feels loose and strikingly alive. Vibraphones glimmer and vanish; guitars and keyboards slide between support and disruption. At the frontline, the trumpeter Audun Waage and saxophonist Aksel Roed move with the quick reflexes of speakers finishing each other's sentences.

At the center of this controlled chaos is the vocalist Nelly Moar, whose soulful clarity provides the emotional gravity without softening the music's avant-garde edges. She glides between groove and abstraction, grounding a band that often sounds as if it is building the road beneath its own wheels. Around her, the percussionist Snorre Bjerck, bassist Torkil Hjelle, and guitarist Mads Berven keep the arrangements suspended in a captivating state between structure and collapse.

What makes Tales of No Consequence so compelling is its restraint. Where many large jazz ensembles reach for spectacle, Drønen's band prefers tension. The music accumulates pressure rather than announcing it, allowing grooves to simmer until a release feels earned rather than staged.

The tracks function as distinct psychological spaces. "Opus X" opens in jagged bursts, dissolving into a knot of colliding rhythms and tangled horn lines. "What's My Chances?" settles into a sly funk pulse, with Moar delivering an assured performance while the band snaps around her like elastic. Conversely, "Stormy Nights" reveals a softer architecture, balancing vulnerability and atmosphere through shimmering vibes and sparse accompaniment, while "Where The Sky Is The Highest" builds toward a vibrant collective surge.

The title track—the album's lone group composition—is a standout. Bowed bass, skittering percussion, and ghostly electronics create a shifting landscape where composition and improvisation become indistinguishable. At just over 30 minutes, the album wastes nothing. Its pleasures are not immediate, but they linger. In jazz, consequence is often measured by risk; by that standard, this nonet leaves a permanent mark.